As the Teian poet's lyre
Young Lyæus did inspire;
When the bard awoke his lays,
Love and wine alike to praise.
So, illustrious Pidding, thou
Inspire thy _tea_-urn votary now,
Whilst the tea-pot circles round--
Whilst the toast is being brown'd--
Let me, ere I quaff my tea,
Sing a paean unto thee,
IO PIDDING! who foretold,
Chinamen would keep their gold;
Who foresaw our ships would be
Homeward bound, yet wanting tea;
Who, to cheer the mourning land,
Said, "I've Howqua still on hand!"
Who, my Pidding, who but thee?
Io Pidding! Evoe!
* * * * *