From the New York Tribune, April 13, 1913. By Herbert Kaufman. A fig for your flagons of sour old wine! Let others seeks solace in beer— I don’t give a slam for the joys of the dram, It brings me no comfort nor cheer! I’ve no sorrows to drown, I am free from care’s frown, My morrows with promise are ripe, I don’t need a thing, I’m as good as a king, So long as I puff on my pipe. Just give me my pipe and a well laden pouch, And leave me alone with myself; I have more than enough while I sit here and puff, And forget about passions and pelf. You may toast as you please to the ladies who tease, And fuddle your senses with wine; But I know of no bliss that is equal to this— I’m content with this old pipe of mine.
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