The Little Tea Book

by Unknown

One of the readers of the Spectator wrote as follows:

"Mr. Spectator: Your paper is a part of my tea-equipage, and my servant knows my humor so well that, calling for my breakfast this morning (it being past my usual hour), she answered, the Spectator was not come in, but that the tea-kettle boiled, and she expected it every minute."

Crabbe, too, was a devotee of ladies, literature, and tea, for he wrote:

"The gentle fair on nervous tea relies,
Whilst gay good-nature sparkles in her eyes;
And inoffensive scandal fluttering round,
Too rough to tickle and too light to wound."

What better proof do we want, therefore, that to women's influence is due the cultivation and retention of the tea habit? Without tea, what would become of women, and without women and tea, what would become of our domestic literary men and matinee idols? They would not sit at home or in salons and write and act things. There would be no homes to sit in, no salons or theatres to act in, and dramatic art would receive a blow from which it could not recover in a century, at least.

In the year 1700, J. Roberts, a London publisher, issued a pamphlet of about fifty pages which was made up as follows:

Poem upon Tea in Two Cantos . . . 34 pages
Dedication of the poem . . . . . . . . . . 6 "
Preface to the poem . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 "
Poem upon the poem . . . . . . . . . . . 1 "
Introduction to the poem . . . . . . . . . 4 "
To the author upon the poem . . . . . 1 "
Postscript . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 "
Tea-Table . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2 "

The poem--pièce de résistance--which is by one Nahum Tate, who figures on the title-page as "Servant to His Majesty," is an allegory; and although good in spots is too long and too dry to reproduce here. "The poem upon the poem," "The Introduction," and the "Tea-Table" verses will be found interesting and entertaining.

ON OUR ENGLISH POETRY AND THIS POEM UPON TEA

See Spanish Curderon in Strength outdone:
And see the Prize of Wit from Tasso won:
See Corneil's Skill and Decency Refin'd;
See Rapin's Art, and Molier's Fire Outshin'd;
See Dryden's Lamp to our admiring View,
Brought from the Tomb to shine and Blaze anew!

The British Laurel by old Chaucer worn,
Still Fresh and Gay, did Dryden's Brow Adorn;
And that its Lustre may not fade on Thine,
Wit, Fancy, Judgment, Taste, in thee combine.
Thy pow'rful Genius thus, from Censure's Frown
And Envy's Blast, in Flourishing Renown,
Supports our British Muses Verdant Crown.
Nor only takes a Trusty Laureat's Care,
Lest Thou the Muses Garland might'st impair;
But, more Enrich'd, the Chaplet to Bequeath,
With Eastern Tea join'd to the Laurel-Wreath.
--R. B.

TO THE AUTHOR ON HIS POEM UPON TEA

Let Rustick Satyr, now no more Abuse,
In rude Unskilful Strains, thy Tuneful Muse;
No more let Envy lash thy true-bred Steed,
Nor cross thy easy, just, and prudent Speed:
Who dext'rously doth bear or loose the Rein,
To climb each lofty Hill, or scour the Plain:
With proper Weight and Force thy Courses run;
Where still thy Pegasus has Wonders done,
Come home with Strength, and thus the Prize has Won.
But now takes Wing, and to the Skies aspires;
While Vanquish'd Envy the bold Flight admires,
And baffled Satyr to his Den retires.
--T. W.

THE INTRODUCTION

Fame Sound thy Trump, all Ranks of Mortals Call,
To share a Prize that will enrich 'em All.
You that with Sacred Oracles converse,
And clearly wou'd Mysterious Truths rehearse;
On soaring Wings of Contemplation rise,
And fetch Discov'ries from above the Skies;
Ethereal TEA your Notions will resine,
Till you yourselves become almost Divine.

You statesmen, who in Storms the Publick
Helm Wou'd Guide with Skill, and Save a sinking Realm,
TEA, your Minerva, shall suggest such Sense,
Such safe and sudden Turns of Thought dispense,
That you, like her Ulysses, may Advise,
And start Designs that shall the World surprise.

