When we survey the breathless corpse,
With putrid matter filled,
For crawling worms a sweet resort,
By us reputed ill.
Noxious effluvia sending out
From its pernicious store,
Not only from the foaming mouth,
But every lifeless pore.
To view the same enrolled in tea,
Besmeared with such perfumes,
And then the herb sent o'er the sea,
To us it tainted comes—
Some of it tinctured with a filth
Of carcasses embalmed;
Taste of this herb, then, if thou wilt!
Sure me it cannot charm.
Adieu! away, oh tea! begone!
Salute our taste no more;
Though thou art coveted by some,
Who're destined to be poor.
Fowle's Gazette, July 22, 1774.
EPIGRAM
ON THE POOR OF BOSTON BEING EMPLOYED IN PAVING THE STREETS, 1774