CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Gift of 
 
 Marvin K. Frankle 
 
 MUS ^USIC LIBRARY 
 
CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 924 072 735 362 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924072735362 
 
Stage Lyrics 
 
Stage Lyrics 
 
 By 
 
 Harry B. Smith 
 
 With Illustrations by 
 Archie Gunn, Ray Brown and K. W. Kemble 
 
 And with Forty-one Character 
 Portraits of Stage Favorites 
 
 New York 
 
 R : H : RUSSELL : Publisher 
 
 1900 
 
Copyright, igoo 
 
 by 
 
 Robert Howard Russell 
 
These verses, from operas and 
 musical comedies, are dedicated 
 to the singers and comedians 
 who have made them popular. 
 
Contents 
 
 Brown October Ale . 
 
 The Armorer 
 
 The Naughty Little Clock 
 
 The Highwayman 
 
 The Highwayman's Last Song 
 
 De Voodoo Man 
 
 The Song of a Veteran 
 
 Prince Rupert s Cavaliers . 
 
 Her Faults 
 
 Same Old Story 
 
 Orchard Song . 
 
 Turnkey's Song 
 
 A Drinking Song at the Mermaid Tavern 
 
 A Japanese Elopement 
 
 The Tinkers' Song 
 
 Gypsy Jan 
 
 Grenadier's Song 
 
 The Beau of Georgian Days 
 
 The Cobbler's Ghost 
 
 Eyes of Black and Eyes of Blue 
 
 The Jolly Miller '. 
 
 The Skirt Dancer 
 
 A Gypsy's Song 
 
 De Rabbit's Foot 
 
 Kitty O'Brien . 
 
 Life is a Toy Shop 
 
 Isabella's Umbrella . 
 
 Fra Francisco's Flirtation . 
 
 Object Matrimony 
 
 The Tattooed Man . 
 
 Page 
 
 13 
 
 15 
 
 17 
 20 
 
 23 
 
 ^5 
 28 
 
 31 
 
 34 
 36 
 
 3« 
 40 
 42 
 44 
 47 
 49 
 51 
 54 
 56 
 60 
 62 
 64 
 69 
 
 71 
 74 
 76 
 81 
 
 83 
 86 
 
 88 
 
The Old War Horse 
 
 A Dresden China Love Affair 
 
 The Fairies' Lullabv 
 
 Emmelina Winger 
 
 If All the Stars were Mine 
 
 Town and Country . 
 
 The Song of the Sword 
 
 What! Marry Dat Gal 
 
 My Angeline 
 
 The Drum-Major 
 
 A Sailor's Song 
 
 A Hundred Wives 
 
 The Farmer and the Scarecrow 
 
 He Was a Married Man . 
 
 Mam'selle 
 
 The Philadelphia Maid 
 
 American Heiresses . 
 
 Cholly Chumley of the Guards 
 
 Cupid and I . . . 
 
 Mindin' the Baby 
 
 Don Jose of Sevilla . 
 
 De Gold Mine 
 
 It's What Eve Said to Adam 
 
 The Bells of St. Swithin's . 
 
 Gypsy Love Song 
 
 The Casino Girl 
 
 Kleptomania 
 
 Inconsistency 
 
 The Swearing Skipper 
 
 When Chloe Sings a Song 
 
 I Didn't Like Him . 
 
 The Strolling Players 
 
 Page 
 
 91 
 
 94 
 96 
 
 98 
 
 lOI 
 
 103 
 105 
 
 107 
 109 
 II I 
 
 113 
 
 115 
 118 
 
 120 
 
 123 
 
 126 
 127 
 129 
 
 131 
 
 135 
 137 
 
 139 
 
 142 
 
 144 
 146 
 148 
 150 
 
 151 
 
 ^S3 
 
 155 
 157 
 
character Portraits 
 
 W. H. MacDonald 
 Eugene Cowles 
 H C. Barnabee 
 Ella Snyder 
 Francis Wilson 
 Richard Carroll 
 Dan Daly . 
 Lulu Glaser 
 H. C. Barnabee 
 William Pruette 
 Hilda Clark 
 Francis Wilson . 
 Marcia Van Dresser 
 Anna O'Keefe 
 Helen Redmund 
 Eugene Cowles 
 Alice Neilsen 
 Marie George 
 Phyllis Rankin 
 Frank Daniels 
 Lulu Glaser 
 Adele Ritchie 
 Irene Bentley 
 Fay Templeton 
 Lillian Russell 
 Nellie Braggins 
 Lizzie MacNicoll 
 Frank Daniels . 
 Thos. Q. Seabrooke 
 Jerome Sykes 
 
 Page 
 
 14 
 
 15 
 16 
 
 19 
 
 30 
 
 33 
 
 31 
 
 39 
 48 
 
 53 
 55 
 57 
 61 
 
 (>3 
 
 68 
 
 69 
 
 70 
 80 
 
 87 
 90 
 
 93 
 
 95 
 
 91 
 100 
 
 102 
 
 104 
 
 106 
 
 1 10 
 
 117 
 
 119 
 
Sam Bernard 
 Madge Lessing . 
 Madge Lessing . 
 Frank Daniels 
 Alice Neilsen 
 Marie Tempest . 
 Virginia Earl 
 Jessie Bartlett Davis 
 Eugene Cowles . 
 Virginia Earl 
 Mabelie Gilman 
 Anna Held 
 De Wolf Hopper 
 
 Page 
 122 
 126 
 128 
 130 
 132 
 136 
 141 
 
 146 
 
 147 
 150 
 
 158 
 
THE FORTUNE TELLER 
 
Brown October Ale 
 
 (Little John's Song in Robin Hood) 
 
 f~\ IT'S will ye quaff with me, my lads, 
 
 9 And it's will ye quaff with me? 
 It is a draught of nut-brown ale 
 
 I offer unto ye. 
 All humming in the tankard, lads. 
 
 It cheers the heart forlorn ; 
 For here's a friend to ev'ryone — 
 
 'Tis stout John Barleycorn. 
 
 So laugh, lads, and quaff, lads ; 
 
 'Twill make you stout and hale ; 
 Through all my days, I'll sing the praise 
 
 Of brown October ale. 
 Now, tapster, if in me you'd win 
 
 A friend who will not fail. 
 Fill up once more the cannikin 
 
 With brown October ale. 
 
 And it's will you love me true, my lass, 
 
 And it's will you love me true ? 
 If not, I'll drink one flagon more. 
 
 And so farewell to you. 
 If Joan or Moll or Nan or Doll 
 
 Should make your heart to mourn, 
 I'll give a friend who will be stanch — 
 
 'Tis rare John Barleycorn. 
 
 13 
 
So laugh, lads, and quaff, lads. 
 
 While flagons do not fail. 
 We'll happy be with three times three 
 
 Of brown October ale. 
 Now, you, good wife, and you, good man. 
 
 Let not your mirth grow stale; 
 But round we'll pass the clinking can 
 
 Of brown October ale. 
 
 W. H. MacDonald 
 
 H 
 
The Armorer 
 
 (Will Scarlet's Song in Rohin Hood) 
 
 T ET hammer on anvil ring, ring, ring. 
 
 And the forge fire brightly shine; 
 Let the wars rage still, while 1 work with a will 
 
 At this peaceable trade of mine. 
 The sword is a weapon to conquer fields ; 
 
 1 honor the man who shakes it ; 
 But naught is the lad who the broadsword wields 
 
 Compared to the lad who makes it. 
 Huzzah for the anvil, the forge 
 and the sledge, 
 Huzzah for the sparks 
 that fly ; 
 If I had a cup I would straight- 
 way pledge 
 The armorer — that is I. 
 
 Clang, clang, clang ! 
 Let carking care go hang. 
 
 Let the trusty sledge 
 
 On the anvil's edge 
 By a lusty arm be whirled. 
 
 Cling, cling, cling ! 
 Let the armorer blithely sing; 
 
 For it's here is made 
 
 The hero's blade 
 That may conquer all the 
 world. 
 
 Eugene Cowles 
 
 IS 
 
Let others of glory sing, sing, sing. 
 
 As they struggle in glory's quest. 
 Let them wield their brands in their mailed hands, 
 
 While the sword smites shield and crest. 
 The soldier's a lad who is stanch and leal, 
 
 And his calling is most glorious ; 
 But who is it gives him the trusty steel 
 
 That can render him victorious ? 
 Huzzah for the wight who can fashion a blade 
 
 That can make a traitor fly ; 
 Huzzah for the lad who this broadsword made, 
 
 The armorer — that is L 
 
 Clang, clang, clang ! 
 Let carking care go hang. 
 
 Let the trusty sledge 
 
 On the anvil's edge 
 By a lusty arm be whirled. 
 
