The Buntling ball, a Græco-American play; . ou to you wound us, perchance we may bleed, Yet the blood is clandestinely shed;We desire that our sons may succeed; We desire that our daughters may desire that our husbands and wives May be pushed along, high and still higher ;We are all, through our feverish lives, In perpetual state of are certain the realms that we seek An insipid frivolity rules,And at least seven times every week We remind ourselves that we are fools. 42 THE BUNTLING BALL. But in spite of such wholesome disdain,With a fervor twere false to deny, We inc
The Buntling ball, a Græco-American play; . ou to you wound us, perchance we may bleed, Yet the blood is clandestinely shed;We desire that our sons may succeed; We desire that our daughters may desire that our husbands and wives May be pushed along, high and still higher ;We are all, through our feverish lives, In perpetual state of are certain the realms that we seek An insipid frivolity rules,And at least seven times every week We remind ourselves that we are fools. 42 THE BUNTLING BALL. But in spite of such wholesome disdain,With a fervor twere false to deny, We incessantly struggle and strain, We shall struggle and strain till we die. Mrs. Buntling. As a bow that is bent, Are determined their deeds;As a shaft that is sent,So their energy speeds,And the might of their snobbery riots as a tangledand poisonous weeds. Semichorus of Social Strugglers. As the famishing lip When it yearns after food,As the homeward-bound shipWhen by tempest pursued,So beyond Aristocracys portals we daringly longto Thev Mrs. are guilty ofguile,They are reckless ofruth;For deception andwileThey abandon alltruth ; are clad with impervious cuticle, rhinocerosesforsooth ! the verge of a shrine,At a iroddesss feet, 44 THE BUNTLING BALL. Our brows we inclineAnd in worship compete,As we bring to the idol our tributes, our offeringsmany and sweet. Mrs. Buntling. She is cold, she is calm, This goddess ye name ;From your suppliant palmGreat gifts will she claim;Ye must serve her with dinners and banquets, withwines of pre-eminent fame. Semichorus. The aromas that rise From her altar must tellOf those dainty suppliesThe bon vivant loves well,Out of kitchens Delmoniconian, where the poets ofcookery dwell. THE BUNTLING BALL. 45 Mrs. her priests ye shall bearHalf the incomes ye hold,To her priestesses fairFloral treasures untold,Yea, the Jacqueminot red as your hearts-blood, theMarshal Niel hued like your gold. Semichorus. Th
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Keywords: ., bookauthorfawcette, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1884
