When first I arrived to the age of a man And met the distraction of care, As the day to a close rather sorrowful ran Yet I smiled and I smoked my segar:
O, how sweet did it seem What a feast, what a dream What a pleasure to smoke the segar! In vain did the din of the females assail
Or the noise of the carts in the street, With a spanish segar and a pint of good ale I found my enjoyment complete: Old care I dismiss'd
While I held in my fist The pitcher, and smoked the segar. What a world are we in, if we do not retire, And, at times, to the tavern repair
To read the gazette, by a hickory fire, With a sixpence or shilling to spare, To handle the glass And an evening pass
With the help of a lively segar. The man of the closet, who studies and reads, And prepares for the wars of the bar; The priest who harangues, or the lawyer who pleads,
What are they without the segar? What they say may be right, But they give no delight Unless they have smoked the segar.
The farmer still plodding, who follows his plough, A calling, the first and the best, Would care not a fig for the sweat on his brow If he smoked a segar with the rest:
To the hay-loft alone I would have it unknown, For there a segar I detest. The sailor who climbs and ascends to the yard
Bespatter'd and blacken'd with tar, Would think his condition uncommonly hard If he did not indulge the segar, To keep them in trim
While they merrily swim On the ocean, to countries afar. The soldier untry'd, in the midst of the smoke, The havoc and carnage of war,
Would stand to his cannon, as firm as a rock, Would they let him but smoke his segar: Every gun in the fort Should make its report
From the fire which illumes the segar. Come then, to the tavern, ye sons of the sword, No fear of a wound or a scar; If your money is gone, your account will be scored
By the lady who tends at the bar: And this I can say, Not a cent need you pay For the use of the social segar.
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