English poem
Lines
by Thomas Hood (1799–1845)
TO A LADY ON HER DEPARTURE FOR INDIA.
Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly, And tempests make a soda-water sea, Almost as rough as our rough Piccadilly, And think of me!
Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice,-- A wine more praised that it deserves to be: Go pass the Cape, just capable of ver-juice, And think of me!
Go where the Tiger in the darkness prowleth Making a midnight meal of he and she; Go where the Lion in his hunger howleth, And think of me!
Go where the serpent dangerously coileth, Or lies along at full length like a tree, Go where the Suttee in her own soot broileth, And think of me!
Go where with human notes the Parrot dealeth In mono-polly-logue with tongue as free, And like a woman, all she can revealeth, And think of me!
Go to the land of muslin and nankeening, And parasols of straw where hats should be, Go to the land of slaves and palankeening, And think of me!
Go to the land of Jungles and of vast hills, And tall bamboos--may none bamboozle thee! Go gaze upon their Elephants and Castles, And think of me!
Go where a cook must always be a currier, And parch the pepper’d palate like a pea, Go where the fierce musquito is a worrier, And think of me!