CORNWALLIS led a country dance, | |
| The like was never seen, sir, | |
| Much retrograde and much advance, | |
| And all with General Greene, sir. | |
| |
| They rambled up and rambled down, | 5 |
| Joined hands, then off they run, sir. | |
| Our General Greene to Charlestown, | |
| The earl to Wilmington, sir. | |
| |
| Greene in the South then danced a set, | |
| And got a mighty name, sir, | 10 |
| Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette, | |
| But suffered in his fame, sir. | |
| |
| Then down he figured to the shore, | |
| Most like a lordly dancer, | |
| And on his courtly honor swore | 15 |
| 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. | 20 |
| |
| Though men so gallant ne’er were seen, | |
| While sauntering on parade, sir, | |
| Or wiggling o’er the park’s smooth green, | |
| Or at a masquerade, sir. | |
| |
| Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts, | 25 |
| For stumps and briars meet, sir? | |
| Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts, | |
| Or hardy veteran feet, sir? | |
| |
| Now housed in York, he challenged all, | |
| At minuet or all ’amande, | 30 |
| And lessons for a courtly ball | |
| His guards by day and night conned. | |
| |
| This challenge known, full soon there came | |
| A set who had the bon ton, | |
| De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame | 35 |
| Fut brillant pour un long tems. | |
| |
| And Washington, Columbia’s son, | |
| Whom every nature taught, sir, | |
| That grace which can’t by pains be won, | |
| Or Plutus’s gold be bought, sir. | 40 |
| |
| Now hand in hand they circle round | |
| This ever-dancing peer, sir; | |
| Their gentle movements soon confound | |
| The earl as they draw near, sir. | |
| |
| His music soon forgets to play— | 45 |
| His feet can move no more, sir, | |
| And all his bands now curse the day | |
| They jiggèd to our shore, sir. | |
| |
| Now Tories all, what can ye say? | |
| Come—is not this a griper, | 50 |
| That while your hopes are danced away, | |
| ’T is you must pay the piper? | |
| |
