If he ran out of rhymes not a soul of them knew;
No one doubted at all he could go on forever,
And ev’ry one thought he was wondrously clever;
Then some one called out for the “Old Gallantry;”
“Oh! ‘The Sweet Harry Lee,’ let us dance ‘Harry Lee,’”
Then, they ev’ry one cried, for it fit their feet neatly
To dance, while it suited their voices completely;
They sang and they danced and there was a resound
That was everywhere heard on the acre of ground.
(The Sweet Harry Lee.)