When nothing in the world we do admire,
And folks do ask us when we last were tight.
This is a cause of every smoker’s ire.
L’Envoy.
Smokers, and ye whom ’Bacca tickleth,
Heed what is here before the weed you fire;
You cannot smoke for ever. Where’s your breath?
This is a cause of every smoker’s ire.
Sinburn.
From Cope’s Tobacco Plant. September 1876.