Used Up

Hand me my light gloves, James; I'm off for the waltzing world, The kingdom of Strauss and that-- Where is my old crush-hat? Is my hair properly curled? Call in the daytime, James. Think of me, won't you, James, When I am rosily twirling The "Rose of a garden of girls," The Pearl among circling pearls, In a mesh of melodious whirling? Envy me, won't you, James? For a heart lost along with her fan, For a nice sense of honor flown, For the care of an invalid soul, And tastes far beyond my control,-- I have for my precious own The fame of a "waltzing man." If I don't come, come for me, James. Ah, the waltz is my mastering passion! The trip-tripping airs are as sweet As love to my turning feet, While I clasp the fair doll of fashion, My _fianc饟. But come for me, James. The heart which I lost--it is strange-- I've been told it will yet be my death; And I think it quite likely I might Waltz once too often to-night, In spite of the music and Beth. Death's a difficult move to arrange. Pray smoke by the fire, old boy, And find yourself whiskey and books. If I should not turn up, then, at two Or three, you will know I need you. If I'm dead, you must pardon my looks As I lie in the ball-room, old boy.