HORACE SURPASSED.
How funny ’tis, when pretty lads and lasses
Meet altogether, just to have a caper,
And the black fiddler plays you such a tune as
Sets you a frisking.
High bucks and ladies, standing in a row all,
Make finer show than troops of continentals.
Balance and foot it, rigadoon and chasse,
Brimful of rapture.
Thus poets tell us how one Mister Orpheus