 Cling, cling, cling ! 
 Let the armorer blithely sing ; 
 
 For it's here is made 
 
 The hero's blade 
 That may conquer all the world. 
 
 i6 
 
 H. C. Barnabee 
 
(From The Casino Girl') 
 
 ' I ""HERE once was a frivolous and giddy 
 little clock, 
 
 A little French clock rather gay, 
 Very trim and very neat, but a creature of deceit 
 
 When you wished to know the time of day; 
 Its goings-on would shock the old hall clock, 
 
 Till it held up its hands aghast. 
 I'm sure, to tell the truth, it went wrong in early 
 youth. 
 
 Had a natural inclination to be fast. 
 
 "Tic-toe! tic-toe!" said the silly little clock, 
 
 " O life in this house is slow. 
 So cold and grim, very dull and prim — 
 
 I'm getting run down 1 know." 
 So she sighed all day for a life more gay, 
 She longed for a shady past. 
 This naughty little, haughty little 
 clock — tic-toe — 
 ^ That had an inclination to be fast. 
 
 17 
 
"I'm quite wound up," declared the giddy little clock, 
 
 "I'm weary of the mantel-shelf; 
 For years I've had to chime to give other folks a time. 
 
 Now I'd like to have a time myself. 
 I would even run away with a terrible roue. 
 
 If he'd show me the town's great sights." 
 So she took up with the lamp, an incorrigible scamp, 
 
 Who always smoked and went out nights. 
 
 "Tic-toe! tic-toe!" said the foolish little clock; 
 
 "Oh, won't you elope with me? 
 I'm yours from to-day if you'll take me away 
 
 Where something of life I'll see." 
 So they ne'er came back, and the bric-a-brac 
 
 Had scandal enough at last. 
 In gossiping about the little clock — tic-toe — 
 
 With inherited ambition to be fast. 
 
 1% 
 
" I will hide my face," said the foolish little clock, 
 
 "My case is a scandal quite. 
 For that shady lamp stays out all night; 
 
 His conduct is dreadfully light. 
 It gives me 'wheels in my head,' " said she 
 
 (Though 'twas slang that she did not like); 
 " He calls me a slow old thing ; he won't answer when I ring ; 
 
 No wonder that I'm going to strike." 
 
 " Tic-toe ! tic-toe ! " said the lonely little clock, 
 
 " I wish I had not left home. 
 I'd rather be straight than up to date. 
 
 And I never again will roam." 
 So now she's there on the mantel-shelf, 
 
 A lady who has a past. 
 " No reputable bric-a-brac will speak to her. 
 
 That little clock that used to be so fast. 
 
 Ella Snyder 
 
 •9 
 
The Highwayman 
 
 'XXT'HOSE figure is that on the crest of the hill, 
 
 Astride of a nag that is black as a raven. 
 With barkers at belt, never statue more still ? 
 
 'Tis he whose mere name gives a quake to the craven. 
 Red mask upon phiz, a red cloak he is wrapped in ; 
 
 Like an eagle he poises to swoop on his prey. 
 Why, who should it be but the bold Scarlet Captain, 
 
 The only true King of the King's Highway? 
 
 It is bad to be fobbed. 
 
 It is rough to be robbed 
 By a beetle-browed blackguard who boldly browbeats you ; 
 
 But believe me, 'tis worse 
 
 To deliver your purse 
 To a genial rascal who courteousiy treats you. 
 
With a cheery chit-chat to you — 
 
 Doffing plumed hat to you — 
 Blandly he tells you the toll you must pay. 
 
 Shockingly chaffs at you, 
 
 Mockingly laughs at you, 
 Gives you good-day and then gallops away. 
 
 Let jehu beware, let the guard have a care, 
 
 Let Bishop or Magistrate shiver and quiver 
 When Scarlet rides up on his ebon-black mare 
 
 And out of the night rings his " Stand and deliver." 
 But if 'tis a dame that is youthful and handsome. 
 
 Then never a courtier more gallant and gay ; 
 And never a jewel — just a kiss for a ransom, 
 
 'Tis a tax to the King of the King's Highway. 
 
 It is bad to be fobbed. 
 It is rough to be robbed 
 
 
 v^ #4 
 
By a beetle-browed blackguard who boldly browbeats you; 
 
 But believe me, 'tis worse 
 
 To deliver your purse 
 To a genial rascal who courteously treats you. 
 
 With a cheery chit-chat to you — 
 
 Doffing plumed hat to you — 
 Blandly he tells you the toll you must pay. 
 
 Shockingly chaffs at you, 
 
 Mockingly laughs at you. 
 Gives you good-day and then gallops away. 
 
OflNING 
 
 (The Highwttyman' s Last Song) 
 
 jO ME, fill me a flagon as high as you please, 
 
 And look that the wine be old, 
 For I have a toast I would drink ere we part, 
 To one fair face that is in this heart 
 
 That shall soon be still and cold. 
 This one fair girl, had she cared for me 
 As I have loved her in the days of old, 
 Why, certain purses there still might be 
 
 In their owners' pockets with all their gold. 
 
 (They give him a tankard^ 
 
 Health for aye to you ! 
 Masters, good-day to you ! 
 
 Ladies, a kiss to ye. 
 Your years may be long 
 For laughter and song. 
 
 But I shall be 
 
 Upon Tvburn tree 
 In the morning. 
 
 (He takes from his pocket a miniature, at which he looks 
 as he sings.) 
 
 n 
 
I never have told you, for scarcely I knew, 
 Never offered you kiss nor vow, 
 
 And lest, little sweetheart, I put you to shame, 
 
 I never will breathe to the world your name, 
 But you'll know all soon, dear, now. 
 
 So let the devil come claim his own! 
 
 I've led him a pace; I'll laugh in his face; 
 
 But say to those who my story tell 
 
 That I loved one long and well. 
 
 Fortune bright to you! 
 
 Ladies, good-night to you ! 
 
 Rascals must have their day. 
 
 My ghost may ride 
 
 A black steed astride. 
 But I shall fade 
 Like a phantom shade 
 In the morning. 
 
 24 
 
De Voodoo Man 
 
 OETTIN' roun' de cabin do' at sittin' o' de sun — 
 
 (Tell us a story, Uncle Remus, wont yeh?) 
 Crowd of pickaninnies dar waitin' fo' de fun — 
 
 (Tell us a story, Uncle Remus, do !) 
 All de chillen waitin' wid dere wides' ivory grin, 
 When ole Uncle Remus dar begins de yahns to spin, 
 O Brer Bar and Brer Fox and Brer Tarrypin — 
 (Um, um ! Ef all dem yahns was true !) 
 
 Refrain. 
 But don' yo' go beHevin' 'em, ma honey ! 
 Ole Remus is a Voodoo man ! 
 He talks to all de critters. 
 Knows ev'ry bird dat twitters ; 
 He'll fool yo' chillen if he can. 
 Look out for him ! He's witchin' yo' — fo' money ! 
 He's weavin' dem Voodoo spells; 
 Else de chillen wouldn't listen 
 Wid dere shiny eyes a-glisten 
 To de yahns Uncle Remus tells. 
 
 All de critters o' de woods is neighbors wif him, hon' — 
 (Tell us a story, Uncle Remus, won't yeh ?) 
 
 He kin talk dere languages; yas suh, ev'ry one — 
 (Tell us a story, Uncle Remus, do !) 
 
 Knows how Brer Rabbit fixed a baby out o' tar; 
 
 Knows how Brer Tarrypin done fool ole Brer Bar; 
 
 An' how ole Brer Fox's tail got bushy like it are — 
 (Um, um ! Ef all dem yahns was true !) 
 
 as 
 
26 
 
But don' yo' go believin' 'em, ma honey ! 
 Ole Remus is a Voodoo man ! 
 He talks to all de critters, 
 Knows ev'ry bird dat twitters ; 
 He'll fool yo' chillen if he can. 
 Look out for him ! He's witchin' vo' — fo' money ! 
 He's weavin' dem Voodoo spells; 
 Else de chillen wouldn't listen 
 Wid dere shiny eyes a-glisten 
 To de yahns Uncle Remus tells. 
 
 Ev'rybody say so, and fo' sho' dev all is right — 
 (Tell us a story. Uncle Remus, wont yeh?) 
 Remus goes a-prowlin' roun' de forest in de night — 
 
 (1 ell us a story. Uncle Remus, do !) 
 When de moon's behin' a cloud, dey say fo' sho' he goes 
 Deep into the dahkes' wood. De critters set in rows 
 An' he chahms 'em and dey tells him all de secrets what 
 dey knows — 
 (Um, um ! Ef all dem yahns was true !) 
 
