YE maidens modest! on whose sullen brows
Hath weaning Chastity her wrinkles cull'd;
Who constant labour o'er consumptive oil,
At midnight knell, to wash Sleep's nightly balm
From closing eyelids, with the grateful drops
Of Tea's blessed juices; list th' obsequious lays,
That come not, with Parnassian honors crown'd,
To dwell in murmurs o'er your sleepy sense;
But, fresh from Orient blown, to chase far off
Your lethargy; that dormant needles, rous'd
May pierce the waving mantua's silken folds.
For many a dame, in chamber sadly pent,
Hath this reviving liquor call'd to life;
And well it did, to mitigate the frowns
Of anger, reddening on Lucinda's brow
With flash malignant, that had harbour'd there,
If she at masquerade, or play, or ball,
Appear'd not in her newest, best attire.
But Venus, goddess of th' eternal smile,
Knowing the stormy brows but ill become
Fair patterns of her beauty, hath ordain'd
Celestial Tea;a fountain that can cure
The ills of passion, and can free from frowns,
And sobs, and sighs, the disappointed fair.
To her, ye fair! in adoration bow! Whether at blushing morn, or dewy eve, Her smoaking cordials greet your fragrant board, With Hyson, or Bohea, or Congo, crown'd. At midnight skies, ye mantua-makers! hail The sacred offering. For the haughty belles No longer can upbraid your lingering hands, With trains upborne aloft by dusty gales That sweep the ball-room. Swift they glide along And, with their sailing streamers, catch the eye Of some Adonis, mark'd to love a prey.
Whose bosom ne'er had panted with a sigh,
But for the silken draperies that enclose
Graces from Fancy's eye but ill conceal'd.
Mark well the fair! observe their modest eye,
With all the innocence of beauty bless'd.
Could Slander o'er that tongue its pow'r retain,
Whose breath is Music?-Ah, fallacious thought!
The surface is Ambrosia's mingled sweets;
But all below is death. At tea-board met,
Attend their prattling tongues;-they scoff,-
they rail
Unbounded; but their darts are chiefly aimed
At some gay fair, whose beauties far eclipse
Her dim beholders; who, with haggard eyes,
Would blight those charms where raptures long
have dwelt
In ecstacy, delighted and sufficed.
In vain hath Beauty, with her varied robe, Bestowed her glowing blushes o'er her cheeks,
And called attendant Graces to her aid,
To blend the scarlet and the lily fair.
In vain did Venus in her favourite mould
Adapt the slender form to Cupid's choice.
When Slander comes, her blasts too fatal prove;
Pale are those cheeks where youth and beauty
glow'd;
Where smiles, where freshness, and where roses
Ghastly and wan their Gorgon picture comes,
With every fury grinning from the looks
Of frightful monster. Envy's hissing tongue
With deepest vengeance wounds, and every wound
With deeper canker, deeper poison, teems.
O Gold! thy luring lustre first prevail'd On man to tempt the fretful winds and waves, And hunt new fancies. Still, thy glaring form E e
Bids Commerce thrive, and o'er the Indian waves,
O'er-stemming danger, draw the laboring keel,
From China's coast to Britain's colder clime,
Fraught with the fruits and herbage of her vales.
In them whatever vegetable springs,
How loathsome and corrupted, triumphs here,
The bane of life, of health the sure decay :
Yet, yet we swallow, and extol the draught,
Tho' nervous ails should spring, and vaporish
qualms
Our senses and our appetites destroy.
Look round, ye sipplers of the poisoned cup
From foreign plant distill'd! No more repine
That Nature, sparing of her sacred sweets,
Hath doom'd you in a wilderness to dwell;
While round Britannia's streams she kindly rears
Green sage, and wild thyme. These were sure
decreed,
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