SONG OF THE MODERN TIME by ELIZA COOK

Oh, how the world has altered since some fifty years ago!
When boots and shoes would really serve to keep out rain and snow;
But double soles and broadcloth-oh, dear me, how very low,
To talk of such old-fashioned things! when every one must know
That we are well-bred gentlefolks, all of the modern time.
We all meet now at midnight-hour, and form a "glittering throng,"
Where lovely angels polk and waltz, and chant a German song:
Where "nice young men," with fierce moustache, trip mincingly along,
And the name of a good, old country-dance would sound like a Chinese gong
In the ears of well-bred gentlefolks, all of the modern time.
Your beardless boys, all brag and noise, must "do the thing that's right;"
That is, they'll drink champagne and punch, and keep it up all night:
They'll smoke and swear till, sallying forth at peep of morning light,
They knock down some old woman, just to show how well they fight;
Like brave, young, English gentlemen, all of the modern time.
At the good old hours of twelve and one our grandsires used to dine,
And quaff their horns of nut-brown ale and eat roast beef and chine;
But we must have our silver forks, ragouts, and foreign wine,
And not sit down till five or six, if we mean to "cut a shine;"
Like dashing, well-bred gentlefolks, all of the modern time.
Our daughters now at ten years old must learn to squall and strum,
And study shakes and quavers under Signor Fee-Foo-Fum;
They'll play concertos, sing bravuras, rattle, scream, and thrum,
Till you almost wish that you were deaf, or they, poor things, were dumb;
But they must be like young gentlefolks, all of the modern time.
Our sons must jabber Latin verbs, and talk of a Greek root,
Before they've left off tunic skirts, cakes, lollypops, and fruit;
They all have "splendid talents," that the desk or bar would suit;
Each darling boy would scorn to be "a low mechanic brute:"
They must be well-bred College "men," all of the modern time.
But bills will come at Christmas tide, alas! alack-a-day!
The creditors may call again, "Papa's not in the way;
He's out of town, but certainly next week he'll call and pay;"
And then his name's in the "Gazette;" and this I mean to say
Oft winds up many gentlefolks, all of the modern time.

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