MY DANCING DAYS ARE OVER.
_By the Gentleman in the White Waistcoat._
My dancing days are over now,
My legs are just like stumps;
My fount of youth dried up, alas!
Wont answer to the pumps,
Yet who so fond of jigs as I?
Of hornpipes such a lover?
Of gallops, valses,—but, alas!
My dancing days are over.
In feats of feet, what foot like mine
(Excuse me if vain-glorious:)
Like mine for grace and dignity
No toe was more notorious.
Oh! then what joy it was to hear
_Roy's Wife_ or _Kitty Clover_!
But _Drops of Brandy_ now won't do:
My dancing days are over.
My feet seem fastened down with screws,
That were so glib before;
And my ten light fantastic toes
Seem toe'-nailed to the floor.
I cannot bear a ball room now,
Where once I lived in clover;
Terpsichore quite made me sick;
My dancing days are over.
I used to dance the New Year in,
And dance the Old Year out;
Ah! little did I then reflect
That _chacun à son_ gout,
All summer thro' I skipped and hopped,
At Margate, Ramsgate, Dover.
The year was then one spring—but now
My dancing days are over.
I'm eighteen stone and some odd pounds:
So all my neighbours say.
I'll go this moment to the scale;
But I can't _balancez_.
When in a ball room I appear,
As soon as they discover
My presence, off the girls all fly,
My dancing days are over.
I'm quite as fat as Lambert was,
Or any old maid's spaniel;
And when I walk along the street
They cry, "A second Daniel!"
And if I go into a shop
Of tailor, hatter, glover,
They always open _both_ the doors:
My dancing days are over.
My college chums oft jeer at me,
And cry, "Lord, what a porpus!
Who'd take you for a Johnian?
You seem to be of Corpus!"
The stage-coachmen all look as if
They wished me at Hanóver:
The safety cabs don't think me safe:
My dancing days are over.
My great pier glass, that used to show
My waist so fine and thin;
Now, turn whichever way I will,
Won't take my body in.
My form, that once a parasol
Would always amply cover,
A gig umbrella now requires:
My dancing days are over.
In vain my hand I offer now;
Away each damsel stalks;
Chalk'd floors no longer may I walk,
So I must walk my chalks.
For me there is no woman-kind:
None wait me now for lover.
Maid, widow, wife, all fly—they know
My dancing days are over!