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Picture you upon my knee, Just tea two and two for tea.

Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of fate in grounds of tea.

Tea! thou soft, thou sober, sage, and venerable liquid, . . . thou female tongue-running, smile-smoothing, heart-opening, wind-tippling cordial, to whose glorious insipidity I owe the happiest moment of my life, let me fall prostrate.

Now stir the fire, and close the shudders fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in.

Here, thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take--and sometimes tea.

Thank God for tea! What would the world do without tea? how did it exist? I am glad I was not born before tea.

Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.