This morning I sat by a maid,
And clasped her hand whiter than snow,
And I thought that an angel had strayed
From her home to make heaven below!
Small hands, fair as the shells of the sea,
And sweet little fingers - oh, hush!
What is it they hold? Ah! I see,
'Tis a confounded "dipper"- stick-brush!
As rich as a half-opened pink,
Is the soft, blushing tints of her lips!
They are parting to kiss me, I think,
Oh, no! 'tis for - Heavens, she dips!
How fair are her pearly-white teeth!
Compared to them ivory's "stuff";
Let me drink the fresh balm of her breath -
By thunder! I'm sneezing! 'Tis snuff!
Great God! and can lips that are sweet
As the dew in the cup of the rose,
Take a dose that a dog wouldn't eat -
That would make a hog turn up his nose!
Oh! beautiful maidens, refrain
From that vile, detestable stuff!
Never poison your dear lips again
With filthy street-sweepings - called snuff.
Just think, if your lovers should dare
To rob your red lips of a kiss,
And for honey, find snuff hidden there,
'Twould deprive you of Love's sweetest bliss!
Our old Father Adam, we're told,
Was slightly deluded by Eve,
But the way we poor fellows are sold,
Father Adam could never conceive!