 But don' yo' go believin' 'em, ma honey ! 
 Ole Remus is a Voodoo man ! 
 He talks to all de critters. 
 Knows ev'ry bird dat twitters ; 
 He'll fool yo' chillen if he can. 
 Look out for him ! He's witchin' yo' — fo' money ! 
 He's weavin' dem Voodoo spells ; 
 Else de chillen wouldn't listen 
 Wid dere shiny eyes a-glisten 
 To de yahns Uncle Remus tells. 
 
 17 
 
The Song of a Veteran 
 
 PjJi (From The Little Corporal^) 
 
 O, Master Tailor! perch on your marrow 
 bones, 
 Patch up the coat where the bullet 
 tickled me ; 
 Sew up the seams so the coat will last a 
 year or two ; 
 Charge it to France, and a patriot 
 you'll be. 
 See, Master Cobbler, boots could not be 
 sorrier ; 
 
 Bad at the heels, ay, and worse at 
 the toes. 
 Make 'em so strong they can carry a warrior 
 Half 'round the world if the tri-color goes. 
 
 Oh, a tailor's meek. 
 
 And a cobbler's weak. 
 Like a couple of grandams old. 
 
 It's right they should work 
 
 In their meek, weak way 
 For the men who are brave and bold. 
 
 Peg away and sew. 
 
 For the work, you know, 
 Is for one of your bold defenders. 
 
 Coat and boots shall share 
 
 In the fame of the Guard 
 That dies but never surrenders. 
 
 %% 
 
Ho, Master Blacksmith! blow me a 
 mighty blast, 
 me a blast till the forge is in a flame. 
 : the sword that was broken on the enemy ; 
 Charge it to France — you will get your pay 
 in fame. 
 Strike me a blow there, and strike me a lusty one : 
 
 Swing that big arm of yours. Do the best you know. 
 The sabre you hold there has e'er been a trusty one ; 
 The edge that you sharpen was blunted on the foe. 
 
 Let the strong arm swing. 
 
 And the hammer ring, 
 Till the sabre's done for me ; 
 
 Each blow that you strike 
 
 Is a blow for France, 
 And shall help us make you free. 
 
 For that steel, I swear. 
 
 Aye shall win its share 
 Of our new Republic's splendors. 
 
 It shall share in the fame 
 
 Of the brave Old Guard 
 That dies but never surrenders. 
 
 29 
 
Ho, Master Boniface ! fill me a cup or two. 
 
 Mind you, the best wine is none too good, my man. 
 Don't speak of cash ! You are honored when I drink with you. 
 
 Charge it to France; she will pay you when she can. 
 You, little girl with the starry eyes and ebon hair, 
 
 Lend me your waist for a roving arm or two. 
 Pay France's soldiers with smiles sweet and debonair. 
 
 Give me a kiss ; 'tis the least that you can do. 
 
 For it's only fair, 
 
 So it is, I swear. 
 That the men who fight for France 
 
 Should drink of her best. 
 
 And make love to her girls, 
 For it's rarely they have the chance. 
 
 So give a kiss 
 
 To a soldier, miss ; 
 To one of your bold defenders. 
 
 It's all for the sake 
 
 Of the brave Old Guard 
 That dies but never surrenders. 
 
 30 
 
 Francis Wilson 
 
Prince Rupert's Cavaliers 
 
 (From Rob Roy) 
 
 w 
 
 ITH their trappings all a' jingle, 
 And their horses' blood a' tingle, 
 Sabres clashing. 
 Armor flashing, 
 Rode Prince Rupert's cavaliers. 
 Then from garden, porch and ingle 
 Came the fair ones, wed and single, 
 Bright eyes glowing, 
 Ay, but showing 
 Love and loyalty through tears. 
 Sweetest kisses then they offered. 
 Silver flagons then they proffered 
 For a stirrup 
 Cup to cheer up ; 
 Then the bugles clear would ring ; 
 And with gay farewells in chorus 
 How those cavaliers before us 
 Galloped madly. 
 Riding gladly. 
 Forth to battle for their King. 
 
 31 
 
Chorus 
 Boots and saddles, cavaliers ! 
 
 Pistols, carabines ! 
 Down with all the Brunswick crew ! 
 
 Up with Kings and Queens ! 
 As we ride, as we ride 
 With our sabres at our side. 
 
 All our faith is for our King 
 As love is for a bride. 
 
 Noblest lords and sweetest ladies 
 Wished the Puritans in Hades. 
 
 For the Stuart 
 
 Beat each true heart, 
 'Neath chain-mail or silken gown, 
 Merry Tory lads and lasses, 
 Crumbling bread into their glasses. 
 
 Slyly winking. 
 
 Said ere drinking : 
 "Heaven send this Crumb-well down ! " 
 Ev'ry high-born wife and daughter 
 Pledged "The King's health — o'er the water," 
 
 Gladly guiding 
 
 Friends in hiding, 
 
 32 
 
 / 
 
All despite the risk and blame. 
 Those were stirring days and glorious, 
 Till our cause arose victorious, 
 Till knell sounded 
 For the Roundhead, 
 Till the Merry Monarch came. 
 
 Chorus 
 Boots and saddles, cavaliers ! 
 
 Pistols, carabines ! 
 Down with all the Brunswick crew ! 
 
 Up with Kings and Queens. 
 As we ride, as we ride 
 With our sabres at our side, 
 
 All our faith is for our King 
 As love is for a bride. 
 
 Richard Carroll 
 
 33 
 
Her Faults 
 
 (From The Mandarin) 
 
 Y sweetheart has her faults in plenty. 
 
 Which I perceive with much distress; 
 For instance, she is only twenty, 
 
 And one would think her even less; 
 While I may mention it between us — 
 
 (Excuse the confidence betrayed) — 
 Her form is plagiarized from Venus, 
 
 And no acknowledgment is made. 
 Her hair is much too fine and curly; 
 
 Her lips are merely Cupid's bow ; 
 Her teeth absurdly white and pearly ; 
 
 But still we all have faults, you know. 
 
 So, spite of this and spite of that, 
 
 Whate'er betide, whate'er befall. 
 
 These things let others cavil at; 
 
 I love my sweetheart, faults and all. 
 
 From such defects this little lady 
 
 Of mine is anything but free. 
 Her lashes are "extremely shady," 
 
 Her eyes are "much too deep for me." 
 Two dimples have been thought too many 
 
 For one small maiden to possess. 
 Her rivals wish she hadn't any ; 
 
 But what's a dimple more or less ? 
 
 34 
 
Her voice attracts o'er much attention 
 Because of its melodious ring. 
 
 Her foot — but that I shall not mention — 
 It's such a very little thing. 
 
 Yes, spite of that and spite of this, 
 Whate'er betide, whate'er befall. 
 
 Though others may perfection miss, 
 
 I love my sweetheart, faults and all. 
 
 imi 
 
 35 
 
Same Old Story 
 
 (From The Rounders') 
 
 TT I STORY, and nature too, repeat themselves, they say," 
 
 Men are only habit's slaves; we see it every day. 
 Life has done its best for me — I found it tiresome still; 
 For nothing's anything at all, and everything is nil. 
 
 Same old get up, dress, and tub; 
 Same old breakfast ; same old club ; 
 Same old feeling, same old blue ; 
 Same old story — nothing new ! 
 
 Life consists of paying bills as long as you have health ; 
 Woman ? she 11 be true to you — as long as you have wealth; 
 Think sometimes of marriage, if the right girl I could strike ; 
 But the more 1 see of girls, the more they are alike. 
 
 Same old giggles, smiles, and eyes ; 
 Same old kisses ; same old sighs ; 
 Same old chaff you ; same adieu ; 
 Same old story — nothing new ! 
 
 Go to theatres sometimes, to see the latest plays; 
 Same old plots I played with in my happy childhood's days. 
 Hero, same; same villain, and same heroine in tears, 
 Starving, homeless in the snow- with diamonds in her ears. 
 
 Same stern father making "bluffs"; 
 Leading man all teeth and cuffs ; 
 Same soubrettes, still twenty-two ; 
 Same old story — nothing new! 
 
 36 
 
Friend of mine got married ; in a year or so — a boy ! 
 Father really foolish in his fond paternal joy ; 
 Talked about that " kiddy," and became a dreadful bore- 
 Just as if a baby never had been born before. 
 
 Same old crying, only more ; 
 Same old business, walking floor; 
 Same old " kitchy — coochy — coo ! " 
 Same old baby — nothing new ! 
 
 Dan Daly 
 
 37 
 
Orchard Song 
 
 T TNDER the trees where the pippins grow 
 
 I'm bound to be every morning; 
 There once on a time came Robin the rogue, 
 
 Who kissed me with never a warning ; 
 And it's "Will you be mine," quoth he, quoth he; 
 
 " For love I am like to die-a." 
 Quoth I, " I'll never wed Robin the rogue, 
 
 Who kisses upon the sly-a." 
 
 But helgho ! Whether or no, 
 The breeze is soft i' the morning. 
 
