A sable flood, like Niger the outlandish,
Came rushing forth—Oh Antics and Buffoons!
Ye never danced a caper so ran-dan-dish;
He jump’d, thump’d—tore—swore, more than ten dragoons,
At all nights, noons, moons, spoons, and pantaloons!
But soon ashamed, or weary, of such dancing,
Without a Collinet’s or Weippert’s band,
His rampant arms and legs left off their prancing,
And down he sat again, with pen in hand,
Not fiddle-headed, or King’s-pattern grand,