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Away they prance it, small and big.
Brown, ginger, fair, and grizzle,
O Ma'am! you disconcert my wig,
’Twas you, Sir, touz’d my frizzle!
Right hand and left, the figure mind,
O! what are you about, Ma’am?
My dear Miss Giggle you are blind.
My Lady Fuz you’re out, Ma’am!
Oh Ma’am! you should consider that the dance is
my Lord Mayor’s feast———it begins with a set to,
and finishes with a reel.
CHORUS.
Thus busied in the fond turmoil,
They time by folly measure, etc.
Thus dance succeeding after dance,
As if Old Nick had got ’em,
They scandal vent, and flirt and prance.
And foot it to the bottom;
Thus having made for others sport,
In regular rotation,
With swinging interest they retort
On them the obligation.
Surprizing! did you ever see such a fright as that
woman! rubbed it all off one side of her face.—
But look at that man what a scarcrow he is, with
his false calves turned before.———Come, come
Ladies and Gentlemen, a new dance; strike up
None so Pretty.
CHORUS.
Thus busied in the fond turmoil.
They time by folly measure.
Turn all their pleasure into toil.
And fancy toil a pleasure.
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Printed by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1803
