Never was heard such a terrible shout,
As the apples and brandy balls rolled about;
The old women swore, while the urchin shouts
After the stock, and runs off with the fruits.
On went Boreas playing his rigs,
Blowing off bonnets and ladies’ wigs—
Making their hairless heads apparent,
Which none would do but a rogue so arrant.
Puffing and blowing onwards he bounds,
Frisking the skirts of the ladies’ gowns—