1832.] [43 



WAR SONG, 

 FOR THE ARMY TO BE SENT AGAINST THE EMPEROR Ol-' CHINA. 



COME, tie on your bonnet, your shawl, and your boa ! 



Each proud virgin amazon, onward with me ! 

 Come, rouse for the fight, all ye maids, who adore* 



The flavour of Twankay, Souchong, or Bohea! 



Come, clatter the tea-cups, and brandish each spoon, 



Beat loudly the tea-tray, the kettle, and urn ; 

 No more for the lover or sweet honey-moon, 



But for Twankay and war, let your soft bosoms burn ! 



Shall a petticoat savage the horrible bore ! 



Infringe on our rights, and deny us our tea ? 

 No, no ! by the gown which my grandmother wore, 



We'll smother the wretch in a chest of Bohea ! 



Come, launch, my brave maidens, each tea-chest canoe, 

 And spread out your large Canton crapes to the air ; 



The kettle sings muster -call hark! the cat's mew! 



" Young Hyson" 's the word, " the delight of the fair !" 



Great Twining a tea-wreath shall twine for us all 

 The fairest of females looks far more divine at tea ; 



If we conquer, we'll drink twenty cups if we fall, 

 Why " nee possum vivere cum te, nee sine te." 



Twenty cups ! think of Johnson, when kind Mrs. Thrale 

 Filled him fifty at least, and he wished they were bowls ; 



With ardour like his, which among ye can fail ? 

 Come, Doctor, and kindle your thirst in our souls ! 



Then onward, brave maidens, push off from the coast,' 



For such brogueless tyrants we care not a pin ; 

 But do not forget, my fair tea-drinking host, 



A stout Witney blanket, to toss the wretch in ! 



Oh ! the plunder of Pekin ! what silks and what shawls ; 

 The Chinese, in spite of themselves, shall be free ; 



For we'll bombard the city with hot force-meat balls. 

 And blow up their warriors with gunpowder tea ! 



Then tie on your bonnet, your shawl, and your boa, 

 And with war-cry of " Hyson-dust !" onward with me ; 



Come, brandish your tea-spoons, ye maids, who adore 

 The flavour of Twankay, Souchong, or Bohea ! J. F. 



* We are aware that this rhyme is rather unusual ; but we may parody the maxim 

 of Sir Lucius" When patriotism guides the pen, he must be a brute that would 

 find fault with the rhyme." 





