The hateful man! 'Twould vex a saint!
Around my pretty, cherished book,
The odor vile, the noisome taint
Of horrid, stale tobacco-smoke
The hateful man, my book to spoil!
Patrick, the tongs--lest I should soil
This lovely rose, these lilies frail,
These violets he has sent to me
The odor of his pipe exhale!
Am I to blame that I should be
Tell Mr. Simpson every time
He calls upon me, Patrick, I'm