We envy not such foolish gains,
In sweet content, old pipe of mine.
Ah! you have been a travelled pipe;
But now, of course, you're getting stale,
Just like myself, and rather ripe;
You've had your fill of cakes and ale,
And half-forgotten memories, too.
And all the pensive thoughts that twine
Around a past that, entre nous,
Has pleasant been, old pipe of mine.