Let us press thee to our lips,
As the bee the honey sips;
Culling as our well-earned meed,
Joys from thee—thou heavenly weed!
Ere thy burnished lip we kiss,
Let us thus enjoy the bliss,
Lit by the promethean spark,
Kindled from the congreve dark;
In summer-house or country villa,
There’s nothing like a good Manilla!