THOUGHTS ON HIS WINE-MERCHANT.
I love my Wine-merchant—he talks with a charm
That robs his most dubious vintage of harm.
And the choicest Havanas less comforting are
Than the fumes of his special commended cigar.
I'm a reticent man, with a palate of wood,
And I judge by results if a vintage be good.
But I own to the charm of my Wine-merchant's worst,
If he gives me his comforting flattery first.