Demosthenes, sans pebbles.
Ay! chatter, with thy face of woe;
With bile and anger quiver;
Thus Antis come and Antis go,
But I’m smoked on for ever.
They go about, and fume and spout,
Against Tobacco railing,
With here and there a lusty shout,
And here and there a wailing.
I’m smoked on lawns and grassy plots,