To talk of such old-fashion'd things, when every one must know
That we are well-bred gentlefolks all of the modern time!
We all meet now at midnight's hour, and form a glitt'ring throng,
Where lovely angels walk quadrilles, and ne'er do l'Eté wrong,
Where Eastern scents all fresh and sweet, from Rowland's, float along,
And the name of a good old country-dance would sound like a Chinese gong
In the ears of well-bred gentlefolks all of the modern time!
Young ladies now of sage sixteen must give their friends a rout,
And teach the cook and housemaid how to "hand the things about;"
And they must pull Ma's bedstead down, and hurry, scout, and flout,