Two maiden dames of sixty-two
Together long had dwelt;
Neither, alas! of love so true
The bitter pang had felt.
But age comes on, they say, apace,
To warn us of our death,
And wrinkles mar the fairest face,--
At last it stops our breath.
One of these dames tormented sore
With that curst pang, toothache,
Was at a loss for such a bore
What remedy to take.
"I've heard," thought she, "this ill to cure,
A pipe is good, they say.
Well then, tobacco I'll endure,
And smoke the pain away."
The pipe was lit, the tooth soon well,
And she retired to rest,
When then the other ancient belle
Her spinster maid addressed,--
"Let me request a favor, pray"--
"I'll do it if I can"--
"Oh! well, then, love, smoke every day,
_You smell so like a man!_"
Attributed to JOHN STANLEY GREGSON.