(Dance up the middle, touch shoulder, and down again.)
Punch, May 21, 1881.
“Where are you going to, my pretty maid?”
“I’m going to Spelling Bee, sir,” she said,
“Where is your lexicon, my pretty maid?”
“I do not want one, sir,” she said.
“What can you spell, pray, my pretty maid?”
“I can spell prize, kind sir,” she said.
“Let’s hear you spell it, my pretty maid!”