 Kiss me again before I go, 
 
 Under the trees where the pippins grow; 
 But see that you give me warning ! 
 
 Under the trees where the pippins grow. 
 
 Through half of the day 1 tarry ; 
 A' thinking of winsome Robin the rogue, 
 
 And making my mind to marry. 
 " I love you ; marry me, sweet," quoth he. 
 
 And maybe I will bye and bye-a ; 
 Yet, after a year, will Robin the rogue 
 
 Kiss Moll-o'-the-Mill on the sly-a? 
 
But heigho ! Whether or no. 
 The breeze is soft i' the morning. 
 
 Kiss me again, though I tell you no ; 
 
 Under the trees where the pippins grow; 
 No matter about the warning ! 
 
 Lulu Glaser 
 
 39 
 
Turnkey's Son© 
 
 r 
 
 (From Rob Roy) 
 
 N the darkness deep 
 Of the donjon-keep, 
 
 Where the spiders spin their strands; 
 In the home of bats 
 And of gray old rats, 
 
 Are my lord the turnkey's lands. 
 O, his task is light. 
 But from morn till night 
 
 On his rounds he needs must go. 
 It is tramp, tramp, tramp, 
 With his keys and lamp. 
 
 In the corridors down below. 
 
 "Then it's ho — ho — ho! 
 I am king of the donjon deep. 
 
 There is music of bolt and chain 
 In the turnkey's dark domain. 
 How merrily jingle chains that cling. 
 How cheerily tinkle keys that swing! 
 I am king — king — king of the donjon-keep. 
 
 40 
 
Though the ravens scream 
 
 From the gallows beam, 
 It is little heed he takes; 
 
 And a song he roars 
 
 Through the corridors 
 As his watchful round he makes. 
 
 None are false to him 
 
 In his kingdom grim, 
 For their monarch never sleeps. 
 
 O, there's none dares say 
 
 To the turnkey nay ; 
 He is king of the donjon deeps. 
 
 "Then it's ho — ho — ho ! 
 I am king of the donjon deep. 
 
 There is music of bolt and chain 
 In the turnkey's dark domain. 
 How merrily jingle chains that cling, 
 How cheerily tinkle keys that swing! 
 I am king — king — king of the donjon-keep." 
 
 X 
 
 A 
 
 41 
 
iiii»iliiitiif!f^i^^ 
 
 A Drinking Song at the Mermaid Tavern 
 
 (From Will Shakespeare') 
 
 '1X7"HEN silly sheep freeze on the moor; 
 When May-day bringeth ring-time ; 
 When Autumn's brisk wind shakes the door ; 
 
 When blackbirds whistle Springtime ; 
 St. Dunstan's day ; St. Swithin's day ; 
 
 Howe'er the seasons vary ; 
 Or shine or sleet ; all times are meet 
 
 For bowsing good Canary. 
 
 Fill high ! Fill high ! 
 Pour down and fill again ! 
 
 Troll, troll, the steaming bowl, 
 An ye be Englishmen. 
 
 Thirst is a dragon 
 
 We'll kill with a flagon ; 
 Let Gossip Care go pack ; 
 
 We'll drown the jade 
 
 In oceans made 
 Of stout Canary sack. 
 
 42 
 
When old Sir Crow against the snow 
 
 Sits rueful on bare trees-a, 
 When blossoms from the hawthorn blow 
 
 With every April breeze-a ; 
 When bare-kneed boys sit by the brook, 
 
 To hook the trout so wary; 
 When acorns brown the squirrel pelts down,- 
 
 'Tis then I quaff Canary. 
 
 Fill high ! Fill high ! 
 Pour down and fill again ! 
 
 Troll, troll, the steaming bowl, 
 An ye be Englishmen. 
 
 Thirst is a dragon 
 
 We'll kill with a flagon ; 
 Let Gossip Care go pack ; 
 
 We'll drown the jade 
 
 In oceans made 
 Of stout Canary sack. 
 
 43 
 
A Japanese Elopement 
 
 (From The Mandarin') 
 
 npING-LING was a Mandarin's daughter, 
 
 And a radiant sight to see. 
 Full many a suitor sought her ; 
 
 Ne'er was damsel fair as she. 
 She had jet black diagonal eyes ; 
 Her finger-tips were of rosy dyes, 
 While widely known for their lack of size 
 
 Were the feet of the fair Ting- Ling. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 O, the smile was sweet of shy Ting- Ling 
 And the wink was neat of sly Ting- Ling ; 
 But still more sweet 
 And still more neat 
 Were her dainty, diminutive mites of feet. 
 As she teetered away, that coy young thing. 
 To meet the lover who loved Ting-Ling. 
 
 44 
 
Ting-Ling was to be wedded 
 To a wizen, doddering 
 sage; 
 A marriage greatly dreaded — 
 He was quite four times 
 her age. 
 His voice was gruff and his 
 face was grim ; 
 His talk was dull and his eyes were dim ; 
 And passing gay, when she looked at him, 
 Was the laugh of pert Ting- Ling. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 He was much too old for young Ting-Ling ; 
 He was much too cold for gay Ting- Ling ; 
 
 So just the same, 
 
 The same old game 
 Would she carry on with her former flame. 
 For youth is a thing must have its fling. 
 " One must love some one," said sweet Ting-Ling 
 
 One day he chanced to discover. 
 With blood in his aged eye, 
 Ting-Ling had a gallant young lover, 
 
 So he vowed they both should die. 
 His minions chased those lovers sweet, 
 Who alas! could not make progress fleet. 
 For oh, those dear little dumpy feet 
 
 Wouldn't carry the fair Ting-Ling. 
 
 45 
 
Chorus 
 
 Oh, she swooned and shrieked did poor Ting-Ling, 
 And the husband squeaked : " She's my Ting-Ling." 
 
 The lover drew 
 
 His sword and slew 
 That sage and his pursuing crew ; 
 Then she teetered away, that coy young thing 
 To wed the lover who loved Ting-Ling. 
 
 46 
 
The Tinkers' Song 
 
 CFrom Robin Hooa) 
 
 '' I ""IS merry journeymen we are, 
 
 All in the tinkering line, sirs; „ 
 
 We tramp the roadways near and far. 
 If the weather it be fine, sirs. 
 And if so be some churlish lout 
 
 Should make us surly answers, 
 We straightway drown his utterance out 
 By tapping on our pans, sirs. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Then we rap, rap, rap, 
 
 And we tap, tap, tap. 
 From the dawn till the dark of night, sirs ; 
 
 We are men of metal, 
 
 And the can or kettle 
 Doesn't live that we can't set right, sirs. 
 
 Tink tank, clink clank — 
 Hear our hammers ring; 
 
 47 
 
When trade is brisk 
 We frolic and we frisk 
 * As happy and gay as a king. 
 
 Your tinker is a blithesome blade, 
 
 A cheerful soul I wot, sirs; 
 And if enow he be not paid, 
 
 He thieves what you have got, sirs. 
 He tells the news from town to town. 
 
 The true news and the lie, sirs; 
 You'll search the whole world up and down 
 
 And find no wight so sly, sirs. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Then we rap, rap, rap, 
 And we tap, tap, tap, 
 From the dawn till the dark of night, sirs ; 
 We are men of metal. 
 And the can or kettle 
 Doesn't live that we can't set right, sirs. 
 Tink tank, clink clank — 
 Hear our hammers ring; 
 When trade is brisk 
 We frolic and we frisk 
 As happy and gay as a king. 
 
 
 H. C. Barnabee 
 
Prr^. 
 
 Gypsy Jan 
 
 The Fortune Teller") 
 
 nm- 
 
 of;v 
 
 GIVE ye the tale of the Gypsy Jan, 
 
 As was given the tale to me. 
 Very few would fare to the hills up there, 
 
 But there in the night went he; 
 And there in the dark he'd crouch and hark. 
 With his ear to the ground so cold; 
 And he'd hear the clamor of pick and hammer. 
 As the dwarfmen mined their gold. 
 
 Oh, down, down, down in the mountain's heart. 
 
 Where a mortal has entered never, 
 Down in the mines where the red gold shines. 
 
 The dwarfmen toil forever. 
 And the clatter and clang of their hammers rang 
 
 As they quarried their wealth untold. 
 Jan swore he would creep to the caverns deep 
 
 To rob — rob the dwarfs of their gold 
 Ho! Ho! 
 For Jan was a gypsy bold. 
 
 Oh, he lay in wait, did the Gypsy Jan, 
 
 Till a truant dwarf passed by ; 
 Then he cried : " Come, show me the mines below. 
 
 Or here by my hand you die." 
 
 49 
 
So the dwarf in fright, with a torch alight, 
 Led him down to the dark domains ; 
 
 There he drank and slept — then he woke and wept; 
 For the dwarf had Jan in chains. 
 
