If I were a powdered Exquisite
And you were a fair Bellairs,
I'd press your hand in the gay pavane;
And whisper under your painted fan
As I bowed you into your blue sedan
At the old Assembly stairs.
If you were a Watteau Shepherdess
And I were a gipsy lad,
I'd teach you tunes that the blackbird trills
And show you the dance of the daffodils,