But to return to our Poet. MERLIN now drops his apostrophe, and eulogizes the India-bench in the third person for the blessings of Tea and the Commutation Tax. The following passage will show our author to be, probably, a much better Grocer than Mr. Pitt; and perhaps little inferior to the Tea-Purchaser's Guide.
What tongue can tell the various kind of Tea? Of Blacks and Greens, of Hyson and Bohea; With Singlo, Congou, Pekoe, and Souchong: Couslip the fragrant, Gun-powder the strong; And more, all heathenish alike in name, Of humbler some, and some of nobler fame.
The prophet then compares the breakfasts of his own times with those of ours: attributes to the former the intractable spirit of that age; and from the latter fervently prays, like a loyal subject, for the perfect accomplishment of their natural effects; that they may relax the nerves of Englishmen into a proper state of submission to the superior powers. We shall insert the lines at length.
On mighty beef, bedew'd with potent ale, Our Saxons, rous'd at early dawn, regale; And hence a sturdy, bold, rebellious race, Strength in the frame, and spirit in the face, All sacred right of Sovereign Power defy, For Freedom conquer, or for Freedom die. Not so their sons, of manners more polite; How would they sicken at the very sight! O'er Chocolate's rich froth, o'er Coffee's fume, Or Tea's hot tide their noons shall they consume. But chief, all sexes, every rank and age, Scandal and Tea, more grateful, shall engage; In gilded roofs, beside some hedge in none, On polish'd tables, or the casual stone. Be _Bloom_ reduc'd; and PITT no more a foe, Ev'n PITT, the favourite of the fair shall grow: Be but _Mundungus_ cheap; on light and air New burthens gladly shall our peasants bear, And boil their peaceful kettles, gentle souls! Contented,--if no tax be laid on coals. Aid then, kind Providence, yon' generous bench, With copious draughts the thirsty realm to drench; And oh! thy equal aid let PRESTON find, With [2]_musty-sweet_ and _mouldy-fresh_ combin'd, To palsy half our isles: 'till wan, and weak, Each nerve unstrung, and bloodless every cheek, Head answering head, and noddling thro' the street. The destin'd change of Britons is complete; Things without will, like India's feeble brood, Or China's shaking Mandarins of wood. So may the Crown in native lustre shine, And British Kings re-sume their right divine.