_For the Table Book._
1.
MY TEA-POT! while thy lips pour forth
For me a stream of matchless worth,
I’ll pour forth my rhymes for thee:
Don Juan’s verse is gross, they say;
But I will pen a _grocer_ lay,
Commencing--“Amo _tea_.”
2.
Yes--let Anacreon’s votary sip
His flowing bowl with feverish lip,
And breathe abominations;
Some day he’ll be _bowl’d out_ for it--
He’s brewing mischief, while I sit
And brew my _Tea-pot-ations_.
3.
After fatigue, how dear to me
The maid who suits me to a T,
And makes the water bubble.
From her red hand when I receive
The evergreen, I seem to give
At T. L. no trouble.
4.
I scorn the hop, disdain the malt,
I hate solutions sweet and salt,
Injurious I vote ’em;
For tea my faithful palate yearns;
Thus--though my fancy never _turns_,
It always is _tea-totum_!
5.
Yet some assure me whilst I sip,
That thou hast stain’d thy silver lip
With sad adulterations--
Slow poison drawn from leaves of sloe,
That quickly cause the quick to go,
And join their dead relations.
6.
Aunt Malaprop now drinks noyeau
Instead of Tea, and well I know
That she prefers it greatly:
She says, “Alas! I give up Tea,
There’s been so much _adultery_
Among the grocers lately!”
7.
She warns me of Tea-dealers’ tricks--
Those double-dealing men, who mix
Unwholesome drugs with _some_ Tea
’Tis bad to sip--and yet to give
Up sipping’s worse; we cannot live
“Nec sine _Tea_, nec cum _Tea_.”
8.
Yet still, tenacious of my Tea,
I think the grocers send it me
Quite pure, (’tis what they _call_ so.)
Heedless of warnings, still I get
“Tea veniente die, et
Tea decedente,” also.