Not yet, not yet, it's hardly four
 Not yet, we'll send the chair away
 Mirth still has many smiles in store
 And love has fifty things to say.
 Long leagues the weary sun must drive
 Ere pant his hot steeds o'er the hill
 The merry stars will dance till five
 One more quadrille, one more quadrille!

 'Tis only thus, 'tis only here
 That maids and minstrels may forget
 The myriad ills they feel or fear
 Ennui, taxation, cholera, debt.
 With daylight, busy cares and schemes
 Will come again to chafe or chill
 This is the fairyland of dreams
 One more quadrille, one more quadrille!

 What tricks the French in Paris play
 And what the Austrians are about
 And whether that tall knave Lord Grey
 Is staying in or going out.
 And what the House of Lords will do
 At last with that eternal bill,
 I do not care a rush, do you?
 One more quadrille, one more quadrille!

 Me book don't sell, me play don't draw,
 Me garden gives me only weeds.
 And Mr Quirk has found a law,
 Deuce take him, in me title deeds.
 Me aunt has scratched her nephew's name
 From that sweet corner of her will.
 Me dog is dead, me horse is lame.
 One more quadrille, one more quadrille!

 Not yet, not yet, it is not late.
 Don't whisper so to sister Jane.
 Your brother I am sure will wait,
 Papa will go to cards again.
 Not yet, not yet, your eyes are bright,
 Your step is like a wood nymph's still.
 Oh no! You can't be tired tonight.
 One more quadrille, one more quadrille!