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Anon
(1730)
My passion is as mustard strong
(Song)
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My passion is as mustard strong
(Song)
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149331 : Anon : My passion is as mustard strong : sheet music
Catalogued as Choral - Secular (Songs and Concert Airs)
"A new song of old similies" (sic) published in John Walsh's Musical Miscellany (vol. 4), London 1730. It is interesting to observe how many similes, considered clichés at this date, have survived to the present and how many, like Morpheus, have fallen on sleep.
Lyrics: Anon
My passion is as mustard strong; I sit all sober, sad;
Drunk as a piper all day long, or, like a March hare, mad.
Round as a hoop, the bumpers flow: I drink, yet can't forget her;
For though, as drunk as David's sow, I love her still the better.
Pert as a pear-monger I'd be, if Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber, could see the rest of womankind.
Like a stuck pig, I gaping stare and eye her o'er and o'er;
Lean as a rake, with sighs and care; sleek as a mouse before.
Plump as a partridge was I known, and soft as silk my skin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown; but as a groat now thin!
I, melancholy as a cat, am kept awake to weep;
But she, insensible of that, sound as a top can sleep.
Hard is her heart as flint or stone; she laughs to see me pale;
And merry as a grig is grown, and brisk as bottled ale.
The god of love, at her approach, is busy as a bee;
Hearts, sound as any bell or roach, are smit, and sigh like me.
Ah me! as thick as hops or hail, the fine men crowd about her;
But soon as dead as a doornail shall I be, if without her.
Straight as my leg, her shape appears; Oh were we joined together!
My heart would be scot-free from cares, and lighter than a feather.
As fine as fivepence is her mien; no drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen, and not the sun is brighter.
As soft as pap her kisses are; methinks I taste them yet.
Brown as a berry is her hair; her eyes as black as jet.
As smooth as glass, as white as curds, her pretty hand invites;
Sharp as a needle are her words; her wit, like pepper, bites.
Brisk as a body-louse she trips; clean as a penny dressed;
Sweet as a rose, her face and lips; round as a globe her breast.
Full as an egg was I with glee, and happy as a king;
Good lack! how all men envied me; she loved like anything.
But false as hell, she, like the wind, changed, as her sex must do;
Though seeming, as the turtle, kind, and as the gospel true.
If I and Molly could agree, let who will take Peru!
Great as an Emp'ror I should be, and richer than a Jew.
Til you grow tender as a chick, I'm dull as any post;
Let us, like burrs together stick; as warm as any toast.
You'll know me truer than a die, and wish me better sped;
Flat as a flounder when I lie, and as a herring dead.
Sure as a gun, she'll drop a tear, and sigh perhaps and wish,
When I am rotten as a pear, and mute as any fish.
My passion is as mustard strong; I sit all sober, sad;
Drunk as a piper all day long, or, like a March hare, mad.
Round as a hoop, the bumpers flow: I drink, yet can't forget her;
For though, as drunk as David's sow, I love her still the better.
Pert as a pear-monger I'd be, if Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber, could see the rest of womankind.
Like a stuck pig, I gaping stare and eye her o'er and o'er;
Lean as a rake, with sighs and care; sleek as a mouse before.
Plump as a partridge was I known, and soft as silk my skin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown; but as a groat now thin!
I, melancholy as a cat, am kept awake to weep;
But she, insensible of that, sound as a top can sleep.
Hard is her heart as flint or stone; she laughs to see me pale;
And merry as a grig is grown, and brisk as bottled ale.
The god of love, at her approach, is busy as a bee;
Hearts, sound as any bell or roach, are smit, and sigh like me.
Ah me! as thick as hops or hail, the fine men crowd about her;
But soon as dead as a doornail shall I be, if without her.
Straight as my leg, her shape appears; Oh were we joined together!
My heart would be scot-free from cares, and lighter than a feather.
As fine as fivepence is her mien; no drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen, and not the sun is brighter.
As soft as pap her kisses are; methinks I taste them yet.
Brown as a berry is her hair; her eyes as black as jet.
As smooth as glass, as white as curds, her pretty hand invites;
Sharp as a needle are her words; her wit, like pepper, bites.
Brisk as a body-louse she trips; clean as a penny dressed;
Sweet as a rose, her face and lips; round as a globe her breast.
Full as an egg was I with glee, and happy as a king;
Good lack! how all men envied me; she loved like anything.
But false as hell, she, like the wind, changed, as her sex must do;
Though seeming, as the turtle, kind, and as the gospel true.
If I and Molly could agree, let who will take Peru!
Great as an Emp'ror I should be, and richer than a Jew.
Til you grow tender as a chick, I'm dull as any post;
Let us, like burrs together stick; as warm as any toast.
You'll know me truer than a die, and wish me better sped;
Flat as a flounder when I lie, and as a herring dead.
Sure as a gun, she'll drop a tear, and sigh perhaps and wish,
When I am rotten as a pear, and mute as any fish.