Their welcome fragrance fling.
II.
Where’er the routs full myriads close
The staircase and the door,
Where’er thick files of belles and beaus
Perspire through ev’ry pore;
Beside some faro-table’s brink,
With me the Muse shall stand and think,
(Hemmed sweetly in by squeeze of state,)
How vast the comfort of the crowd,