No more unwitting find ourselves, and miserably cower,
In a third-class smoking carriage, with no stop for quite an hour,
And no more from smarting eyes the tear we now shall have to wipe,
Excited by the navvy's small but parlous pungent pipe.
No more "Old Friend" or "Negrohead" 'twill be our lot to sniff,
We shall walk abroad unfearful of the "penny morning whiff,"
Never more—oh, joy to think it!—shall be stricken from afar
By the penetrating odour of the "Saturday cigar"!
The Golden Age will then be here, no evil shall be rife,
E'en the smoker will be forced to live a just and Christian life.