A FIG for your flagons of sour old wine, Let others seek solace in beer; I don't give a damn for the joys of the dram, It brings me no comfort nor cheer. I've no sorrows to drown, I am free from care's frown, My morrows with promise are ripe, I don't want a thing, I'm as good as a king, So long as I puff on my pipe. Just give me my pipe and a well-laden pouch, And leave me alone with myself; I have more than enough while I sit here and puff, And forget about passions and pelf. You may toast as you please to the ladies who tease, And fuddle your senses with wine, But I know of no bliss that is equal to this, I'm content with this old pipe of mine. |