Full fronting her stood Country Dance—
A fresh, frank nymph, whom you would know
For English, at a single glance—
English all o'er, from top to toe.
A little gauche, 'tis fair to own,
And rather given to skips and bounces;
Endangering thereby many a gown,
And playing, oft, the devil with flounces.
Unlike Mamselle—who would prefer
(As morally a lesser ill)
A thousand flaws of character,
To one vile rumple of a frill.
No rouge did She of Albion wear;
Let her but run that two-heat race
She calls a Set, not Dian e'er
Came rosier from the woodland chase.
Such was the nymph, whose soul had in't
Such anger now—whose eyes of blue
(Eyes of that bright, victorious tint,
Which English maids call "Waterloo")—
Like summer lightnings, in the dusk
Of a warm evening, flashing broke.
While—to the tune of "Money Musk,"[1]
Which struck up now—she proudly spoke—
"Heard you that strain—that joyous strain?
"'Twas such as England loved to hear,
"Ere thou and all thy frippery train,
"Corrupted both her foot and ear—
"Ere Waltz, that rake from foreign lands,
"Presumed, in sight of all beholders,
"To lay his rude, licentious hands
"On virtuous English backs and shoulders—
"Ere times and morals both grew bad,
"And, yet unfleeced by funding block-heads,
"Happy John Bull not only had,
"But danced to, 'Money in both pockets.'
"Alas, the change!—Oh, Londonderry,
"Where is the land could 'scape disasters,
"With such a Foreign Secretary,
"Aided by Foreign Dancing Masters?