Liz too and Kitty have their swains,
Who one and all are taking pains
To make themselves agreeable,
Each to his own peculiar belle.
The Stag-Beetle, that beau precise,
Regales his partner with an ice.
The Moon, upon the Apple Tree,
Surveys, well pleased, the revelry.
Two cockchafers soon quit the dance;
They cannot bear the piercing glance
Of their fair partners—see them set
Within a private cabinet.
They smoke, they sing, they drink until
Their little polished paunch they fill.