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364 THE DANCE.
Greene, in the South, then danc'd a set,
And got a mighty name, sir, Cornwallis jigg'd with young Fayette,
But suffer'd in his fame, sir.
Then down he figur'd to the shore,
Most like a lordly dancer, And on his courtly honor swore,
He would no more advance, sir.
Quoth he, my guards are weary grown With footing country dances,
They never at St. James's shone, At capers, kicks or prances.
Though men so gallant ne'er were seen, While sauntering on parade, sir,
Or wriggling o'er the park's smooth green, Or at a masquerade, sir.
Yet are red heels and long-lac'd skirts, For stumps and briars meet, sir ?
Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts, Or hardy veteran feet, sir ?