Of New Similes

My passion is as mustard strong; I sit all sober sad; Drunk as a piper all day long, Or like a March-hare mad.

Round as a hoop the bumpers flow; I drink, yet can't forget her; For though as drunk as David's sow I love her still the better.

Pert as a pear-monger I'd be, If Molly were but kind; Cool as a cucumber could see The rest of womankind.

Like a stuck pig I gaping stare, And eye her o'er and o'er; Lean as a rake, with sighs and care, Sleek as a mouse before.

Plump as a partridge was I known, And soft as silk my skin; My cheeks as fat as butter grown, But as a goat now thin!

I melancholy as a cat, Am kept awake to weep; But she, insensible of that, Sound as a top can sleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or stone, She laughs to see me pale; And merry as a grig is grown, And brisk as bottled ale.

The god of Love at her approach Is busy as a bee; Hearts sound as any bell or roach, Are smit and sigh like me.

Ah me! as thick as hops or hail The fine men crowd about her; But soon as dead as a door-nail Shall I be, if without her.

Straight as my leg her shape appears, O were we join'd together! My heart would be scot-free from cares, And lighter than a feather.

As fine as five-pence is her mien, No drum was ever tighter; Her glance is as the razor keen, And not the sun is brighter.

As soft as pap her kisses are, Methinks I taste them yet; Brown as a berry is her hair, Her eyes as black as jet.

As smooth as glass, as white as curds Her pretty hand invites; Sharp as her needle are her words, Her wit like pepper bites.

Brisk as a body-louse she trips, Clean as a penny drest; Sweet as a rose her breath and lips, Round as the globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee, And happy as a king: Good Lord! how all men envied me! She loved like any thing.

But false as hell, she, like the wind, Chang'd, as her sex must do; Though seeming as the turtle kind, And like the gospel true.

If I and Molly could agree, Let who would take Peru! Great as an Emperor should I be, And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick, I'm dull as any post; Let us like burs together stick, And warm as any toast.

You'll know me truer than a die, And wish me better sped; Flat as a flounder when I lie, And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun she'll drop a tear And sigh, perhaps, and wish, When I am rotten as a pear, And mute as any fish.