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O give me new figures! I can't go on dancing
The same that were taught me ten seasons ago;
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O give me new figures! I can't go on dancing
The same that were taught me ten seasons ago;
The schoolmaster over the land is advancing,
Then why is the master of dancing so slow?
It is such a bore to be always caught tripping
In dull uniformity year after year;
Invent something new, and you'll set me a skipping:
I want a new figure to dance with my Dear!
Others import yet nobler arts from France,
Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.
Others import yet nobler arts from France,
Teach kings to fiddle, and make senates dance.
Twelve dancers are dancing, and taking no rest,
And closely their hands together are press'd;
And soon read more
Twelve dancers are dancing, and taking no rest,
And closely their hands together are press'd;
And soon as a dance has come to a close,
Another begins, and each merrily goes.
And then he danced;--all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime;--he danced, I say read more
And then he danced;--all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime;--he danced, I say right well,
With emphasis, and also with good sense--
A thing in footing indispensable:
He danced without theatrical pretence,
Not like a ballet-master in the van
Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.
You've got to dance like nobody's watching and love like it's never going to hurt.
You've got to dance like nobody's watching and love like it's never going to hurt.
Dancing in the chequer'd shade.
Dancing in the chequer'd shade.
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.
What! the girl I adore by another embraced?
What! the balm of her breath shall another man taste?
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What! the girl I adore by another embraced?
What! the balm of her breath shall another man taste?
What! pressed in the dance by another's man's knee?
What! panting recline on another than me?
Sir, she's yours; you have pressed from the grape its fine blue,
From the rosebud you've shaken the tremulous dew;
What you've touched you may take. Pretty waltzer--adieu!
