Display'd so much of leg, or more of neck,
Than thou ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon
Beheld thee twirling to a Saxon tune!
To you, ye husbands of ten years whose brows
Ache with the annual tributes of a spouse;
To you of nine years less, who only bear
The budding sprouts of those that you shall wear,
With added ornaments around them roll'd
Of native brass, or law-awarded gold:
To you, ye matrons, ever on the watch