His shop is a grocer's--a snug, genteel place,
Near the corner of Oak Street and Pearl;
He can dress, dance, and bow to the ladies with grace,
And ties his cravat with a curl.
He's asked to all parties--north, south, east and west,
That take place between Chatham and Cherry,
And when he's been absent full oft has the "best
Society" ceased to be merry.
And nothing has darkened a sky so serene,
Nor disordered his beauship's Elysium,
Till this season among our _elite_ there has been
What is called by the clergy "a schism."
'Tis all about eating and drinking--one set
Gives sponge-cake, a few kisses or so,
And is cooled after dancing with classic sherbet
"Sublimed" [see Lord Byron] "with snow."
Another insists upon punch and _perdrix_,
Lobster salad, champagne, and, by way
Of a novelty only, those pearls of our sea,
Stewed oysters from Lynn-Haven Bay.
Miss Flounce, the young milliner, blue-eyed and bright,
In the front parlor over her shop,
"Entertains," as the phrase is, a party to-night
Upon peanuts and ginger pop.
And Miss Fleece, who's a hosier and not quite as young,
But is wealthier far than Miss Flounce,
She "entertains" also to-night, with cold tongue,
Smoked herring and cherry bounce.
In praise of cold water the Theban bard spoke,
He of Teos sang sweetly of wine;
Miss Flounce is a Pindar in cashmere and cloak,
Miss Fleece an Anacreon divine.
The Montagues carry the day in Swamp Place,
In Pike Street the Capulets reign;
A _limonadiere_ is the badge of one race,
Of the other a flask of champagne.
Now as each the same evening her _soiree_ announces,
What better, he asks, can be done,
Than drink water from eight until ten with the Flounces,
And then wine with the Fleeces till one!