The Cigar

Some sigh for this and that,
My wishes don’t go far;
The world may wag at will,
So I have my cigar.

Some fret themselves to death
With Whig and Tory jar;
I don’t care which is in,
So I have my cigar.

Sir John requests my vote,
And so does Mr. Marr;
I don’t care how it goes,
So I have my cigar.

Some want a German row,
Some wish a Russian war;
I care not. I’m at peace
So I have my cigar.

I never see the “Post,”
I seldom read the “Star;”
The “Globe” I scarcely heed,
So I have my cigar.

Honors have come to men
My juniors at the Bar;
No matter—I can wait,
So I have my cigar.

Ambition frets me not;
A cab or glory’s car
Are just the same to me,
So I have my cigar.

I worship no vain gods,
But serve the household Lar;
I’m sure to be at home,
So I have my cigar.

I do not seek for fame,
A general with a scar;
A private let me be,
So I have my cigar.

To have my choice among
The toys of life’s bazaar,
The deuce may take them all
So I have my cigar.

Some minds are often tost
By tempests like a tar;
I always seem in port,
So I have my cigar.

The ardent flame of love,
My bosom cannot char,
I smoke but do not burn,
So I have my cigar.

They tell me Nancy Low
Has married Mr. R.;
The jilt! but I can live,
So I have my cigar.

THOMAS HOOD.