If Johnson, Whitney, and John Walker let
The words flow freely which describe my lot,
You shall discern what was and what was not,
That long-spun night I drank my Mocha late.
Alas, those heated grains inoculate
My blood with fevered fancies of the cup,
Because fair Chloe bade me drink it up!

Not so your fragrant draught of chocolate,
Though all day long I saw your gracious smile,
Which gave the cup with Aztec nectar filled,
Dull brown below, all crowned with foamy white;
When day retired, and all men ceased from toil,
And sought sweet sleep and her refreshment mild,
I forgot cup and all and slept all night!