Be it ever so feeble, there’s nothing like tea.
A balm that restores seems to perfume the air,
Which, seek through all comforts, is not met elsewhere.
Tea, tea, sweet, sweet tea!
There’s nothing like tea! there’s nothing like tea!
Forbidden my tea, all else tempts me in vain,
Oh, give me my Chinese infusion again.
The urn, singing gladly, responds to my call,
And brings back the soothing draught, cheering to all.
Ediora.