Classic Poem

Now Cole was King of Connecticut,
And he was a merry soul,
He lived in Lyme in the summer time,
And thus he made his dole:

“What ho! my pipe!” said Old King Cole.
Replied the Puritan folk:
“No pipe for you where laws are blue
And it's counted a sin to smoke.”

“What ho! my glass!” said Old King Cole.
Replied the Puritan tribe:
“We do not think it wise to drink,
Absorb, inhale, imbibe.”

“My fiddlers three!” cried Old King Cole.
Replied the Puritans: “Nay!
The Heavenly Maid is a wicked jade.
We deem it a sin to play.”

So Old King Cole of Connecticut
Nor wept nor tore his hair,
But, merry and old, his throne he sold
And went away from there.

Now Cole was King of Connecticut,
And he was a merry soul,
He lived in Lyme in the summer time,
And thus he made his dole:

“What ho! my pipe!” said Old King Cole.
Replied the Puritan folk:
“No pipe for you where laws are blue
And it's counted a sin to smoke.”

“What ho! my glass!” said Old King Cole.
Replied the Puritan tribe:
“We do not think it wise to drink,
Absorb, inhale, imbibe.”

“My fiddlers three!” cried Old King Cole.
Replied the Puritans: “Nay!
The Heavenly Maid is a wicked jade.
We deem it a sin to play.”

So Old King Cole of Connecticut
Nor wept nor tore his hair,
But, merry and old, his throne he sold
And went away from there.