In giddy Waltz or Polka, now the rage.
But when the violin puts forth its charms,
How the sweet music every bosom warms!
So when the dilettante dared the squeeze,
To hear of Jenny Lind the opening strain,
And in the rush serenely sees
His best coat torn in twain,
Transported simpletons stood round,
And men grew spooneys at the sound,
Roaring with all their wind;