It’s by John Gay (1685-1732) but occasionally attributed to Swift.
My paƒƒion is as muƒtard ƒtrong;
I ƒit all ƒober ƒad,
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, tho’ as drunk as David’s ƒow,
I love her ƒtill the better.
Pert as a pear-monger I’d be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber could ƒee
The reƒt of woman-kind.
Like a ƒtuck pig I gaping ƒtare,
And eye her o’er and o’er;
Lean as a rake with ƒighs and care,
Sleek as a mouƒe before.
Plump as a partridge was I known,
And ƒoft as ƒilk my ƒkin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown;
But as a groat now thin.
I melancholy as a cat
Am kept awake to weep;
But ƒhe, inƒenƒible of that,
Sound as a top can ƒleep.
Hard is her heart as flint or ƒtone;
She laughs to ƒee me pale,
And merry as a grig is grown,
And briƒk as bottled ale.
The god of love at her approach
Is buƒy as a bee!
Hearts ƒound as any bell or roach
Are ƒmit, and ƒigh like me.
Ay me! as thick as hops or hail,
The fine men croud about her:
But ƒoon as dead as a door-nail
Shall I be, if without her.
Strait as my leg her ƒhape appears;
O were we join’d together!
My heart would be ƒcot-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 ƒun is brighter.
As ƒoft as pap her kiƒƒes are;
Methinks I taƒte them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair,
Her eyes as black as jet.
As ƒmooth as glaƒs, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites:
Sharp as a needle are her words;
Her wit like pepper bites.
Briƒk as a body-louƒe ƒhe trips,
Clean as a penny dreƒt;
Sweet as a roƒe her breath and lips,
Round as the globe her breaƒt.
Full as an egg was I with glee,
And happy as a king!
Good Lord! how all men envy’d me
She lov’d like any thing.
But falƒe as hell, ƒhe, like the wind,
Chang’d, as her ƒex muƒt do ;
Tho’ ƒeeming as the turtle kind,
And like the goƒpel true.
If I and Molly could agree,
Let who would take Peru!
Great as an emp’ror ƒhould I be,
And richer than a Jew.
Till you grow tender as a chick,
I'm dull as any poƒt :
Let us like burs together ƒtick,
And warm as any toaƒt.
You’ll know me truer than a dye,
And wiƒh me better ƒped,
Flat as a flounder when I lie,
And as a herring dead.
Sure as a gun ƒhe’ll drop a tear.
And ƒigh perhaps, and wiƒh,
When I am rotten as a pear,
And mute as any fiƒh.
