[From Manxiana, 1870]

A LAY OF THE PIPE AND SNUFF BOX.

         " No,
I'll smoke no more, I'll only snuff,
And that in moderation too;
My meerschaum I will throw away,
So all good bye to you.

          " No,
I'll put it by in secret, where
'Twill ne'er again be seen ;
I'll burn the bacca in the fire,
Between the bars I ween.

          " No,
I'll keep it yet to fumigate
And kill th' insect brood;
'Twill not be wasted then, I know
'Twill do the garden good."

          Yes,
'Tis stor'd away right carefully,
And wifie smiles and says,
" Well done, my love, the poison's fit
Only for Turk or Fez.

          " Oh !
Come near me now, you darling man,
No reek surrounds you now;
Your teeth are white as driven snow,
I'll kiss your lips and brow.

          " Yes,
We'll loving be again, my dear,
Snuff box and pipe good bye;
Resolutions neither make nor break,
Nor make false vows and lie."

          Alas !
Th' evening came, and wifie tried
To wile his hours away
Music, and chat, and all her art,
Were tried to gain the day.

          For

He hied him to the garden, where
He spied a damask rose ;
" See here, my darling, what a bloom,
What fragrance for your nose!

          " Take care,"

Says he, "for see the blight
Is thickly on its stem ;
My pipe. my pipe," he cries-" all right,
I'll quickly murder them."

          " No, no,"

She cries, " don't, Harry, darling, don't,
A sulphur match will do;"
" A plague on brimstone match," he said,
"My meerschaum pipe's the foe."

          Night

He went to bed in passing mood,
Nor he his pipe had blew;
His snuff he miss'd, nor could he sleep,
Without his pinch or two.

          But

Restless lay and tossed about,
Says she, " My dear, what's wrong?"
Under his pillow was no box,
Says he " I'll sing you a song."

          Song-
" I canna sleep, I canna sleep,
Without a pinch of snuff ;
Oh ! darling, give it me, do, do,
Where 'tis you know enough.
I canna think, I canna pray,
I can't compose my mind ;
At Sunday preaching I shall fail,
My box go quickly find."
" Here, take your box," said she, " and now
I'll let you have your way;
Nor ask you e'er to promise me,
And throw your soul away."

          Chorus-

A box and a pipe for all the world round,
Who've a mind for a smoke or a pinch,
And ladies prevent not, for of this I'm quite sure,
Prevention is worse than the evil you'd cure.