Frog and cricket in the mosses, Confound your gasconading! Nose of fly and
gnat's proboscis; Most tuneful serenading!
Sans - souci, so this host we greet, Their jovial humour showing; There's now
no walking on our feet, So on our heads we're going.
In seasons past we snatch'd, 'tis true, Some tit - bits by our cunning; Our
shoes, alas, are now danced through, On our bare soles we're running.
From marshy bogs we sprang to light, Yet here behold us dancing; The gayest
gallants of the night, In glitt'ring rows advancing.