 So down, down, down in the mountain's heart, 
 
 Gypsy Jan toileth on forever ; 
 Oh, he hews the rock while the dwarfmen mock, 
 
 And his chains he can never sever. 
 And there he shall stay till the Judgment Day, 
 
 The slave of the dwarfmen old ; 
 When the nights are still ye may hear on the hill 
 
 Gypsy Jan as he mines his gold. 
 Ho! Ho! 
 
 And the sound makes the blood run cold. 
 
Grenadier's Song 
 
 (From Roi Roy) 
 
 Ty EADY to charge when the die is cast, 
 
 Ready to kiss every damsel pretty, 
 Ready to laugh when the canteen's passed 
 
 Whether the jest be dull or witty. 
 Willing to tackle 'em one to ten, 
 Stranger alike to care or fear, 
 I'm a dashing, plucky, 
 Happy-go-lucky, 
 Rollicking grenadier. 
 Never a girl in old Scotia dwells. 
 
 Never a damozel lives in Britain 
 Who, when a noble warrior tells 
 
 Tidings of love, will give the mitten. 
 Eager to rush on a craven foe 
 
 When such an article is near, 
 I'm a ranting, tearing. 
 Devil-may-caring, 
 Swaggering grenadier. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 One — two — left — right. 
 Primly the goose-step marking ; 
 
The bugle shrill 
 Each heart must thrill, 
 
 As His Majesty's defenders come. 
 One — two — left — right ! 
 
 Fighting the foe or larking, 
 The life is joy 
 Of the soldier boy 
 
 Who follows at the tap of the drum. 
 
 Pity have I for England's foes, 
 
 Fighting 'gainst us is useless folly. 
 Only a sight of our army throws 
 
 Louis' " Mounseers" into melancholy. 
 Frenchies and Dutchmen quake and shake 
 Only to list to an English cheer 
 From a bold, defying. 
 Never-say-dying, 
 Roistering grenadier. 
 Pity have I for love-lorn dames. 
 
 Whether of village or of city, 
 Whether of humble or noble 
 names. 
 The rich and plain or the « 
 poor and pretty. 
 Ne'er taking thought of the hearts I break, 
 I'm really too cruel I often fear — 
 A never-regret-them, 
 Kiss-and-forget-them, 
 Rollicking grenadier. 
 
 52 
 
Chorus 
 
 One — two — left — right. 
 Primly the goose-step marking ; 
 
 The bugle shrill 
 
 Each heart must thrill. 
 As His Majesty's defenders come. 
 
 One — two — left — right ! 
 Fighting the foe or larking, 
 The life is joy 
 Of the soldier boy 
 
 Who follows at the tap of the drum 
 
 William Pruette 
 
 53 
 
The Beau of Georgian Days 
 
 (From The Highwayman') 
 
 TN gaming or duello I'm a very ready fellow, 
 
 As any rival gallant is aware. 
 To hold my own I'm able, and my cronies at the table 
 
 Are under it before I turn a hair. 
 At cards I love a battle, or the dice's click and rattle ; 
 
 A gallop steeplechase I prize ; 
 But, other things above, I most love love. 
 
 And a pretty pair of sparkHng eyes. 
 
 Oh, life is folly. 
 
 If you do not make it jolly; 
 Look upon it ever with a laugh. 
 
 Dolly, Polly, Molly, 
 
 You may make them melancholy ; 
 They may weep and sigh, but you may chaff. 
 
 They may plead and sigh. 
 
 But that's your cue to cry: 
 " Crick-crack ! Find another love, ma belle. 
 
 Hide that pouting face. 
 
 Another's in your place." 
 Crick-crack ! Vive la bagatelle ! 
 
 I like the dainty kisses of a darling little Duchess 
 Who married with her ducal liege for gold. 
 
 But I like the rustic fairy who is duchess of a dairy. 
 And who quite believes whatever she is told. 
 
 54 
 
I adore the jade that's naughty and I tame my Lady Haughty. 
 
 I've caprices for the siren or the shrew. 
 I've the person and the pelf to amuse my noble self, 
 
 And there's nothing else in life to do. 
 
 Oh, life is folly. 
 
 If you do not make it jolly ; 
 Look upon it ever with a laugh. 
 
 Dolly, Polly, Molly, 
 
 You may make them melancholy ; 
 They may weep and sigh, but you may chaff. 
 
 They may plead and sigh. 
 
 But that's your cue to cry : 
 " Crick-crack ! Find another love, ma belle. 
 
 Hide that pouting face. 
 
 Another's in your place." 
 Crick-crack ! Vive la bagatelle ! 
 
 Hilda Clark 
 
 55 
 
The Cobbler's Ghost 
 
 (From The Little Corporal') 
 
 ASJea 
 
 S Jean Nigaud, the cobbler, sat 
 Before his shop one day, 
 And at a pair of hobnailed boots 
 He gaily tapped away. 
 
 The blue-coats marching down the street, 
 
 Espied the luckless knave. 
 And then and there insisted that 
 
 He seek a soldier's grave. 
 He cried, "I'm very busy 
 
 With my rap-tap, tap-tap-tap. 
 And marching makes me dizzy, 
 
 I would rather rap-tap-tap." 
 In vain did poor Jean fume and fret, 
 A scant ten minutes he could get 
 To say good-bye to his Babette, 
 
 With a rap-tap, rap-tap-tap. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Adieu, Babette, ma belle, and if perchance I'm slew. 
 Don't wed another fellow, or my ghost will worry you. 
 My spectre'll sit beside your bed, and mar your nuptial nap. 
 By making ghostly boots and shoes with a ghastly rap-tap-tap. 
 
 56 
 
X 
 
 He fought a lot did Jean Nigaud ; 
 
 He lost an arm, a leg; 
 He substituted for the same 
 
 A hook and wooden peg. 
 He lost an eye; he lost an ear; 
 
 Of teeth he'd half a set. 
 At last he wandered homeward and 
 
 He hunted up Babette. 
 To his old shop a-hobbhng ; 
 
 Then he heard a rap-tap-tap. 
 Another chap sat cobbling, 
 
 With his rap tap, tap-tap-tap. 
 That cobbler said: " I'm glad we've met 
 
 A hero; and my wife shall get 
 A drink for you. Come here, 
 
 Babette ! " 
 What a rap-tap, rap-tap- 
 tap ! 
 
 Refrain 
 
 "So so, Babette, coquette! You could 
 
 not wait for me." 
 " I would not be the better half of 
 
 half a man," said she. 
 "As you have one foot in the grave," 
 
 she said, "my poor old chap, 
 I couldn't stand that wooden leg with 
 
 its rap-tap-tap-tap-tap." 
 
 57 
 
 Francis Wilson 
 
Of course Jean went and hanged himself, 
 
 His dread revenge to wreak. 
 That night when fair Babette awoke, 
 
 She gave a gruesome shriek ; 
 A shriek that woke her second spouse. 
 
 For in the moonhght dim 
 They saw the ghost of Jean Nigaud — 
 
 Or what was left of him. 
 A pair of brogans making. 
 
 With a rap-tap-tap-tap-tap. 
 He set them quaking, shaking. 
 
 With his rap-tap-tap-tap-tap. 
 He grinned and gibbered with delight. 
 Imagine, if you can, their fright. 
 He came thereafter every night. 
 
 With his rap-tap, rap-tap-tap ! 
 
 Refrain 
 
 "So so, Babette, coquette, you couldn't wait, my dear; 
 How do you like a one-eyed ghost who's lost his larboard ear? 
 At twelve o'clock on ev'ry night I'll come and spoil your nap, 
 A dismal spook with peg and hook, and a rap-tap-tap- tap-tap." 
 
 58 
 
59 
 
Eyes of Black and Eyes of Blue 
 
 (From The Viceroy) 
 
 /^NE day I swear by the eyes of black, 
 
 The next by the eyes of blue ; 
 'Tis in merry black eyes that the love-light lies, 
 
 But the blue are more apt to be true. 
 The dusky-eyed maid has a laughing look 
 
 That can make you the world forget, my boy ; 
 But the gentle blue eye never causes a sigh, 
 
 And it rarely denotes the coquette, my boy. 
 
 Eyes of black or eyes of blue, 
 Devil a bit does it matter I say ! 
 
 If I love one to-day, why to-morrow I may 
 Have a caprice for the brown or the gray. 
 
 So here is a toast to the feminine host, 
 The blue eyes for me or the black for you. 
 
 The one for a time I shall think sublime, 
 And then if you like I will change with you. 
 
 One day I sing of the raven curls. 
 
 The next of the ringlets fair. 
 Be mine the brunette of the tresses jet. 
 
 Mine the Hebe of golden hair. 
 For the gypsy-like maid has a heart that's warm. 
 
