BALLADE OF ANTIQUE DANCES.
Before the town had lost its wits,
And scared the bravery from its beaux,
When money-grubs were merely cits,
And verse was crisp and clear as prose,
Ere Chloë and Strephon came to blows
For votes, degrees, and cigarettes,
The world rejoiced to point its toes
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
The solemn fiddlers touch their kits;
The twinkling clavichord o'erflows
With contrapuntal quirks and hits;
And, with all measure and repose,
Through figures grave as royal shows,
With noble airs and pirouettes,
They move, to rhythms Handel knows,
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
O Fans and Swords, O Sacques and Mits,
That was the better part you chose!
You know not how those gamesome chits
Waltz, Polka, and Schottische arose,
Or how Quadrille—a kind of doze
In time and tune—the dance besets;
You aired your fashion till the close
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
Envoy.
Muse of the many-twinkling hose,
Terpsichore, O teach your pets
The charm that shines, the grace that glows
In Gigues, Gavottes, and Minuets.
W. E. Henley.