You Pleaders, who for Conquest at the Bar
Contend as Fierce and Loud as Chiefs in War;
Would you Amaze and Charm the list'ning Court?
First to this Spring of Eloquence resort:
Then boldly launch on Tully's flowing Seas,
And grasp the Thunder of Demosthenes.

You Artists of the AEsculapian Tribe,
Wou'd you, like AEsculapius's Self, Prescribe,
Cure Maladies, and Maladies prevent?
Receive this Plant, from your own Phoebus sent;
Whence Life's nice Lamp in Temper is maintain'd,
When Dim, Recruited, when too fierce, restrained.

You Curious Souls, who all our Thoughts apply,
The hidden Works of Nature to descry;
Why veering Winds with Vari'd Motion blow,
Why Seas in settled Courses Ebb and Flow;
Wou'd you these Secrets of her Empire know?
Treat the Coy Nymph with this Celestial Dew,
Like Ariadne she'll impart the Clue;
Shall through her Winding Labyrinths convey,
And Causes, iculking in their Cells, display.

You that to Isis's Bark or Cam retreat,
Wou'd you prove worthy Sons of either Seat,
And All in Learning's Commonwealth be Great?
Infuse this Leaf, and your own Streams shall bring
More Science than the fam'd Castalian Spring.

Wou'd you, O Musick's Sons, your art Compleat,
And all its ancient Miracles repeat,
Rouse Rev'ling Monarchs into Martial Rage,
And, when Inflam'd, with Softer Notes As swage;
The tedious Hours of absent Love beguile,
Charm Care asleep, and make Affliction smile?
Carouse in Tea, that will your Souls inspire;
Drink Phoebus's liquor and command his Lyre.

Sons of Appelles, wou'd you draw the Face
And Shape of Venus, and with equal Grace
In some Elysian Field the Figure place?
Your Fancy, warm'd by TEA, with wish'd success,
Shall Beauty's Queen in all her Charms express;
With Nature's Rural Pride your Landscape fill
The Shady Grotto, and the Sunny Hill,
The Laughing Meadow, and the Talking Rill.

Sons of the Muses, would you Charm the Plains
With Chearful Lays, or Sweet Condoling Strains;
Or with a Sonnet make the Vallies ring,
To Welcome home the Goddess of the Spring?
Or wou'd you in sublimer Themes engage,
And sing of Worthies who adorn the Age?
Or, with Promethean Boldness, wou'd aspire
To Catch a Spark of the Celestial Fire
That Crowned the Royal Conquest, and could raise
Juverne's Boyn above Scamander's Praise?
Drink, drink Inspiring TEA, and boldly draw
A Hercules, a Mars, or a NASSAU.

THE TEA-TABLE

Hail, Queen of Plants, Pride of Elysian Bow'rs!
How shall we speak thy complicated Pow'rs?
Thou Won'drous Panacea to asswage
The Calentures of Youths' fermenting rage,
And Animate the freezing Veins of age.

To Bacchus when our Griefs repair for Ease,
The Remedy proves worse than the Disease.
Where Reason we must lose to keep the Round,
And drinking others Health's, our own confound:
Whilst TEA, our Sorrows to beguile,
Sobriety and Mirth does reconcile:
For to this Nectar we the Blessing owe,
To grow more Wise, as we more Cheerful grow.

Whilst fancy does her brightest beams dispense,
And decent Wit diverts without Offense.
Then in Discourse of Nature's mystick Pow'rs
And Noblest Themes, we pass the well spent Hours.
Whilst all around the Virtues' Sacred Band,
And list'ning Graces, pleas'd Attendants, stand.

Thus our Tea-Conversation we employ,
Where with Delight, Instruction we enjoy;
Quaffing, without the waste of Time or Wealth,
The Sov'reign Drink of Pleasure and of Health.