Now the females stout have gather’d without
Fresh bunches of violets blue;
And the sapphire bright, to dazzle the sight,
Was produced from the magic stew.
From the juicy mass of concocted grass
An emerald fashion’d appears;
And pearls they distill’d from a limbeck, fill’d
With widows’ and orphans’ tears.
In this cavern dark one could straight remark,
That chieftains had play’d of yore;