My passion is as mustard strong - Anonymous

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""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 clich&eacute;s at this date, have survived to the present and how many, like Morpheus, have fallen on sleep."

◈ Genre / Form → Unknown ♬ Besetzung → solo high ¶ Sprache → Englisch

Stimmen 1

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Seiten 2

CPDL Nr. 88101

Bearbeiter Christopher Shaw

Veröffentlicht 2026-01-17

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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 five pence 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