Who throng these noisy promenades
Their favors fair to sell;
And kissing thee we deem as sweet
As kissing ma'moiZelle!
"Lik'st thou that we thee sweetheart call?—
We'll humor thy desire;
Sit on our laps while we sip wine;
Let's flirt until we tire;
To break thy shapely corset stays,
We'll try our best, dear Jenn;
But thou must mimic maid thy best;
For us:—the part of men!" . . . .
To have love made by youthful swains,
To me was highest bliss;
In the bright dives where scores beheld,
No,—shrinked we not to kiss:—
Of yore in gay Rialto's halls
Knew folk no self-restraint;
Insane e'en sometimes acted fools!
Those dens no place for saint! . . . .
I'm prone to-night to philosophize:—
Why did I gravitate
Toward Rialto's racy denizens
When moved to dissipate?
'Twas just because I sought and found,
In Rialto's "swell" gallants,
The opposites and complements
For whom my spirit pants. . . . .
O comrade of Rialto's halls
Of nineties of century past—
