The Chinaman his life consumes,

On opium regaling—

The Yankee his tobacco fumes

With equal zest inhaling—

Though trembling nerves and fitful glooms

Warn them that health is failing.

For almost everything that’s done

Some reason wit supposes,

But for the smoker’s faith, not one

The keenest wit discloses;

’Tis filthy, vulgar, costly fun,

Hateful to all good noses.