Mr Punch's Model Music Hall Songs and Dramas Part 9

_Second S._ (_putting her arms a-kimbo_).

If you swallow _that_, you're a green one!

They'll stick to their lover so long as he's cash, When it's gone, they look out for a wealthier mash.

A girl on the gush talks unpractical trash-- When it comes to the point, she's a keen one!

_Refrain._

_First S._ Then, are none of us at bottom any better than the rest!

_Second S._ (_cheerfully_). Not a bit; I am a girl myself and _I_ know.

_First S._ You'd surely never give your hand to someone you detest?

_Second S._ Why _rather_--if he's rolling in the Rhino!

_Fourth Verse._

_First S._ Philanthropists give up their lives to the poor.

_Second S._ It's chiefly with tracts they present them.

_First S._ Still, some self-denial I'm sure they endure?

_Second S._ It's their hobby, and seems to content them.

_First S._ But don't they go into those horrible slums?

_Second S._ Sometimes--with a flourish of trumpets and drums.

_First S._ I've heard they've collected magnificent sums.

_Second S._ And n.o.body knows how they've spent them!

_Refrain._

_Second S._ Oh, they're none of 'em at bottom any better than the rest!

They are only bigger hypocrites, as _I_ know; They've famous opportunities for feathering their nest, When so many fools are ready with the Rhino!

_Fifth Verse._

_First S._ Our Statesmen are prompted by duty alone.

_Second S._ (_compa.s.sionately_). Whoever's been gammoning _you_ so?

_First S._ They wouldn't seek office for ends of their own?

_Second S._ What else would induce 'em to do so?

_First S._ But Time, Health, and Money they all sacrifice.

_Second S._ I'd do it myself at a quarter the price.

There's pickings for all, and they needn't ask twice, For they're able to put on the screw so!

_Refrain_ (_together_).

No, they're none of 'em at bottom any better than the rest!

They may kid to their const.i.tuents--but _I_ know; Whatever lofty sentiments their speeches may suggest, They regulate their actions by the Rhino!

[_Here the pair will perform a final step-dance, indicative of enlightened scepticism, and skip off in an effusion of sisterly sympathy, amidst enthusiastic applause._

[Ill.u.s.tration: DISINTERESTED Pa.s.sION.]

X.--DISINTERESTED Pa.s.sION.

When a Music-hall singer does not treat of the tender pa.s.sion in a rakish and knowing spirit, he is apt to exhibit an unworldliness truly ideal in its n.o.ble indifference to all social distinctions. So amiable a tendency deserves encouragement, and _Mr. Punch_ has much pleasure in offering the following little idyl to the notice of any Mammoth Comique who may happen to be in a sentimental mood. It is supposed to be sung by a scion of the n.o.bility, and the _artiste_ will accordingly present himself in a brown "billy-c.o.c.k" hat, a long grey frock-coat, fawn-coloured trousers, white "spats," and primrose, or green, gloves--the recognised attire of a Music-hall aristocrat. A powerful,--though not necessarily tuneful,--voice is desirable for the adequate rendering of this ditty; any words it is inconvenient to sing, can always be spoken.

ONLY A LITTLE PLEBEIAN!

_First Verse._

When first I met my Mary Ann, she stood behind a barrow-- A bower of enchantment spread with many a dainty snack!

And, as I gazed, I felt my heart transfixed with Cupid's arrow, For she opened all her oysters with so fairylike a knack.

_Refrain_ (_throaty, but tender_).

She's only a little Plebeian!

And I'm a Patrician swell!

But she's as sweet as Aurora, and how I adore her, No eloquence ever can tell!

Only a fried-fish vend-ar!

Selling her saucers of whilks, [_Almost defiant stress on the word "whilks."_ But, for me, she's as slend-ar--far more true and tend-ar, Than if she wore satins and silks!

[_The grammar of the last two lines is shaky, but the Lion-Comique must try to put up with that, and, after all, does sincere emotion ever stop to think about grammar? If it does, Music-hall audiences don't--which is the main point._

_Second Verse._

I longed before her little feet to grovel in the gutter: I vowed, unless I won her as a wife, 'twould drive me mad!

Until at last a shy consent I coaxed her lips to utter, For she dallied with her Anglo-Dutch, and whispered, "Speak to Dad!"

_Refrain_--For she's only a little Plebeian, &c.

_Third Verse._

I called upon her sire, and found him lowly born, but brawny, A n.o.ble type, when sober, of the British artisan; I grasped his honest hand, and didn't mind its being h.o.r.n.y: "Behold!" I cried, "a suitor for your daughter, Mary Ann!"