We’ll spend the night at dear vingt-un,

Retire at two, and sleep till noon.

Now seated in the social sleigh,

To Haerlem or the Bridge, away;

While frolic joy usurps the hour,

Unaw’d by form’s despotic power;

For though her laws we all obey,

We sometimes love a holiday.

At thy approach, dear winter, too,

The Beaux present themselves to view: