PANACEA: A POEM UPON TEA: In Two CANTOS.  
By N. TATE, Servant to His MAJESTY.  
Innocuos Calices, & amicam Vatibus Herbam,  
Vimque datam Folio—  Thor. de Poet. 
Planta Beata, Decus Terrarum, Munus Olympi!  Idem. 
LONDON: Printed by and for J. ROBERTS. 1700.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE Charles Montague, Esq One of His MAJESTY's most Honourable Privy Council, etc.  
SIR,  
YOU can't be surprised at the Addresses and Acknowledgements of the Muses, whom YOU have Honoured, not Only in their own Province, but likewise by convincing the World, That the greatest Genius for Poetry, can be as Eminent in Business of State, and Affairs of the Public.  
'Twas but lately that the Fortune of Europe depended upon the Welfare of England; when England herself was under the most perplexing Exigencies, by the ill Condition of our Coin, Deficiency of Funds, Loss of Public Credit (when our Forces by Sea and Land, Domestic and Foreign Commerce were to be provided for) with other Afflicting Circumstances that threatened our very Constitution, and made our Affairs seem Desperate.  
The Redressing of all which Grievances, (through Unparallelled Difficulties) was, by our SENATE (then Sitting) Undertaken with more than Roman Greatness of Spirit; and Effected, to the Preservation of Quiet amongst ourselves, Astonishment of our Enemies, and Benefit of all Europe.  
And, SIR, how Instrumental YOU were in those Transactions for the general Safety and Welfare, Common Justice must Acknowledge, and History informs us of Statues Erected for less Services to the Public.  
I pretend not to Enumerate Particulars, wherein (as Promoter, or Principal) YOU have Merited the Thanks of the Age, and demonstrated indefatigable Industry, as well as most extraordinary Sagacity and judgement.  
Yet I cannot forbear mentioning One Consideration, That so Refined a Spirit, so Delicate a Genius, as could be Delighted (to the Sublimest Degree) in the Retreats of the Muses, and Gardens of Philosophy, could Sacrifice itself to the Fatigues of Public Business! but— Vincit Amor Patriae.  
SIR, I know the Value of YOUR Time, and the Freedom that I take in Presenting YOU with a Piece of Poetry; which yet, if it be not lessened by the Performance, it will not be so, in YOUR Esteem, by the Slenderness of the Subject, since 
In tenui Labour, at tenuis non Gloria; si Quem  
Numina laeva sinant, auditque Vocatus Apollo.   
However, I shall not repeat a Trespass in Detaining YOU with an Apology—  
Only, That Zeal and Duty will be doing their Office, and Respect pay its Attendance, though neither Wanted nor Desired.  
Besides, I have the same Right of Addressing to YOU, as other Sons of the Muses, and true Subjects of their King and Country: For whose United Interest and Service, YOUR Health and Prosperity is most hearty wished, by  
SIR, Your most Obedient Humble Servant, N. TATE.   

THE PREFACE.  
THE Tale in the First Canto of this Poem, was taken (as Romantic as it may seem) from the Chinese History, and, with very modest Fiction, accommodated to my Subject; to make the Discovery and Production of the TEA-TREE more wonderful and surprising. Which, being in itself of most admirable Virtues, and certainly One of the greatest Blessings of Nature, I may as well suppose it to have been Miraculously Produced, as Fracastorius his West-Indian Tree, which his Poem tells us was Deûm manibus Sata, Semine Sacro.  
And for my introducing the Deities in the Second Canto, 'tis according to Petr. Arbiter's per Ambages & Deorum Ministeria praecipitandus liber Spiritus— I had as much Right for Interesting Them in this Sovereign Plant, as the forementioned Fracastorius and Thorius for Those They Celebrated.  
The Delicacy of the Subject obliged me to treat it with some Gaiety and Embellishment of Fancy, but especially with Decency, to make the Poem (like the Nepenthe on which 'tis writ) an Entertainment for the Ladies.  
If there be any Art or Beauty in the Piece, they will be found by Persons of Judgement; and if I have not the Fortune to please Them, I am not solicitous for pleasing any Others.   

On our English Poetry, and this Poem upon TEA.  

SEE Spanish Carderon in Strength outdone:  
And see the Prize of Wit from Tasso won:  
See Corneil's Skill and Decency Refined;  
See Rapin's Art, and Molier's Fire, Outshined;  
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, Judgement, Tate, in thee combine.  
Thy powerful Genius thus, from Censure's Frown  
And Envy's Blast, in Flourishing Renown,  
Supports our British Muses Verdant Crown.  
Nor only takes a Trusty laureate's Care,  
Lest Thou the Muse's Garland mightst impair;  
But, more Enriched, the Chaplet to Bequeath,  
With Eastern TEA joined to the Lawrel-Wreath.   R. B.  

To the AUTHOR on his Poem upon TEA.  
LET Rustic satire, now, no more Abuse,  
In rude Unskilful Strains, thy Tuneful Muse;  
No more let Envy lash thy truebred Steed,  
Nor cross thy easy, just, and prudent Speed:  
Who dexterously dost bear, or lose 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 
* Canto II.  Skies aspires;  
While Vanquished Envy the bold Flight admires,  
And baffled satire 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 would Mysterious Truths rehearse;  
On soaring Wings of Contemplation rise,  
And fetch discoveries from above the Skies;  
Etherial TEA your Notions will resine,  
Till you yourselves become almost Divine.   

You Statesmen, who in Storms the Public Helm  
Would 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 listening 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,  
Would you, like Aesculapius' Self, Prescribe,  
Cure Maladies, and Maladies prevent?—  
Receive this Plant from your own Phoebus sent;  
Whence Life's nice Lamp in Temper is maintained,  
When Dim, Recruited; when too fierce, restrained.   

You Curious Souls, who all your Thoughts apply,  
The hidden Works of Nature to descry;  
Why veering Winds with varied Motion blow,  
Why Seas in settled Courses Ebb and Flow;  
Would 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, skulking in their Cells, display.   

You that to Isis' Bank, or Cam retreat,  
Would 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 famed Castalian Spring.   

Would you, O Musics Sons, your Art complete,  
And all its ancient Miracles repeat,  
Rouse reveling Monarches into Martial Rage,  
And, when Inflamed, with Softer Notes assuage;  
The tedious Hours of absent Love beguile,  
Charm Care asleep, and make Affliction Smile?  
Carouse in TEA, that will your Souls inspire;  
Drink Phoebus' Liquor, and command his Lyre.   

Sons of Apelles, would you draw the Face  
And Shape of Venus, and with equal Grace  
In some Elysian Field the Figure place?  
Your Fancy, warmed by TEA, with wished 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 cheerful Lays, or sweet Condoling Strains;  
Or with a Sonnet make the Valleys ring,  
To Welcome home the Goddess of the Spring:  
Or would you in sublimer Themes engage,  
And sing of Worthies who Adorn the Age?  
Or, with Promethean Boldness, would aspire  
To catch a Spark of that Celestial Fire  
That Crowned the 
† Mr. Montague's incomparable Poem on His Majesty's Victory at the Boyn.  Royal Conquest, and could raise  
Juverne's Boyn above 
* Where Homer's Trojans and Grecians Fought.  Scamander's Praise?  
Drink, drink Inspiring TEA, and boldly draw,  
A Hercules, a Mars, or a NASSAU.    

A POEM UPON TEA.  
In Two CANTOS.  

CANTO I.  

BY Avon's Stream (the Muse's calm Retreat)  
Palaemon lived in his unenvied Seat,  
None better knew, or practised, in his Cell  
The chaste Delights that with Retirement dwell.  
And thus confined to Safety's humble Sphere,  
Desiring Little, had not Much to fear;  
Was neither Fortune's Envy, nor her Sport;  
Free from the servile Arts of Town or Court,  
The nauseous Task, that generous Souls contemn,  
Of Knaves Caresses, and Caressing them.   

Yet (whether Novelty his Fancy fired,  
Or some Diviner Power the Thought inspired,)  
Through Foreign Climates he resolved to roam,  
And view those Wonders which he read at home.  
Most strict Survey in every Realm he made  
Of Men and Manners, Policy and Trade;  
But none he found, his gentle Soul to please,  
Like the Refined and Civilised Chinese.   

Rich in Improvements of his well-spent Time,  
The Bard returns to his own Native Clime:  
The Neighbouring Shepherds, who his Absence mourned,  
Visit with Joy their wand'ring Friend returned.  
Short Salutation past, he feasts their Eyes  
With pleasing View of Eastern Rarities.  
Nature and Art's choice Gift, the Goa-stone,  
With Plants and Herbs to Western Swains unknown.  
Yet, more surprised, they found their Senses cheered,  
Soon as the Verdant fragrant TEA appeared;  
It's Nature, Use, confusedly they demand,  
What Name it bore? The Product of what Land?  
'Twill Time require to have at full expressed  
(The Bard replied) what you in haste request.  
Come to my Bower, and I'll inform you there,  
What curious Souls must needs be pleased to hear.   

He said, and with his willing Guests withdrew,  
Where a new Scene of Wonders charmed their View;  
On burning Lamps a Silver Vessel placed,  
A Table with surprising Figures graced,  
And China-Bowls to feast their Sight and Taste:  
The Genial Liquor, decently poured out,  
To the admiring Guests is dealt about.  
Scarce had they drank a first and second Round,  
When the warm Nectar's pleasing Force they found,  
About their Heart enlivened Spirits danced,  
Then to the Brains sublimer Seat advanced.  
(Such Transport feel young Prophets when they Dream.  
Or Poets slumbering by Pirene's Stream.)  
With silent Wonder mutually they Trace  
Bright Joys reflected on each other's Face.  
Then thus the Bard— Fear no Circaean Bowls,  
This is the Drink of Health, the Drink of Souls!  
The Virtues This, and This the Graces quaff,  
Like Nectar cheerful, like Nepenthe safe.  
Not such the Plant which Bacchus first did nurse,  
heavens Blessing changed by Mortals to their Curse  
Ah Syren-Pleasure, to Destruction turned!  
Ah woeful Mirth to be for ever Mourned!  
How much more blest—  
You Swains who drink, with Birds, the running Spring,  
And Innocent, like them, like them can sing.  
Another Round— Then, if your Patience hold,  
I shall the Charming History unfold,  
How this rare Plant at first Divinely sprung,  
Nor shall its sovereign Virtues rest unsung,  
For which our Phoebus oft his Harp has strung.   

While the Chinese remained a Virtuous Breed,  
From Western Vices and Distempers freed;  
Or but with common Maladies were grieved,  
Which common Plants of Nature's Field relieved;  
TEA was not sprung— reserved by friendly Fate,  
For last Distress of China's suffering State.  
Whose Griefs and wondrous Cure I shall recite,  
A Tale that may your Patience well requite.   

When KI, a Name through Eastern Climes accursed,  
(Last of his Race, of wicked Kings the First)  
Profaned the Throne, illboding Signs foreran,  
And dreadful Prodigies his Reign began;  
His monstrous Reign, which justly you may call  
The most amazing Prodigy of All.  
Discarding all the Sages of the Realm,  
Rash unexperienced Youth he sets at Helm:  
Till now, from all its ancient Frame estranged,  
The Government into a Farce was changed.  
Buffoons the Empire's Grand Affairs debate,  
And Jesters are the Councillors of State.  
Pert, smatt'ring Youngsters Judges of the Land,  
And dressing Fops the Martial Troops command,  
Those for Companion-Fav'rites he admits.  
Who had for Pleasure most inventive Wits:  
These Prodigals engross the Monarch's Hours,  
In reveling Grottoes, and voluptuous Bowers:  
A Province must be Taxed when e'er they Dine,  
In Essences they roll, and bath in Pools of Wine.   

This soft Contagion, in the Palace bred,  
From Court to Town, from Town to Country spread.  
Old Discipline through China's Empire fails,  
And upstart Riot like a Plague prevails;  
Expensive Idleness, for frugal Pains,  
In every City, every Village reigns:  
Whence Poverty, Fraud, Rapine did ensue,  
And these attended with a swarming Crew  
Of dire Diseases, like their Vices, New.   

But China's Nobles, the discarded Race  
Who still did injured Virtue's 'Cause embrace;  
With conscious silence could no longer view  
At once their Country's Shame and Ruin too.   

An ancient Mandarine, wise, pious, just,  
Who long had foremost served in Public Trust,  
First Minister in prosperous Days of State,  
Advances first against the Public Fate:  
With reverend Aspect, and with solemn Grace,  
He represents the Empire's wretched Case,  
And reprimands the Tyrant to his Face.  
The fiery Monarch (with a Javelin snatched  
And through his kind Adviser's Throat dispatched)   

Cries,—  
— Formal grave Buffoon your Counsels wrong,  
And like your senseless Life spun out too long,  
I cut 'em short— harranguing Dotard go—  
The Ghosts have leisure— talk the rest below.   

Now Swains receive a Story strange and true,  
And with Amazement let Fame listen too,  
Of Grecian Worthies her stolen Names give over,  
And boast of Roman Gallantry no more:  
Hear greater Miracles of Honour, done  
Beneath the Influence of the Rising Sun.  
But ah! this Eastern Glory to allay,  
The changing Scene must frantic Vice display;  
Such Pomp of Luxury as ne'er was seen  
'Twixt reveling Anthony and Egypt's Queen.   

While weltering in his Gore one Patriot lies,  
Another Chief the Tragic Part supplies,  
And in the Prologue of his Story dies,  
A Third, scarce entered on the bloody Stage,  
A Victim falls to Arbitrary Rage;  
Yet boldly to the desperate Charge succeed  
A Fourth and Fifth, who, like the former, Bleed.  
The Sixth, as if to triumph o'er his Fate,  
Placing his Hearse before the Palace-Gate,  
Rushes into the Slaughter-Room of State,   

Then thus the Tyrant,— Dull aspiring Fool,  
Who like a Pedant comest thy Prince to School,  
Thou wouldst be Chronicled, and have thy Name  
Distinguished from thy Brother-Fools of Fame,  
Recorded to have braved thy Monarch's Doom,  
And then retire, with State, into thy Tomb.  
But know, thy Plot for Glorious Death is vain,  
Nor shall that Hearse a traitor's Corpse contain;  
A Feast for savage Beasts thou shalt be made—  
And who dare next their Sovereign's Peace invade,  
In wretched Torture shall their Treason rue;  
And from the lingering Rack and Gaunches, view  
Their Sons to speedier Execution led;  
To vilest Slaves their Wives and Daughters wed.   

This Sentence past, like an Infernal Charm,  
Honour and Courage did at once disarm;  
Stunned with the Sound, and Thunderstruck, they yield  
To lawless Vice the execrable Field.   

Now Banquets, Music, Masques and Mimic Sport  
Are all the Business of th' Imperial Court;  
From which the Monarch never did remove,  
But to the dearer Solaces of Love.  
In every Passion of his roving Mind  
A Libertine, but in Amour confined:  
Amira was the first who found the Art  
At once to conquer and enslave his Heart.  
One Evening when the wanton Zephyrs Played,  
Reposed beneath the Myrtle's amorous shade,  
All ravished in his loved Amira's Arms  
(Brighter than Venus in her newborn Charms.)  
The Monarch sighed and said, Ah fading joy!  
Why should the Transports cease that never cloy?  
Why are those Eyes, than Stars more heavenly bright,  
Condemned to shine with Temporary Light?  
Ah! might their lovely Lustre ever blaze,  
As on their Glories I could ever gaze!  
Must all this Bloom be nipped with Death's cold shade!  
Why should these Lilies, why these Roses fade?  
Why should th' Elysian Spring for ever last,  
And Thine be doomed to Fate's untimely Blast?  
These pensive Thoughts, like Furies, haunt my Rest;  
These Harpy-Guests my Feast of Love molest.   

The Queen, her weening Lover to beguile;  
(A Trickling Tear dissembling with a Smile)  
Replies, Tho' envious Fates your Wish deny,  
We may forget that we shall ever Die;  
Our Life to unmolested Pleasure give,  
And, while the Scene lasts, like Immortals live.   

Erect a Palace (than the Sun's more bright)  
Immured from Day, but with more radiant Light  
Of ever-blazing Lamps and Tapers decked,  
And sparkling Gems the Lustre to reflect.  
Where Change of Seasons we shall never see,  
To read us Lectures of Mortality.  
Grief be excluded from that happy Sphere,  
And Pleasures only have Admittance there;  
Which trusty favourites, (to secure their sway  
Abroad) shall Thither in full Tides convey.  
Of Empire you shall thus enjoy the Spoil,  
The Fruit, for which your Royal Vassals toil.  
The Pride of Nature there shall charm your Sight,  
Her richest Luxury your Taste invite.  
Earth's scattered Blessings shall together meet,  
And lie in smiling Heaps before your Feet.  
There Fountain-springs through artful Pipes shall move  
With all the Music of the Spheres above,  
To charm our Slumbers in the Bower of Love.  
Thus from the Cares of lower Empire free,  
Blessed, like the First, shall our new Eden be,  
Where I to You, You all the World to Me.   

The Monarch, to indulge the pleasing Cheat,  
With vast Expense builds this Enchanted Seat;  
Where the fond Pair, from Vulgar Mortal's sight  
With chosen Minions, hid themselves in Light.   

The Provinces to Villains Hands assigned,  
Now, for one Tyrant lost, a thousand find;  
While he absconds, his lewd trusties of Power,  
The bleeding Vitals of the State devour,  
What Riot wastes with Rapine they supply,  
And Rapine drained, to Sacrilege they fly.  
The Country's Tillage, and the City's Trade  
Exhausted, they the Temple's Rights invade;  
Whose injured Powers, with just Resentment fired,  
Discarded Chiefs with equal Rage inspired,  
Who, followed by a small but zealous Train,  
In thin Batallion muster on the Plain.   

To head their numerous Troops the Viceroys Arm,  
But quit the Field on Danger's first Alarm;  
With their Beau-Captains— All more Courtly Bred  
Than to Desert their Generals when they Fled.   

Mean while their Troops in Marshaled Order stand,  
But know not how to Charge without Command;  
'Twixt Shame and Rage, Disdaining and Amazed,  
With silent Looks they on each other gazed.  
The Adverse Party stand in like Suspense,  
To show they took not Arms but for Defence.  
Till now both Hosts, for Public Good combine,  
And, tho' they met as Foes, as Friends they join.   

This Revolution, on the Wings of Fame,  
To the Fantastic Lover's Palace came;  
Whose Fairy-Joys transformed to dismal Fright,  
They quit their Mansion of perpetual Light,  
To sculk in Caves and thickest shades of Night.   

The conscious Prince from Empire thus retired,  
And all besides of Royal Race expired,  
The Mandarins assemble, to create  
A Monarch, to Reform and Rule the State.  
On Others Merits freely they enlarge,  
But for Himself each Chief declines the Charge;  
O Piety of unexampled strain,  
All, for their Country's good, prepared to drain  
Their Vital Blood, yet none consent to Reign!   

The Lot decides; and straight the gen'ral Voice  
With loud Applause approves of Fortune's choice,  
The worthy Heir of him who did engage,  
And fell first Victim to the Tyrant's Rage.   

Thus China's Realms their Ancient Form regained;  
Their Vices cured; but their Diseases reigned;  
Their Minds restored, but still their Bodies pined,  
Where dying Luxury left Stings behind;  
Whose Smart, inflamed by Vengeance from above,  
Too obstinate for Human Help did prove.  
Consumption, Dropsy, Racking Gout and Stone,  
(Till then to happy Eastern Climes unknown)  
All Maladies that could on Nature fall,  
With Spleen that feels, or thinks it feels 'em All.  
They Sigh all Day, and Nightly Vigils keep,  
To shun the Terrors of distracted Sleep.  
In City's dear Society and Trade,  
In Field the Tillage and the Vintage fade;  
The Shepherd's Pipe forlorn beside him laid.  
In vain the Sick to Art or Nature fly,  
While Sick as they, both Art and Nature lie.   

The Wretches now to every Temple press  
In sighing Crowds, not to implore Redress,  
But own the Justice of their Doom, and crave  
The Favour only of a speedy Grave.  
Which modest Penitence that Mercy drew,  
For which the poor Delinquents durst not sue.   

The Solemn Day approached, when China's Court  
Must to the Great Confucius Cell resort;  
The Cave in which the Hermit (long retired)  
Compiled those Laws which Sacred Powers inspired  
With Angel-Visits only entertained;  
And in his Desert wondrously Sustained,  
Where no Relief of Plant or Herb was found,  
Nor Spire of Grass through all the barren Ground.   

In Solemn Progress, by Devotion drawn,  
The Pious King prevents the early Dawn;  
Leads the Procession, and advancing near,  
Beholds the Sun and Cell at once appear.  
But how Surprised to find the Desert Ground,  
With new-sprung Plants of lovely Verdure Crowned;  
There bloomed the SOUMBLO, there Imperial TEA,  
(Names then unknown) and Sanative BOHE;  
All deemed, in Honour to the Prophet's Shrine,  
Produced, with Virtues, like their Birth, Divine,  
And sent a timely Cure of Public Grief;  
Experience soon Confirming that Belief.   

Thus far Tradition, which I oft have heard  
By Eastern Priests, as Oracles, Averred.   

Next, how their Poets sing (in bolder Verse)  
The VIRTUES of this Plant— I shall rehearse  
How happily their Art they have Expressed,  
With useful Truth in pleasing Fable dressed;  
That sickly Mortals, by the Tempting Lure  
Of Fiction, may be drawn to certain CURE.   
The End of the First Canto   

CANTO II.  

WHen first Apollo, in Celestial Bowers,  
Treated with fragrant Tea, th' immortal Powers,  
(That more than Nectar and Nepenthe pleased)  
The Goddesses with such Delight were seized;  
They fell to Strife about the foreign Tree,  
Who should its Patroness and Guardian be:  
At last the Competition was referred  
To be before the Gods in Council heard;  
Who Summoned, at Jove's Palace now were met,  
And high above the rest the thunderer set.   

First JUNO thus, with haughty State, addressed,  
And Looks that angry Majesty expressed,  
Which, e'er she spoke, the Queen of Heaven confessed;   

" Let such impose upon their Judge's sense,  
" Sue Favour, who to Right have no Pretence;  
" With soothing Arts of Language strive to please:  
" I come not here to Plead, but Claim and Seize:  
" Right I demand; and Deities, I know,  
" Will do me Right— for, Gods I'll have it so.  
" Shall Subject Goddesses with me contend?  
" When once Imperial juno shall descend  
" To Competition, Empire's at an End.  
" Shall Royal Juno's Claim be disallowed  
" To Tea? with sovereign Properties endowed,  
" And Queen of Plants by Native Right allowed.  
" Let that aspiring Goddess, who shall dare  
" Here to Usurp my Patronage and Care,  
" Pretend with me the thunderer's Bed to share.  
" The Rival of my Bed, and what I prise  
" Moore Dear, my Throne, and Empire of the Skies.  
" Speak jove, decide, e'er it gins, this Strife;  
" Respect the Empress, tho' you 'Slight the Wise.  
" Assert, in Mine, your Own Celestial State:  
" jove, let us Reign, or let us Abdicate.  
" Once to Immortals this Example show,  
" What will your Stubborn Mortals do Below?  
" Already grown Impatient of our Yoke,  
" For seldom now we see our Altar's Smoke;  
" With sparing Hands They offer from the Store  
" Our Bounty lends, and grudgingly Adore:  
" But from our Shrines entirely will Remove,  
" Till Government is better fixed Above,  
" And till convinced—  
" That I am juno still, and you are jove.  
" O jupiter, a Monarch's Sway maintain;  
" And show the doubting World that you deserve to Reign.   

Saturnia Thus— whose Eyes, as she withdrew  
Disdainful Fire back on th' Assembly threw;  
Which through the Presence awful Terror struck;  
And on his Throne the very thunderer shook.   

MINERVA next, with stately Mien, advanced;  
Her crested Plume in waving Lustre danced,  
And Lightning from her burnished Helmet glanced.  
Delightful Terror in her Aspect played,  
While Thus, with awful Grace, the Goddess said.   

" If Merit must to Majesty give place,  
" Immortals are in Mortals wretched Case,  
" And Vassals we, tho' of Celestial Race:  
" Let Nature in this Claim your Council Guide;  
" Since she for public Use this Plant supplied,  
" Let Public Use, ye Gods, the Cause decide.  
" If by that Precedent you shall Decree,  
" The Prize must fall to my Learned Sons and Me.  
" Why should I our known Services repeat?  
" In Athens Name your Justice I entreat.  
" Or if my Plea of Athens you disclaim,  
" Regard my Offspring more endeared to Fame,  
" My greater Sons of Isis and of Cam.  
" Think how of Life the Pleasures they resign,  
" To delve, for Public good, in Learning's Mine.  
" O Gods, is't thus you treat industrious Wit?  
" That does whole Years in brooding Study Sat,  
" From early Dawn till Day forsakes the Sky,  
" And Midnight Lamps the absent Sun supply.  
" O why should they, with Chemic Patience, wait  
" Their Work's Perfection, to enrich the State?  
" Of Ancient Arts the craggy Ruins climb,  
" And backward tread the painful Steps of Time,  
" Their Senses with long Contemplation wrought  
" To Element, their Bodies pined to Thought,  
" If you this cheap Relief to Souls deny  
" Who with Promethean Fire Mankind supply,  
" To make those Sons of Clay the God's Allies,  
" And justify their Kindred to the Skies.   

She paused, and frowned, with such a dreadful Grace,  
As when she charges on the Plains of Thrace.  
Then thus renews her Plea—   

" Nature for Students this Regale designed,  
" Inventions Fountain to repay in Kind,  
" The vast expenses of their generous Mind.  
" Till the spent Soil shall fresh Ideas yield,  
" And new Plantations stock wide Fancy's Field.  
" From this Pirene, this Castalian Spring,  
" Exclude the Muses, And what Muse will sing?  
" And when no Poet will vouchsafe to write,  
" What hardy Hero will vouchsafe to fight.  
" 'Tis Tea sustains, Tea only can inspire  
" The Poet's Flame, that feeds the Hero's Fire.   

