’Tis victory, and the Frenchman’s cheers!
Welcome her, welcome her, winnings of ours!
Mather and Russell, don’t bustle there,
Fluttering, sputtering, chattering so!
Like rivulets let your gold-dust flow.
Pencils of gold in the suns’ rays flare
Put down your marks and to wit aspire,
We feel the breeze, but we do not care.
Flash, ye ladies, in champagne’s fire,
You shall have gloves, and by her desire,