Dear Public, lend me your ear,
I have a tale to tell, which you must hear;
Be gracious, then, your time I will not waste,
Nor by a word that’s false offend your taste.
My subject is not classic, byt tis better,
Because’tis true, true to the very letter.
The poets love to laud the joys of wine,
And rave of Bacchus as a theme devine.
What does he do? This wild old debauchee,
But rack your brains with pains and misery;
The Cup bearer who better pleases me,
Is she who bring the EARLY CUP OF TEA.
But then my tale, I told you I had got one,
And you’ll be thinking presently there’s not one;
I had been suffering, as all mortals must,
Kings, princes, nobels, all are fragile dust;
And when their turn comes, they must suffer too,
And lie awake at nights like me or you.
Slowly the hours dragged their length away
While I lay tossing waiting for the day,
Watching in vain for the first beam of light,
Amid the nameless noises of the night.
At last it came, when with a sudden shock
There sounded at the door a timid knock.
I could not leap at once from off my bed,
I was too weak so I softly said,
“Did anyone knock, may I inquire?”
What is the matter? Surely tis not fire!
Oh no, these words came floating into me,
“Please may I bring you a CUP OF TEA?”
Well, they were simple words, but on my homour,
I silently but gratefully invoked upon her.
A shower of blessing liberally scattered;
I scarce can tell the boon it was to me,
The welcome comfort of that CUP OF TEA.
Now comes to question, whence comes the supply
Of this most soothing compund - let me try
To guide my neighbors, so that they may test
Its tranquillising power, tis no jest.
“Wilson’s Gem Congoyu” is the tea we are using,
And after years of very cautious using,
At last we cry “Eureka,” yes! “we have it!”
And now we shall not be in haste to leave it,
Strong, rich, yet soft, the bright brown liquid flows,
Buy it! And bless the land in which grows.
“WILSON’s Gem Congou, two and six, you’ll see it
At number Thirty Four, in English Street