ONES has a party to-night,

But there's no invitation for me to it.

People are cutting me quite;

I shall pay a few visits and see to it.

True, I've a thousand a-year,

And am reckon'd the pink of propriety;

As to good-looking, look here!

Yet I never get on in Society.

'Tis not as though I were shy,

Or unmanner'd, or not introducible;

Lower-bred people than I

Have triumphantly gone through the crucible.

Many get polish'd in time

At the cost of a little anxiety;

What's my particular crime

That I never get on in Society?

Dance?—Well, I think I may say

I'm as graceful a partner as any one:

Sir, I could caper away

To a whistle—though simply a penny one.

Sing?—I could give you a list

Of enormous extent and variety.

Play?—Let me show you my wrist

Yet I never get on in Society.

Hearing me talk is a treat,

When I take a discourse philosophic up,

During the tea, or repeat

Little anecdotes over my coffee-cup.

If you 've a passion for puns,

I could feed you on them to satiety—

New and original ones;

Yet I never get on in Society.

Two or three glasses of wine

Give a spur to good-humour and merriment;

So that, wherever I dine,

I repeat the delightful experiment.

Not that I drink till I lapse

From the paths of the strictest sobriety;

Still, now and then—why, perhaps—

Yet I never get on in Society!