Her Voice and Mien such deep impression struck,  
The Goddess read Consent in every Look.  
Till VENUS, (from her Chariot drawn by Doves,  
Surrounded by a Troop of smiling Loves)  
Unveiled the milder Glories of her Face,  
With Native Charms, and every studied Grace:  
Which, from her haughty Rivals, heretofore,  
On Ida's Mount, the Prize of Beauty bore.  
Nor doubts she, with the same resistless Smile,  
The Gods, as then the Shepherd to beguile.  
With lovely Pride She cast her Eyes around,  
And gave with every pointed Glance a Wound.  
Which made the sternest in the Presence melt,  
And sullen Saturn feel what Paris felt.  
Thus she advanced; and, while she urged her Plea,  
She looked and breathed the fragrant Soul of Tea,   

" In Beauty's Cause I sue— can Gods despise  
" A Blessing Mortals have the Sense to Prize?  
" Tho' in your Looks I read a Senate's Awe,  
" (How else should you the Public reverence draw?)  
" Yet doubt I not the stubbornest Breast to win,  
" Having so strong a Party lodged within.  
" Tho' none in open Court appears my friend,  
" I safely on your private Votes depend.  
" So shall your Goddesses and Nymphs be kind,  
" As Love and Beauty your Protection find.  
" For Beauty's sake, and her resistless Charms,  
" The desperate Soldier rushes to Alarms,  
" And for a Night of Love serves whole Campaigns in Arms.  
" To Stars the wakeful Shepherd sings his Lays,  
" Which he by day composed in Phillis Praise,  
" Hoping the Nymph he does Immortal make,  
" Will Pity on her dying Lover take.  
" Look down ye Powers, the British Ladies View,  
" See there the Effects of this Celestial Dew!  
" See there how grateful Tea, their choice Delight,  
" Its generous Patronesses does requite!  
" Sublimes their Native Charms; and makes 'em shine  
" As bright, almost, as lasting too as mine.  
" Who then but Beauty's Goddess, can pretend  
" A Title to the Plant that's Beauty's Friend?  
" To me, ye Powers, this Prize you must assign,  
" For that which thus can Beauty's Charms refine,  
" And keep them ever young, for ever should be mine.   

She said— and reassumed her Flying Chair;  
While Cupid's fan, with glossy wings, the Air,  
And Venus seemed ey'n more than Venus Fair.   

Bright CYNTHIA next appeared with solemn Grace,  
(A rosy Blush adorns her Virgin-Face)  
As from the Chase returned, her Vestments hung  
With careless Decency, her Bow unstrung,  
Her Quiver lose behind her Shoulder slung.  
High on her Front the silver Crescent blazed:  
The hushed Assembly on her Figure gazed,  
Surprised and pleased, Transported and amazed.  
Her Aspect, Stature, Movement, Shape, and Dress  
Did such Majestic Modesty express,  
As when, supported by her Forest Lance,  
Before her thousand Nymphs she does advance  
On Cynthus Top, and leads the Solemn Dance.  
Through every Breast a thrilling Pleasure ran,  
While thus the Goddess of the Groves began.   

" Love's Queen, despairing this chaste Prize to win,  
" Discreetly called the British Ladies in;  
" And if for Beauty only they excelled,  
" The Queen of Beauty's Title must have held;  
" But since they are no less for Virtue famed  
" Their Votes by me, with nobler right, are claimed.  
" If Virtue then (which British Lady's Prize  
" Above the brightest Glances of their Eyes)  
" Not quite has lost her Interest in the Skies,  
" To me you must assign the sacred Tree,  
" To me the sacred Drink of Chastity;  
" In which the Graces safely may rejoice,  
" Of Virgin Innocence the blameless Choice:  
" Then, Deities, join yours with Nature's Voice.  
" Who, with this chaste Nepenthe, would requite  
" Her Woods kind Patroness, and Queen of Night.  
" When faint with Toil, through Phoebus' scorching Beams,  
" My Nymphs and I retreat to shady Sreams,  
" Can the cold Spring a fit Refreshment be?  
" Which idle Naids drink as well as we;  
" And Dryads, who in Solitary Bowers,  
" With Sleep or Revels pass their useless Hours.  
" Let then the Forest-Tyrants safely Reign,  
" And Mountain-Savages lay waste the Plain:  
" Till Earth afford your Altars no Supplies  
" Of hallowed Fruits; no Flames of Incense rise,  
" And Moonless Nights affright your guilty Skies.   

She ceased; and Terror through the Presence struck,  
Resuming now the same resenting Look,  
As in her Bathing-Fountain when surprised,  
Luckless Actaeon's Error she chastisd.  
Then with a smile (as when she does unshroud  
Her Lustre, starting from a sullen Cloud)  
In milder Accents thus—  
" No! Sacred Powers, for Cynthia to mistrust  
" Her Merit or your Honour, were unjust!  
" It must not, cannot be! (hence idle Fears!)  
" I still shall Guard your Earth, and Gilled your Spheres.  
" My Cause no Competition can admit,  
" Where Virtue pleads, and Gods in Council sit.   

