Classic Poem

That your breath may not smell of your yesterday's drink
A pastille will serve as protection, you think.
It may whiten your teeth; but it does not avail
To cover the reek of the far-wafted gale
That comes from your nethermost caverns: 'tis blent
With the fumes of your liquor, that odorous scent.
Have done with such tricks then: they do not deceive us:
We know you're a toper: with that you must leave us.