Classic Poem

Come, follow me by the Smell,
Here's delicate Onyons to sell,
I promise to use you well.
They make the Blood warmer,
You'll feed like a Farmer:
For this is ev'ry Cook's Oponion,
No sav'ry Dish without an Onyon;
But lest your Kissing should be spoyl'd,
Your Onyons must be th'roughly boyl'd;
Or else you may spare
Your Mistress a Share,
The Secret will never be known;
She cannot discover
The Breath of her Lover,
But think it as sweet as her own.