There girls are “loose fishes,” pull’d up in their turns;
There wives are harpoon’d, and dull husbands get horns.
VI.
The dance is bon ton—and in hot sultry weather
Sticks the sexes like two pats of butter together!
And when you get into the heart of the hop,
You’re pinion’d like fowls in a poulterer’s shop.
VII.
But routes for fine fellows, fine feathers to see,
Strong liqueurs for ladies, who love to make free;