Poem by Edmund Waller

On Tea

Venus her myrtle, Phoebus has her bays;
Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise.
The best of Queens, and best of herbs, we owe
To that bold nation, which the way did show
To the fair region where the sun doth rise,
Whose rich productions we so justly prize.
The Muse's friend, tea does our fancy aid,
Repress those vapors which the head invade,
And keep the palace of the soul serene,
Fit on her birthday to salute the Queen. 

1. The Self Banished
2. Of My Lady Isabella Playing on the Lute
3. To a Lady Singing a Song of His Composing
4. At Penshurst
5. To One Married to an Old Man

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