Diana thus— and, with her Sylvan Train  
Of Nymphs attended, mounts her Starry Wain.   

Scarce had the Court recovered this Surprise,  
When a new Scene of Glory charmed their Eyes;  
While THETIS and her Nereids they descried,  
Adorned in all the Ocean's glittering Pride;  
Bright Shells and Gems, that with reflected Fire  
Startled the Skies, and made the Stars retire.  
Delightful Wonder all th' Assembly seized;  
But Neptune even to Ecstasy seemed pleased,  
Who now displayed the same Pacifick Face  
That hushed the Storm, and saved the Trojan Race.  
In gentle Symphony the Nereids sung  
To twisted Shells, on which the Tritons rung  
Loud Peals, that to th' Olympian Confines ran,  
While thus the Goddess of the Seas began.   

" 'Tis I that rule your watery World below;  
" To Mortals I the Arts of Commerce show,  
" To me your Albion does her Glory owe.  
" By Me her Fleets to Eastern Climates run,  
" And spread their Wings beneath the rising Sun.  
" Thus your Augusta's floating Grandeurs shown  
" On Seas and Shores to Ancient Fame unknown;  
" While Rome, the World's famed Mistress she excels,  
" As far as Thames above the Tiber swells.  
" Both Her's and Nature's Empire I sustain,  
" By Correspondence 'twixt her Earth and Main:  
" Her Tributary Streams, to me conveyed,  
" In just recruits are carefully repaid:  
" Those Pastures where her Flocks and Herds are Bred,  
" Themselves are from my Bounty clothed and fed.  
" The Plant and Nymph, whose happy Nuptials give  
" This Newfound Nectar, by my Bounty live;  
" From my fresh Stores the Nymph her cooling Dew,  
" And from my Salts the Plant his 
* Sal Volatile.  Vigour drew.  
" When, deep in Briny Cells, my Nymphs and I  
" The Business of your Ocean-Empire ply,  
" Gods! Can you then this fresh Regale deny?  
" Is't thus you treat the Goddess of the Sea,  
" With Oozy Brine?—  
" When happy Nymphs at Land rejoice in Tea?  
" Of all the Rarities our Waves convey,  
" Give us but This, our Service you repay:  
" Else from their dens your prisoned Winds release,  
" Let Seas and Skies no longer be at Peace,  
" Destructive Tempests reign, and useful Traffic cease.   

Thus Thetis, and resumes her Crystal Wain,  
As when, surrounded by her Ocean-Train,  
She rides in Triumph o'er the wondering Main.   

To Crown the Scene HEALTH's Goddess last appears,  
Who cheerfully her Sanguine Aspect rears;  
Fresh as the Spring, when by Celestial showers  
To Earth invited, from Elysian Bowers:  
Her sprightly looks the pleased Assembly drew;  
While Spicy Zephyrs hovering round her flew,  
And Odours, sweeter than Ambrosia, threw.  
Attended by a Troop of Nymphs and Swains,  
The Pride of Nature, Glory of the Plains;  
The Youths, like Oaken Plants, all sternly Gay,  
The Nymphs all Fair, and Mild as blooming May,  
Then with an Air, that vital warmth displayed,  
And healthful Fragrancy, the Goddess said—   

" Celestial Powers, this Rural Tribe survey;  
" You have no Votaries so sincere as They!  
" When Earth of your Astraea was bereavest,  
" Amongst these the Goddess her last Footsteps left.  
" If Venus' Plea this awful Court can move,  
" Her Cupids are not better versed in Love:  
" Or if Diana's Title may be passed,  
" They plead her Merit, for their Loves are chaste  
" But 'tis not for their sakes I chief sue,  
" Who Health enjoy without your healing Dew;  
" For they from Nature's Cup, the Crystal Spring,  
" With Birds contentedly can Drink and Sing.  
" But far, O far unlike to these, a Throng  
" Of wretched Mortals to my Charge belong;  
" Who with tormenting restless Sickness grieved,  
" About my Altar languish, Unrelieved:  
" O, for their Suffering sakes, in pity grant  
" This Panacea, this Reviving Plant;  
" Relieve their Mis'ry, or revoke their Breath;  
" Give 'em the Drink of Health, or give 'em Death!   

Thus Salus urged her Charitable Plea,  
That soon had Crowned her Patroness of Tea:  
But Fiend Allecto, in a Nymph's Disguise,  
(Grudging the Sickly Earth so Rich a Prize)  
Amongst the Goddesses fresh Discord threw,  
Which into Parties the Convention drew;  
Mars swaggered, Aeol blustered, Neptune raged,  
Whom jove with louder Thunder scarce assuaged.   

SOMNUS, whom Tea's delicious Fume had charmed  
With golden Visions, by the Din alarmed,  
Starts up; and, with a Look surprising Gay,  
To sudden Pleasure turned the sudden Fray.  
Pleased, as a Prophet, from his Dream he work,  
And, like a Prophet, Thus, in Rapture spoke—   

" O Glorious Prospect! such delightful Fields  
" Elysium nor our own Olympus yields.  
" O Sacred Streams and Bowers! O Fragrant Seats,  
" Of Elemental Joys the calm Retreats!  
" Come wretched Mortals, in this Nectar steep  
" Your weary Souls, and charm your Cares to Sleep.  
" That, while the pleasing slumber lasts, shall drown  
" Your Griefs; and with success your Wishes crown.  
" That every dismal Object shall remove,  
" And your Desires to Ecstasy improve.  
" What e'er you want or wish, in Dreams is brought,  
" (By Tea inspired) before your ravished Thought;  
" Visions of Wealth the poor Man's Wants beguile;  
" The hopeless Lover sees his Mistress smile:  
" The Voyager, for some rich Coast designed,  
" Spreads all his Sail, and runs afore the Wind,  
" The Pleader, Soldier, Poet, fierce and warm,  
" Set boldly in, and wondrously perform:  
" Thus Human Life, in cruel Fate's despite,  
" May have its Sorrows chequered with delight,  
" And if such Bliss can Mortal Sense employ,  
" What Transport, Deities, must you enjoy!  
" For sure, when sprightly Tea and Fancy join  
" Their Wondrous Powers, the Work must be Divine.  
" How rich the Figures! how surprising bright!  
" Wrought on the sable Curtains of the Night.   

This strange Discovery both surprised the Gods,  
And set the Goddesses again at Odds;  
Whilst, to secure the Quiet of the Skies,  
The Thunderer once more was forced to rise.   

A Plant that can so many Virtues boast,  
He judged too rich a Prize to be Ingross'd;  
And to no single Goddess Lot should fall,  
That merited the Patronage of All:  
Therefore, at once to silence all their Pleas,  
And yet Oblige his Female Deities;  
In Common grants what they did singly claim;  
And straight gives Orders for the Trump of Fame  
To sound aloud, That 
* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  GODDESS was its Name.   
FINIS.    

THE TEA-TABLE.  

HAil Queen of Plants, Pride of Elysian Bowers!  
How shall we speak thy complicated Powers?  
Thou Wondrous Panacea, to assuage  
The Calentures of Youth's 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 Healths, our Own confound:  
Whilst TEA, our Sorrows safely to beguile,  
Sobriety and Mirth does reconcile:  
For to this Nectar we the Blessing own,  
To grow more Wise, as we more cheerful grow.  
Whilst Fancy does her brightest Beams dispense,  
And decent Wit diverts without Offence.  
Then in Discourse of Nature's mystic Powers  
And Noblest Themes, we pass the well-spent Hours.  
Whilst all around the Virtues Sacred Band,  
And listening Grace's pleased Attendants stand.  
Thus our Tea-Conversation we employ,  
Where, with Delight, Instruction we enjoy;  
Quaffing, without the waste of Time or Wealth,  
The sovereign Drink of Pleasure and of Health.    

POSTSCRIPT.  
MY Copy falling short, and the Printer ask, What should be done with the following Pages? I bethought me of some Civilities for which I stood indebted to our Critick-Poets, without any Recognizance, from me, of their Favours.  
Therefore (without questioning their Authority, or who made them Judges in Parnassus) I shall here say something, not for Defence, but, lest my Silence be taken for Contempt of the Court.  
Some have Censured me for a Cold Writer; but 
* Epistle concerning Poetry.  One of 'em with the favourable Allowance, That I have in Justness what I want in Fire.  
Another (in his Poetical Circuit some Years since) Doomed me, without Mercy, for 
† Mourning Muse.  A Slave to Sense, and Cautious to a Fault.  
Now I must ingenuously confess, That I pretend to no more Fire than consists with Justness: That I am a Slave to Sense (without any thoughts of changing my Master) and Caution is a Fault I shall never mend.  
So that I must humbly content myself with Admiring those Gentlemen who set up for Bold Writers, and deserve the Character, by venturing so hard for it, even beyond the Regions of Sense.  
Happy Season, when Wit and Criticism are come to their Meridian!  
Quintilian was a musty old Pedant, and would have been posed with our new Figures of Speech— justness without Fire— Slavery to Sense, etc. 
† But what if this was designed for Compliment? The Complainants having had my Slavish sense and Caution at their Service, when very much Wanted.   
His was a dull Age of Correctness, unacquainted with our Elevation, Sublime Conceits and Expression, beyond the reach of common Capacity.  
'Tis part of a Modern Character, (no less famous for his Wit than Chivalry) that he scorned to say any thing in a Vulgar way, and 
— Ne'er did open  
His Mouth, but out there flew a Trope.  Hudib.  
The Reader must pardon me this Trifling, 'tis paying Nonsense in its Own Coin; and if you would have better from me, you must stay till Wit comes in— as than you may depend on me, sufficient 
* ●a●r against 〈◊〉.  Authors (City Security) having vouched for my Honesty.  
In good Earnest, 'tis high time for the Fraternity to return to their Senses; they have so long Ridiculed One Another, till the Men, that had some Wit, are become Diversion for them that have None.  
'Tis Pity but their Quarrels were over, if only for leisure to think what they Quarrelled about, that is, Poetry— which, however worthy of Great and Wise Men, as a Recreation, yet 'tis Business and Employment only for the Unfortunate.  
Such as are too far engaged, must take their Chance; but Others would do well to consider the present State of the Muses in our Nation; where Zoilus' swarm, and Mecaenas' are so Few, that 'tis even shame and pity to see their Generosity so overcharged.  
I would not be thought to Disparage a Faculty, to which I have done so little Credit: 'Tis noble Service— but, fit for Volunteers, who can be upon their own Subsistence; and long to show their Parts.  
FINIS.