“In the Country how blest, when it rains in the fields, To feast upon transports that shuttle-cock yields; Or go crawling from window to window, to see An ass on a common, a crow on a tree. In the Country you're nail'd, like some pale in your park, To some stick of a neighbour, crammed into the ark; And if you are sick, or in fits tumble down, You reach death ere the Doctor can reach you from town.”
“Never mind,” cried Tallyho, “a change of scene will no doubt be useful, and, at all events, by enduring the one, we may learn more judiciously to appreciate the other.”
“True,” said Tom, “and I shall like myself all the better for being in good company. But pray, Mr. Mortimer, what do you mean to do at the approaching masquerade?”
“Not quite decided yet,” was the reply.
“You go, of course?”
“Certainly—as Orpheus, or Apollo. But pray what character do you intend to sustain?”
“That's a secret—”
“Worth knowing, I suppose—well, well, I shall find you out, never fear.”
“Time's a tell-tale,” said Dashall, “and will most likely unfold all mysteries; but I always think the life and spirit of a masquerade is much injured by a knowledge of the characters assumed by friends, unless it be where two or more have an intention of playing, as it were, to, and with each other; for where there is mystery, there is always interest. I shall therefore propose that we keep to ourselves the characters in which we mean to appear; for I am determined, if possible, to have a merry night of it.”
“On the lightly sportive wing, At pleasure's call we fly; Hark! they dance, they play, they sing, In merry merry revelry; Hark! the tabors lively beat, And the flute in numbers sweet, Fill the night with delight At the Masquerade. Let the grave ones warn us as they may, Of every harmless joy afraid; Whilst we're young and gay, We'll frolic and play At the Masquerade.”