EDWIN'S PILLS, &c, SONG

Such beauties in view, I Can never praise too high; Not Pallas's blue eye Is brighter than thine. Not fount of Susannah, Nor gold of fair Dana, Nor moon of Diana, So clearly can shine! Not beard of Silenus, Nor tresses of Venus. I swear by Quae Genus! With your's can compare; Not Hermes' Caduces, Nor flower-de-luces, Nor all the Nine Muses, To me is so fair. What posies, And roses, To noses Discloses Your breath all so sweet! To the tip Of your lip, As they trip, The bees dip, Honey sip, Like choice flip, And their hybla forget. When girls like you pass us, I saddle Pegassus, And ride up Parnassus, To Helicon's stream: Even that is a puddle, Where others may muddle; My nose let me fuddle In bowls of your cream; Old Jove, the great Hector, May tipple his Nectar, Of Gods the director, And thunder above: I'd quaff off a full can As Bacchus or Vulcan, Or Jove the old bull can, To her that I love. —What posies, &c.