Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts,
For stumps and briars meet, sir?
Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts,
Or hardy veteran feet, sir?
Now housed in York, he challenged all,
At minuet or all 'amande,
And lessons for a courtly ball
His guards by day and night conned.
This challenge known, full soon there came
A set who had the bon ton,
De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame
Fut brillant pour un long tems.
And Washington, Columbia's son,
Whom every nature taught, sir,
That grace which can't by pains be won,
Or Plutus's gold be bought, sir.
Now hand in hand they circle round
This ever-dancing peer, sir;
Their gentle movements soon confound
The earl as they draw near, sir.
His music soon forgets to play—
His feet can move no more, sir,
And all his bands now curse the day
They jiggèd to our shore, sir.
Now Tories all, what can ye say?
Come—is not this a griper,
That while your hopes are danced away,
'Tis you must pay the piper?
ANONYMOUS.
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