Of polka, waltz and galopade,
Of D’Albert, Linter, and Musard.
“The season” now has pass’d away,
And many “a man” that then was gay
Now climbs the alps or Scotia’s fells,
And whirls no more those ball-room belies.
And so ’twill be when next they meet,
In Belgrave-square and Berkeley-street;
The waltz shall rouse embroider’d “swells”
To deux-temps with those ball-room belles.