A Second murmured, "Surely we might learn
Some undiminished Anodyne to burn,
For ne'er a Smoker puffed a good Cigar
But wished Another Like It might return."
LXXXVI
After a momentary Silence spake
A Stogie of a bileful Pittsburg make;
"The One who puffs my Wrappings to the End
Will never ask my Memory to awake."
LXXXVII
Then spake a Panatela finely rolled,
"If to a fiery Doom I must be sold,
Then let it be my happy Fate to find
A high-born Mouth whose Teeth are filled with Gold."
LXXXVIII
An auburn Weed uprose as one surprised.
"If for a Martyr's Death I so am prized,
May not my hallowed Ashes be preserved
That Saint Cigar I may be canonized?"
LXXXIX
"Well," murmured One, "when in my ashen Shroud
My Stump descends to meet the shrieking Crowd,
I yet may know that in the Fire of Hell
There stands no Placard, 'Smoking Not Allowed.'"