When verdant youth sees life afar,

And first sets out wild oats to sow,

He puffs a stiff and stark cigar,

And quaffs champagne of Mumm & Co.

He likes not smoking yet; but though

Tobacco makes him sick indeed,

Cigars and wine he can't forego,--

A slave is each man to the weed.

In time his tastes more dainty are

And delicate. Become a beau,

From out the country of the czar

He brings his cigarettes, and lo!

He sips the vintage of Bordeaux.

Thus keener relish shall succeed

The baser liking we outgrow,--

A slave is each man to the weed

When age and his own lucky star

To him perfected wisdom show,

The schooner glides across the bar,

And beer for him shall freely flow;

A pipe with genial warmth shall glow,

To which he turns in direst need,

To seek in smoke surcease of woe,--

A slave is each man to the weed.