The CEREMONIAL.

By the Same.

"SIR, will you please to walk before?"
No pray, Sir — you are next the door.
"Upon mine honour, I'll not stir!"
Sir, I'm at home; consider, Sir.
"Excuse me Sir, I'll not go first."
Well, if I must be rude, I must;
But yet I wish I cou'd evade it;
'Tis strangely clownish — be persuaded, &c. &c.
— Go forward, cits! go forward, squires!
Nor scruple each, what each admires.
Life squares not, friends, with your proceeding:
It flies, while you display your breeding;
Such breeding as one's granam preaches,
Or some old dancing-master teaches —
O for some rude tumultuous fellow,
Half crazy, or at least half-mellow,
To come behind you, unawares,
And fairly push you both down stairs!
But Death's at hand — Let me advise ye,
Go forward, friends — or he'll surprize ye.