 | May Fair |  |
The ladies gone, those dear removes,
Compote of sugar plums and doves!
The marquis on the throne vacated;
Our anguish partially abated:
For though, I own, the sex's presence
Is of life's essences the essence;
And though the last that leaves the room,
Dips every chandelier in gloom;
Yet, with our souls all cloth'd in sable,
We're bound to rally round the table;
In the most desperate condition,
Renew our claret ammunition;
Mourning our decimated ranks,
Feel up like soldiers, from the flanks;
And try the battle to sustain,
By new discharges of Champagne.
Compote of sugar plums and doves!
87
Our anguish partially abated:
For though, I own, the sex's presence
Is of life's essences the essence;
And though the last that leaves the room,
Dips every chandelier in gloom;
Yet, with our souls all cloth'd in sable,
We're bound to rally round the table;
In the most desperate condition,
Renew our claret ammunition;
Mourning our decimated ranks,
Feel up like soldiers, from the flanks;
And try the battle to sustain,
By new discharges of Champagne.
| May Fair | |