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 fiance. 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.