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Powder'd beaus, and maccaronies,
Fops too proud to ride on ponies;
Lawyers grand, and judges bulky,
Ride with honey in a sulkey.*

Now assembled at the hall,
Let us caper, one and all;

Squire, to top, I wish you'd trudge up,
Call a dance to ope the fudge up.
Lads and lasses take your places;
Holo, fiddler! play the "Grace's!"

Right and left, chassé at top-
Wrong below there, stop! stop! stop!

Balance Dick, then down the middle,

Deuce is in that fellow's fiddle,
Sure Miss Airy dances topping,
Lighter than a cricket hopping;
Sally Squad, as round as pumpkin,
Capers cuts with Benny Bumpkin ;
Balance Joe, to Lucy Wiggle,

Pho! you're wrong, all higgle-piggle !

* A kind of gig or one-horse carriage, in which two

sociable people may possibly be accommodated.

Now you're right, and keep it going:

Tim, you dance like man a mowing,
Graceless as a colt a prancing,

Can't you stand up when your dancing?
Sammy Snider trots like thunder,
Sure he'll split the floor asunder;
See his partner pull and haul him,
Out of patience, I could maul him!
Well, the fam'd Egyptian camel
Dances much like our friend Sam'el!

Now to side-board let us hie, Ne'er be bashful when you're dry; Give each buxom, rosy maid, Brimming glass of lemonade; Help yourself to wine and porter, Sit by lass, and strive to court her; Sit and chat with amorous billing, Rapture every bosom thrilling, Eyes that dart electrick flashes,

"Hot hearts" almost burnt to ashes!

Never will I tell you lies, man,

But suppose some heathen wise man,

Most unfeeling wight in nature,

Even Zeno were spectator,

Stoick sure would swear meherc❜le

'Tis a most seraphick circle!

Fill once more your cheerful glasses, Drink a health to all sweet lasses,

Drink and frolick time away,

None so happy, none so gay,
Till, at length, the bill is bawl'd for,
And, alas! our money call'd for!

Yonder manager, by beckoning, Seems to say, "6 come pay your reckoning ;" Murky phiz, and shrug of silence,

Speak a wish to be a mile hence!

Dick, who says he came away

Purse forgot, and cannot pay,

Tells the landlord how to cook it,

Whispers "thank you, sir, to book it !"

Fiddler, play us one tune more,

Just to end with reel of four,
Ralphy Rattle, spunky fellow,
Raking round till he is mellow,

Rudely muttering and swearing,
Seems to lack a little airing.

Misses, squires, and gentlefolks, Call for Nabobs,* hats, and cloaks; True, 'tis late, but that's no matter, All good night, 'tis time to scatter.

Come, my dear, and mount behind me,

Lover true you'll ever find me.

Stir up Dobbin! Well, my dearest,

Uncle Jotham's road is nearest ;

Now by fence we safely land,
Now we walk in, hand in hand.

Sit awhile in social chat

Pray what follow'd after that?

Toy and prattle, sir, awhile,

Right New England courting style,

But you'll please to make the best on't,

I'm not bound to tell the rest on't.

* Nabobs were a kind of outside garment formerly worn by the dashing belles of America.

PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

SCENE.-VERMONT.

DESCRIPTION.

'TWAS early one morning, when Flora serene, Spread over the meadows her carpet of green, Not a murmur was heard, in the lawn or the

grove,*

While Simon and Sophy were singing of love.

They tun'd their two jewsharps to lays so refin❜d, Such melody floated on whispering wind,

That Battenkiln-river suspended his current,

And listen'd an hour and an half I dare warrant.†

* Quorum stupefactæ carmine lynces.

† Requierunt flumina cursus.

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