A New SONG
OF AN
ORANGE.
To the Tune of, The PUDDING.
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GOod People come buy
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The Fruit that I cry,
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That now is in Season, tho' Winter is nigh;
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'Twill do you all good,
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And sweeten your Blood,
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I'm sure it will please when you've once understood
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'tis an Orange.
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It's Cordial Juice,
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Does much Vigour produce,
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I may well recommend it to every Mans use,
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Tho' some it quite chills,
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And with fear almost kills,
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Yet certain each Healthy Man benefit feels
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by an Orange.
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To make Claret go down,
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Sometimes there is found
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A jolly good Health, to pass pleasantly round;
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But yet, I'll protest,
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Without any Jest,
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No Flavour is better then that of the taste
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of an Orange.
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Perhaps you may think
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To Peters they Stink,
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Because from our Neighbors they'r brought over Sea
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Yet sure, 'tis presum'd,
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They may be perfum'd
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By 'th scent of good cloves, for they may be stuck
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in an Orange.
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If they'll Cure the Ayls
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In England and Wales,
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Whose Meat to their Stomachs long have not agreed,
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Since we're subject to Cast,
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Let's better the taste,
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(Still being careful lest it Curdle at last)
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with an Orange.
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Old Stories rehearse,
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In Prose and in Verse,
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How a Welsh child was found by loving of cheese
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Let Sympathy shew,
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How others can Spew,
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When once they'r brought to the hated View
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of an Orange.
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Tho' the Mobile Bawl,
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Like the Devil and all,
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For Religion, Property, Justice and Laws;
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Yet in very good sooth,
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I'll tell you the Truth,
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There nothing is better to stop a Man's Mouth
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then an Orange.
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We are certainly told,
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That by Adam of old,
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Himself and his Bearns for an Apple was sold;
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And who knows but his Son,
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By Serpents undone,
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And many besides may at last loose their own
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for an Orange.
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FINIS.
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