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.