THE DISH OF TEA

Let some in beer place their delight,

O'er bottled porter waste the night,

Or sip the rosy wine:

A dish of Tea more pleases me,

Yields softer joys, provokes less noise,

And breeds no base design.

From China's groves, this present brought,

Enlivens every power of thought,

Riggs many a ship for sea:

Old maids it warms, young widows charms;

And ladies’ men, not one in ten

But courts them for their Tea.

When throbbing pains assail my head,

And dullness o'er my brain is spread,

( The muse no longer kind )

A single sip dispels the hyp:

To chace the gloom, fresh spirits come,

The flood-tide of the mind.

When worn with toil, or vext with care,

Let Susan but this draught prepare,

And I forget my pain.

This magic bowl revives the soul;

With gentlest sway, bids care be gay;

Nor mounts, to cloud the brain.

If learned men the truth would speak

They prize it far beyond their Greek,

More fond attention pay;

No Hebrew root so well can suit;

More quickly taught, less dearly bought,

Yet studied twice a day.

This leaf, from distant regions sprung,

Puts life into the female tongue,

And aids the cause of love.

Such power has Tea o'er bond and free;

Which priests admire, delights the‘ squire,

And Galen's sons approve.