Thou Who, When Fears Attack, Bid'St Them Avaunt, And Black Care, At The Horseman'S Back Perching, Unseatest; Sweet When The Morn Is Grey; Sweet, When They've Cleared Away Lunch; And At Close Of Day Possibly Sweetest: I Have A Liking Old For Thee, Though Manifold Stories, I Know, Are Told, Not To Thy Credit; How One (Or Two At Most) Drops Make A Cat A Ghost - Useless, Except To Roast - Doctors Have Said It: How They Who Use Fusees All Grow By Slow Degrees Brainless As Chimpanzees, Meagre As Lizards; Go Mad, And Beat Their Wives; Plunge (After Shocking Lives) Razors And Carving Knives Into Their Gizzards. Confound Such Knavish Tricks! Yet Know I Five Or Six Smokers Who Freely Mix Still With Their Neighbours; Jones - Who, I'm Glad To Say, Asked Leave Of Mrs. J.) - Daily Absorbs A Clay After His Labours. Cats May Have Had Their Goose Cooked By Tobacco-Juice; Still Why Deny Its Use Thoughtfully Taken? We're Not As Tabbies Are: Smith, Take A Fresh Cigar! Jones, The Tobacco-Jar! Here'S To Thee, Bacon!