His brows were gathered in a knot
That only baccy could untie.
His oldest pipe was scraped out clean;
The deuce a puff was left him there;
A hollow sucking sound of air
Was all he got his lips between.
He only said, "My life is dreary,
The Baccy's done," he said,
He said, "I am aweary, aweary;
By Jove, I'm nearly dead."