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Tales of buckle and big rosette, The slender shoe adorning, Of curtseying through the minuet With laughter, love, or scorning. And 'tis O! for the shout Of the roustabout, As he hies him home in the morning.

Cards and swords, and a lady's love, Give to the tale God-speeding, War and wassail, and perfumed glove, And all that's rare in reading. And 'tis O! for the ways Of the olden days, And a life that was worth the leading.