The crops of dandies bud and bloom,
And die as fast as ever.
Now gilded youth loves cutty pipes,
And slang that’s rather scaring,—
It can’t approach its prototypes
In taste, or tone, or bearing.
In Brummell’s day of buckle shoes,
Lawn cravats and roll collars,
They’d fight, and woo, and bet—and lose
Like gentlemen and scholars: