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Than grenadoes, torpedoes, or warlike affairs.
Each chest is a boomshell thrown into our town,
To shatter repute and bring character down.
Ye Samquas, ye Chinquas, ye Chonquas so free,
Who discharge on our coasts your cursed quantums of tea,
Oh! think as ye waft the sad weed from your strand,
Of the plagues and vexations ye deal to our land.
As the Upas' dread breath, o'er the plain where it flies,
Empoisons and blasts each green blade that may rise,
So wherever the leaves of your shrub find their way,
The social affectations soon suffer decay:
Like Java's drear waste they embarran the heart,
Till the blossoms of love and friendsip depart.
Ah, ladies, and was it by heaven design'd
That ye should be merciful, loving and kind
