Terpsichore’s summons distinctly was heard,
In the tuning Cremona that squeak’d forth its call,
Inviting all those light of foot to the ball.
Lovely dance! of thy charms how correct was the notion
Of her who the Poetry, called thee, of Motion![5]
When Beauty her features in smiles deigns to grace,
What are those same smiles but the dance of the face?
And when Dancing and Modesty happily meet,
What is Dancing just then but the smiles of the feet?[6]
I’d defy e’en a hermit the summons to shirk,