Harper's Weekly 07/09/1859


I give it up! It is no use!—
Tobacco, you and I must quit!
Why should I stuff me, like a goose,
And be forever on the spit?

My cud (eschewed) may “go to grass;”
I need no cud; I'm not a cow!
It doesn't “pay,” Belinda says—
This quid that brings no FAIR pro quo.

My pipe, that seem'd a pipe of peace,
In pieces lies: no more “divine.”
I've no Bocarme tendencies:
And the “Old Nick” is in this nicotine.

With “cloud-compelling Jove"-ial wits,
In “Cuban stock” no more I trust;
For if I fame“somebody” frets,
And this Fille-buster is not “buss'd!

Why should I smoke? why light the Feu
Follet that kindles countless woes?
Why “nigger-head” or “pig-tail” chew,
Or make an ash-hole of my nose?

It dulls the sense, defiles the breath,
Depraves the taste, depletes the purse;
Poisons the very air with death,
And makes an everlasting “muss.”

So, ladies, you who're “up to snuff,”
Look elsewhere for your fellow-puffers;
You'll ne'er make of this piece of stuff
The worse half of a pair of snuffers.

And “gents”—if you're some city “Brick,”
To you I've just this word to say:
There are those whom your smoke makes sick!
So don't—don't FUMIGATE Broadway.

Housatonic Valley,1859.

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