Now, Angelina, put it down.
Let me entreat you not to smoke it;
You dread your Edwin’s lightest frown,
Or so you say well, don’t provoke it.
No No I’m serious just now,
Great weight to every word attaches;
What’s that you ask me? Anyhow
To pass the matches!
You shall have chocolates to eat
Of every possible description;
Those rosy lips are much too sweet
To soil with Yankee or Egyptian.
Your smiles with trinkets I’ll entice
Or silly frillies made of chiffon,
Till once again you say I’m nice
And not a griffon.
Among those violet-scented curls
The smell of stale tobacco lingers,
And oh ! to think my best of girls
Should go about with yellow fingers.
Are you aware that stain will spread
Right up your arm and past your shoulder
And ruin What was that you said?
You’ll use a holder!
No, Angelina, I insist!
Come, darling …. what, you’re surely joking?
You are not anxious to be kissed
You’d sooner give up me than smoking
So be it take your cigarette
And smoke it, love and homage scorning,
But suffer me, with much regret,
To say ‘Good morning’!
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