'Tis not enough, that every stander-by
No glaring errors in your steps can spy,
The dance and music must so nicely meet,
Each note should seem an echo to your feet;
A nameless grace must in each movement dwell,
Which words can ne'er express, or precepts tell,
Not to be taught, but ever to be seen
In FLAVIA'S air, and CHLOE'S easy mien:
'Tis such an air that makes her thousands fall,
When FIELDING dances at a birth-night ball;
Smooth as CAMILLA she skims o'er the plain,
And flies like her thro' crowds of heroes slain.