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But the Monk's-hood scowl'd dark, and in utterance low,
Declared "'t was high time for good Christians to go;"
He 'd heard from the pulpit a sermon sublime,
Where 't was proved from the Vulgate—"To dance was a crime."
So, wrapping a cowl round his cynical head,
He snatch'd from the side-board a bumper, and fled.

A song was desired, but each musical flower
Had—"taken a cold, and 't was out of her power;"
'Till sufficiently urged, they burst forth in a strain
Of quavers and trills, that astonished the train.
Mimosa sat shrinking, and said, with a sigh,
"'Twas so fine, she was ready with rapture, to die;"
And Cactus, the grammar-school tutor, declared
"It might be with the gamut of Orpheus compared."
But Night-shade, the metaphysician, complained
That "the nerves of his ears were excessively pained;