Might play their brazen antics at masked balls?
Ci-devant waiter
Of a quarante-sous traiteur,
Why did you leave your stew-pans and meat-oven,
To make a fricassee of the great Beet-hoven?
And whilst your piccolos unceasing squeak on,
Saucily serve Mozart with sauce-piquant;
Mawkishly cast your eyes to the cerulean—
Turn Matthew Locke to potage à la julienne!
Go! go! sir, do,