 You are lucky indeed if you're hers, my boy; 
 But there s many a blonde can be equally fond. 
 
 If you're only the one she prefers, my boy. 
 
 60 
 
Raven hair or hair of gold, 
 Devil a bit does it matter I say! 
 
 If I love one to-day, why to-morrow I may 
 Have a caprice for the auburn gay 
 
 So here is a toast to the feminine host, 
 Blonde ringlets for me and the black for you. 
 
 The one for a time I shall think sublime. 
 And then if you like I will change with you. 
 
 Marcea Van Dresser 
 
 6i 
 
W^sm^: 
 
 iir' 
 
 *«#%^l 
 
 H[ JOLLY MILLER i? 
 
 (From Roi Roy) 
 
 ' I ""HERE was a jolly miller of the 
 Lowlands, I've been told — 
 A very jolly miller, as they say — 
 Who never cared a rap for love, but 
 muckle cared for gold ; 
 For the careless miller, lads, sing hey. 
 The miller's pow was gray, 
 And auld was he they say ; 
 Yet he maun gang a'coortin' of a shiny 
 summer day. 
 
 The carle was fou nae doot. 
 For wha should he pick oot 
 But Margery, the tavern maid, sae canty 
 and sae gay. 
 
 . Chorus ~' ■ ■ 
 
 What! Margery.^ Ay, Margery; 
 The pouting, flouting Margery; 
 The laughing, chaffing Margery, 
 
 Wi' all her smiles and winks. 
 
 ThE 
 
 mmx ! 
 
 She married him for siller. 
 The rusty, dusty miller. 
 
 Ha ha ha ha ! ho ho ho ho ! 
 
 The miller's cake was dough. 
 
 62 
 
Oh, Margery, the tavern maid, she makes a 
 merry wife, 
 A very merry wifie, as they say ; 
 The miller, puir unlucky soul, he leads the 
 deil's ane life; 
 For the life she leads him, lads, sing hey. 
 The way she flirts and gads 
 Wi' all the likely lads, 
 A kiss for one, a kiss for all ; she comes at 
 every call. 
 
 That's what a man maun get 
 Who weds a wild coquette 
 Like Margery, the tavern maid, who gives 
 her smiles to all. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 What! Margery? Ay, Margery; 
 The pouting, flouting Margery ; 
 
 The laughing, chaffing Margery ; 
 Wi' all her smiles and winks. 
 
 The minx ! 
 She married him for siller. 
 The rusty, dusty miller. 
 
 Ha ha ha ha ! ho ho ho ho ! 
 The miller's cake was dough. 
 
 63 
 
 Anna O'Keefe 
 
The Skirt Dancer 
 
 (From The Idol'' s Eye') 
 
 QHE came from England's shore, 
 A siren to adore ; 
 Her face so fair, a seraph's you'd imagine it. 
 
 Skirt-dancing was her game ; 
 
 She had a stately name ; 
 They programmed her as Gwendolen Plantagenet. 
 
 On my last ocean trip 
 
 I met her on the ship. 
 And when they had the customary benefit, 
 
 They asked her to appear; 
 
 She said : " I'll volunteer ; 
 I fawncy 'mong my dawnces I have many fit." 
 
 Refrain 
 She did a little step or two. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 Swung her slipper like the pendulum of a clock. 
 A gleam of silken shapeliness. (Tra la la la la la!) 
 
 A dozen chappies fainted from the shock. 
 A fluttering of lingerie. (Tra la la la la la!) 
 
 A flash of lightning never was as quick. 
 It caused a great sensation, did the pedal elevation 
 
 Of the five-foot little lady with the eight-foot kick. 
 
 " Brava ! Encore ! " they roared. 
 A Bishop was on board ; 
 A portly man who frowned upon hilarity. 
 He said; " IVIiss, I entreat. 
 Your little dance repeat. 
 
 64 
 
65 
 
It's shocking; but, of course, it's done for charity." 
 
 She posed upon one toe. 
 
 She swung her foot — just so ; 
 The bits of chandelier began to scatter 'round. 
 
 Once more ! As quick as that ! 
 
 Off flew the Bishop's hat. 
 And the agitated Bishop passed that hat around. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 She did a little step or two. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 Swung her slipper like the pendulum of a clock. 
 A gleam of silken shapeliness. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 A dozen chappies fainted from the shock. 
 A fluttering of lingerie. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 A flash of lightning never was as quick. 
 It caused a great sensation, did the pedal elevation 
 
 Of the five-foot little lady with the eight-foot kick. 
 
 66 
 
With gold and bills the hat 
 
 Was packed as high as that. 
 The matrons frowned and said: "What do you think of it?" 
 
 The Captain went insane ; 
 
 He ordered up champagne 
 By basketfuls; made ev'rybody drink of it. 
 
 The dudes all sighed: "Ah, do 
 
 Give me that little shoe." 
 But dudish hopes immediately were baffled, for 
 
 The Bishop said, said he: 
 
 "Young men, pray pardon me; 
 For charity, that shoe is to be raffled for." 
 
 Refrain 
 
 She did a little step or two. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 Swung her slipper Hke the pendulum of a clock. 
 A gleam of silken shapeliness. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 A dozen chappies fainted from the shock. 
 A fluttering of lingerie. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 A flash of lightning never was as quick. 
 It caused a great sensation, did the pedal elevation 
 
 Of the five-foot little lady with the eight-foot kick. 
 
 Oh, when she reached these shores 
 
 She wearied of encores. 
 And they deluged her with posies odoriferous. 
 
 The moral, by the bye. 
 
 Is let your aim be high 
 If you would win applause that is vociferous. 
 
 67 
 
The Bishop was a catch, 
 
 And as he was a "bach," 
 He offered her his hand; but she said, "Never! Oh! 
 
 Why, I'm engaged," she said; 
 
 "I'm going 'ome to wed 
 A nice young chap, Lord Halfred 'Arold Devereaux." 
 
 Refrain 
 
 She did a little step or two. (Tra la la la la la!) 
 
 Swung her slipper like the pendulum of a clock. 
 A gleam of silken shapeliness. (Tra la la la la la!) 
 
 A dozen chappies fainted on the spot. 
 A fluttering of lingerie. (Tra la la la la la !) 
 
 A flash of lightning never was as quick. 
 It caused a great sensation, did the pedal elevation 
 
 Of the five-foot little lady with the eight-foot kick. 
 
 Helen Redmund 
 
 68 
 
A Gypsy's Song 
 
 (From The Fortune Teller') 
 
 TLJO, ye townsmen, ye clerks and ye gownsmen, 
 
 Creatures of books and of yardstick and trade. 
 Bending you double with care and with trouble, 
 
 Toiling with brain or with pen or with spade. 
 Ye play a game where the winners are losers ; 
 
 He in the van is the soonest to die. 
 Think you that I would change places with you, sirs ? 
 
 Thank you, good slaves of the city — not I. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 What ! Up with the sun and to 
 work? Oh, no ! 
 Tom may do that. It is not my way. 
 What! Keep within doors and rot? 
 Oh, no! 
 That is for_yo«, but I cry you nay. 
 If the slaves toil on, shall I ? 
 In the dusk, in the dawn, 
 shall I ? 
 
 Eugene Cowies Let theits be the strife, but a lazy life 
 
 Is a happier life, I know. 
 Ho ho! 
 What! work like the fools? Oh, no! 
 
 Ye that labor at " beggar my neighbor," 
 
 All ye that chase for the will-o'-wisp Fame, 
 
 While you are hasting, your youth you are wasting- 
 Idlers like me have the best of the game. 
 
 69 
 
Mine are the joys that the best of you misses, 
 Pleasure and leisure that aye pass you by. 
 
 Mine is the true love and mine are the kisses; 
 
 Buy them as you do, poor fools? No, not I. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 What! Waste all my life as you do ? Oh, no ! 
 Toil is for slaves. It's not my way. 
 What ! Buy all my joys for cash } Oh, no ! 
 Do it ye may, but 1 cry you nay. 
 Turn blood into gold, shall I ? 
 Let my heart grow old, shall I ? 
 To lie in the shade of a mossy glade 
 Is a happier dream, I know. 
 Ho ho! 
 What ! Work like the fools ? Oh, no ! 
 
 70 
 
 Alice Neilsen 
 
All. 
 
 All, 
 
 ALK about yo' luck. I'm 'quainted wif a 
 coon ; 
 'Lige 'Rastus Jackson am his name. 
 He will hoi' up a deuce an' he'll draw foh aces 
 When he's settin' in a pokah game. 
 He'll fall in de ribber when de tide am runnin' high, 
 An' he'll come outdusty,er at least he'll come out dry. 
 If he fell off a house onct he'd find dat he could fly. 
 Talk about yo' luck ! Um! Um ! 
 
 Fo' I tell yo' what he's got — 
 
 What's he got? What's he got? 
 Dat's de secret ob dis good-luck coon. 
 
 It's de lef ' hin' foot ob a grabe-yahd rabbit 
 Which am plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 An' it ain't a bit o' use — 
 Not a bit ! Not a bit ! 
 To buck up against a big fat coon 
 When he carries in his clo'es de foot ob a rabbit 
 Dat was plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 
 71 
 
Went out to a dance Friday night a week ago ; 
 
 Took little Mattie Hawkins 'long. 
 Wore a new pink shirt an' a diamon' big ez dat ; 
 
 Little Mattie said she loved me strong. 
 But 'Lige 'Rastus Jackson, he showed up ez big ez life; 
 He put a hoodoo on me so I couldn't draw my knife ; 
 He stole dat little Mattie, an' she's gwine to be his wife. 
 Talk about yo' luck ! Um ! Um ! 
 
 Fo' I tell yo' what he's got — 
 All. What's he got? What's he got? 
 
 Dat's de secret ob dis good-luck coon. 
 
 It's de lef ' hin' foot ob a grabe-yahd rabbit 
 Which am plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 An' it ain't a bit o' use — 
 All. Not a bit ! Not a bit ! 
 
 To buck up against a big fat coon 
 When he carries in his clo'es 
 de foot ob a rabbit 
 Dat was plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 
 I'm ez big ez 'Lige an' I'm full o' muscle too. 
 
 'Lige he'd be easy meat fo' me. 
 De las' time we met 'twas at a pokah game. 
 
 An' I picked a row o' purpose — see ? 
 I frew him out o' window, hoped he smash his ugly head. 
 But de folks nex' do' was movin' an dey put a feathah bed 
 Where 'Rastus done fell on it, an' he jes' got up an' said : 
 " Talk about yo' luck ! 
 Um ! Um ! " 
 
 'll^iyi^kiL^I 
 
 72 
 
Fo' I tell yo' what he's got — 
 All. What's he got? What's he got? 
 
 Dat's de secret ob dis good-luck coon. 
 
 It's de lef ' hin' foot ob a grabe-vahd rabbit 
 Which am plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 An' it ain't a bit o' use — 
 All. Not a bit! Not a bit ! 
 
 To buck up against a big fat coon 
 When he carries in his clo'es de foot ob a rabbit 
 Dat was plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 
 'Lige, he made a raid on a watahmillion patch. 
 
 Got one, de bigges' ob its race ; 
 Went down by de railroad, set upon de track. 
 
 Begun to tuck dat million in his face. 
 Along come express train goin' like to split. 
 Struck 'Lige upon de cranium. De ingine had a fit; 
 But de million ? Bless yo' heart, chile. It wan't hurt a bit 
 Talk about yo' luck ! Um ! Um ! 
 
 Fo' I tell yo' what he's got — 
 All. What's he got? What's he got? 
 
 Dat's de secret ob dis good-luck coon. 
 
 It's de lef hin' foot ob a grabe-yahd rabbit 
 Which am plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 An' it ain't a bit o' use — 
 All. Not a bit ! Not a bit ! 
 
 To buck up against a big fat coon 
 When he carries in his clo'es de foot ob a rabbit 
 Dat was plucked in de dahk o' de moon. 
 
 73 
 
' 1 ""HE kind av a sweetheart for me, d'ye moind, 
 Is young Kitty O'Brien, and she hves near 
 Killarney. 
 Ye may have a kiss, if to steal you're incHned, 
 
 And she'll give you as good as ye'll give her in 
 blarney. 
 Don't try to decave, for she will not belave, 
 
 She knows by the looks av ye what ye are afther; 
 If ye sigh that ye die for the glance of her eye, 
 
 Then the divil himself couldn't dale wid her laughter. 
 
 Thin it's arrah, mavourneen, have pity. 
 
 Me beautiful cowld-hearted Kitty. 
 For love av ye, dear, I'm wastin' away and dyin'. 
 
 With the sighin' and burnin' and frettin', 
 
 D'ye moind, dear, how thin I am gettin' ? 
 All becaze I fear to lose you, pretty Kitty O'Brien. 
 
 Her eye is the foinest that Ireland can show, 
 
 Exceptin' wan only, and that is her other. 
 To find such a foot 'round the world ye might go,- 
 
 But ye'd never sucsade, so ye'd better not bother. 
 Her hand would drive envyin' duchesses mad. 
 
 Sometimes ye can take it; at others — it's risky ; 
 She smiles like a beautiful angel who's had 
 
 The laste taste in life av most illigent whiskey. 
 
 74 
 
Thin it's arrah, mavourneen, have pity, 
 
 Me beautiful cowld-hearted Kitty, 
 For love av ye, dear, I'm wastin' away and dyin'. 
 
 Ye have ways so provokin' and plazin', 
 
 Wid yer tazin' I'm losin' me rayson. 
 Sure me ghost will come and haunt yez, pretty Kitty 
 O'Brien. 
 
 75 
 
Life is a Toy Shop 
 
 (From The Casino Girl) 
 
 She. T remember, I remember when I was a little girl, 
 My little girlish faith I pinned — O ! 
 To a lovely great big dolly. 
 With a smile so bright and jolly. 
 That was standing in a toy-shop window. 
 He. I recognize the kind of lovely dolly that you mean - 
 A flaxen-haired and blue-eyed waxen miss 
 That would open widest eyes 
 With expression of surprise ; 
 And, when you wound it up, would walk like this — 
 
 She. When in its little chest 
 
 A little spring you pressed. 
 
 It said, " Mamma ! Papa ! " 
 
 It laughed, "Ha! ha! ha! ha!" 
 He. But much as 'twas admired, 
 
 Of it you soon were tired ; 
 
 To open it you tried 
 
 To see what was inside. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Both. Oh, life is a great big toy-shop 
 
 We men and women little folks who haunt it 
 A pretty thing we see. 
 We clap our hands with glee. 
 
 76 
 
And cry, " Mamma, oh, buy me that, I want it ! " 
 
 But soon as once we get it 
 
 We speedily regret it. 
 We take another fancy, at the former one we scoff; 
 
 The doll is stuffed with sawdust. 
 
 Of frauds it is the fraudest, 
 Its little head is hollow, and the paint comes off. 
 
 He. I remember, I remember when I was a little boy. 
 My little boyish heart was merry 
 
 With a noisy toy tin trumpet, 
 
 And a drum — how I would thump it ! 
 I was very, very military. 
 She. I recognize the instruments of torture that you mean- 
 The kind that comfort neighbors in a flat. 
 
 The folk who lived next door 
 
 For mercy would implore, 
 And send in word to " kindly stop that brat." 
 
 He. Until my hands were numb 
 
 I'd beat upon that drum ; 
 
 A popgun I would shoot, 
 
 A trumpet I would toot. 
 She. The novelty once o'er. 
 
 You loved those toys no more ; 
 
 No more disturbed the peace 
 
 While neighbors cried, " Police ! " 
 
 Both. Oh, life is a great big toy-shop. 
 
 We men and women little folks who haunt it 
 
 77 
 
ivt»j:hiC '-JtUwJ 
 
 78 
 
A pretty thing we see, 
 
 We clap our hands with glee, 
 And cry, " Mamma, oh, buy me that, I want it ! " 
 
 But soon as once we get it 
 
 We speedily regret it. 
 We take another fancy, at the former one we scoff; 
 
 The doll is stuffed with sawdust, 
 
 Of frauds it is the fraudest. 
 Its little head is hollow, and the paint comes off. 
 
 He. I remember, I remember when I was a silly youth, 
 I loved a damsel blonde and charming; 
 
 I was gloomy and Byronic 
 
 (What I needed was a tonic), 
 In fact mv case was quite alarming. 
 She. I recognize the specimen of damsel that you mean— 
 A pink-and-white peroxide Miss, 
 
 Much older, sir, than you. 
 
 And too good to be true, 
 Whose high heels made her walk like this — 
 
 He. a girl who giggled so. 
 
 Whose gowns were rather low. 
 Not overstocked with brain. 
 But partial to champagne. 
 
 She. When she refused to wed, 
 
 You wished that you were dead. 
 With martyrdom sublime ; 
 But you found her out in time. 
 
 79 
 
Both. Oh, life is a great big toy-shop, 
 
 We men and women little folks who haunt it 
 
 A pretty thing we see, 
 
 We clap our hands with glee. 
 And cry, " Mamma, oh, buy me that, I want it ! " 
 
 But soon as once we get it 
 
 We speedily regret it. 
 We take another fancy, at the former one we scoff; 
 
 The doll is stuffed with sawdust. 
 
 Of frauds it is the fraudest. 
 Its little head is hollow, and the paint comes off. 
 
 5* 
 
 a 1 
 
 Marie George 
 
I5ABELL/5 iLMBRELLA 
 
 She's 
 
 KNOW a blue-eyed maiden with the 
 usual hair of gold, 
 Her extremely pretty name is 
 
 Isabella, ^ 
 
 And everywhere that maiden goes, on 
 warmest days or cold. 
 She always takes a big white sun 
 umbrella. 
 Oh, she carries it like this, or she carries it 
 like that, 
 She is graceful and coquettish too 
 about it; 
 And people often try to learn from her just 
 why 
 so very, very rarelv seen without it. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Pretty Isabella, with a foot like Cinderella, 
 
 And a mouth like Cupid's bow. 
 Always spread above her head a big white sun umbrella — 
 
 Found it useful, don't you know. 
 Useful for a sunshade, it can more than one shade; 
 
 Useful, too, if gossip one would miss, 
 But particularly neat if a lover indiscreet 
 
 Should try to steal a kiss, kiss, kiss. 
 
 8i 
 
If you are at the seaside and you stroll upon the sand. 
 
 You will see the parasol of Isabella; 
 She's out of sight, and some one else is too, you understand, 
 
 A happy couple under that umbrella. 
 If the moon is shining bright on a pleasant summer night, 
 
 In a quiet corner of the porch you'll find it — 
 It is useful, without doubt, just to keep the moonshine out; 
 
 Only Cupid knows what's going on behind it. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Pretty Isabella, with a foot like Cinderella, 
 
 And a mouth like Cupid's bow, 
 Always spread above her head a big white sun umbrella — 
 
 Found it useful, don't you know. 
 Useful for a sunshade, it can more than one shade; 
 
 Useful, too, if gossip one would miss. 
 But particularly neat if a lover indiscreet 
 
 Should try to steal a kiss, kiss, kiss. 
 
 82 
 
Fra Francisco's Flirtation 
 
 (From The Serenade') 
 "IXZHEN I went my rounds one day, 
 
 Seeking: " Charity, Charity, Charity," {Whining) 
 A rose-cheeked damsel passed my way 
 
 And mocked at me with much hilarity. 
 Oh, her eyes were bright to see; 
 
 Small her foot and trim of hosiery. 
 " Who would be," quoth she, quoth she, 
 
 "A cowled monk with staff and rosary?" 
 
 Ohe, ha, ha! Ohe, he, he! 
 Thus did that damsel mock at me. 
 
 Ohe, ha, ha ! Ohe, he, he ! 
 Merrily mocked that damsel free. 
 
 {Sanctimoniously) 
 
 Then did I sigh with up-cast eye : 
 
 " Such smiles as thine our vows all ban= 
 I'd flee for miles to 'scape thy wiles. 
 
 Tempt not, tempt not this holy man. 
 O, not near us must earthly bliss come. 
 
 ' Pax vobiscum ! Pax vobiscum !' " 
 
 Onward went that damsel gay ; 
 
 Echoed long her wild hilarity. 
 To the fair she took her way, 
 
 And I followed, seeking charity. 
 To the fair I bent my course ; 
 
 Met a stranger gayly clad. 
 He changed clothes with me— by force. 
 
 There stood I a gallant lad! 
 
 83. 
 
84 
 
Ohe, ha, ha! Ohe, ho, ho! 
 For a monk is not ever a saint, you know. 
 
 Full soon I met that maid divine. 
 
 Who knew me not, but smiled on me. 
 
 We quaffed a stoup or two of wine; 
 We danced fandangos light to see. 
 
 Alack ! that day was bright and cheery. 
 I sigh for it : " Ah, miserere ! " 
 
 For O, that damsel's laugh was light 
 
 As rippling brooklet's plashing. 
 And O, that damsel's smile was bright; 
 
 Her eyes how black and flashing! 
 I ask ye fair : Now who is there 
 
 Who knows what he's about, sirs. 
 Yet ever would be a cloistered monk 
 
 While there's love in the world without, sirs ? 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Ho, ho, ho ! 
 A monk is not always a saint, you know. 
 
 " 9o/''%&-scum)'' 
 
Object Matrimony 
 
 (From The Rounders) 
 
 T TAKE the daily paper up, and in the foremost column 
 I read the quaint advertisements expressed in language 
 solemn. 
 Here all the girls are beautiful; the men of high position; 
 And marriage is their aim in life, their loftiest ambition. 
 
 Oh, isn't It delightful to discover an affinity? 
 
 'Tis in this way that kindred souls are brought into 
 
 proximity. 
 Not a word of sordid things, of bank account, of 
 
 patrimony. 
 Just one object in the world, and that is — " Object 
 
 Matrimony." 
 
 Adown the printed page I glance, and O ! I seem to hear it: — 
 The sighing of some lonely soul that seeks a kindred spirit. 
 How sweet that in this venal world, where hearts shut up 
 
 like shell-fish. 
 Some natures still are beautiful and holy and unselfish. 
 
 Oh, isn't it pathetic when you come to think about it. 
 That one longs for a kindred soul, yet oft must dwell 
 
 without it ? 
 Happy could they be in humble home or hall baronial. 
 If they could attain that worthy object matrimonial. 
 
 86 
 
So skeptic cease your scoffing sneer, and cynic pray abate yours. 
 This world has yet its noble hearts ; its true and loyal natures. 
 And O, I hope that they may meet, despite the gibes of 
 
 japers. 
 These rare and radiant souls that put the Personals in the 
 
 papers. 
 
 For it must be idyllic to discover an affinity. 
 Particularly where an " ad " brings one to your vicinity. 
 Not a word of sordid things, of lucre or of patrimony. 
 Just one object in the world, and that is — " Object 
 Matrimony." 
 
 Phyllis Rankin 
 
 87 
 
The Tattooed Man 
 
 (From The Idol's Eye) 
 
 A N actress of emotional roles. 
 
 Devoted to her art, 
 Once went to a mus'ee of " freaks," 
 
 And there she lost her heart. 
 For long she'd sought a kindred soul, 
 
 Affinity and mate. 
 But when she saw the tattooed man, 
 
 She knew she'd met her fate. 
 
 He was a human picture gallery. 
 
 Such a spectacular gent. 
 He won her heart and drew her salary. 
 
 Never gave her a cent ; 
 Till one fine day with her season's pay 
 
 And the fat lady off he ran. 
 Oh ! it's perfectly true you can beat a tattoo, 
 
 But you can't beat a tattooed man. 
 
 He had designs upon himself; 
 
 She had designs on him. 
 And she loved to look at the picture book 
 
 That he had on ev'ry limb. 
 " Oh ! why should I go abroad," she said, 
 
 " To Germany, France, and Rome, 
 When a lovely collection awaits my inspection 
 
 In my happy little home ? " 
 
 88 
 
He was a human picture gallery, 
 
 Such a spectacular gent. 
 He won her heart and drew her salary, 
 
 Never gave her a cent; 
 Till one fine day with her season's pay 
 
 And the fat lady off he ran. 
 Oh ! it's perfectly true you can beat a tattoo. 
 
 But you can't beat a tattooed man. 
 
 He had "Raphael's cherubs" on his brow, 
 
 "The Angelus" on his chest. 
 While on his back there was no lack 
 
 Of old masters of the best. 
 " Oh ! picture to yourself," she said, 
 
 " A love-lorn maiden's doom ! " 
 " I can t picture to myself," he said, 
 
 " For there isn't any room." 
 
 He was a human picture gallery. 
 
 Such a spectacular gent. 
 He won her heart and drew her salary, 
 
 Never gave her a cent ; 
 Till one fine day with her season's pay 
 
 And the fat lady off he ran. 
 Oh ! it's perfectly true you can beat a tattoo. 
 
 But you can't beat a tattooed man. 
 
 Upon each knee so fair to see 
 
 The artist grim had planned 
 A maiden face so full of grace. 
 
 Another on his hand. 
 
 89 
 
Alas ! for that tattooed man's wife, 
 
 She sorrowed much to see 
 Her husband with a girl on hand. 
 
 And one upon each knee. 
 
 He was a human picture gallery. 
 
 Such a spectacular gent. 
 He won her heart and drew her salary. 
 
 Never gave her a cent ; 
 Till one fine day with her season's pay 
 
 And the fat lady off he ran. 
 Oh ! it's perfectly true you can beat a tattoOj 
 
 But you can't beat a tattooed man. 
 
 Frank Daniels 
 
 90 
 
The Old War Horse 
 
 (From The Little Corporal') 
 
 BOl.D dragoon had an old gray nag, 
 
 An old war horse was he, 
 Who loved the rattle and roar of battle 
 As a drunkard loves a spree. 
 He'd jog all day in a slouching way. 
 
 Quite feeble and meek and mild. 
 But if ever he heard the trumpet sound 
 That old nag would just go wild. 
 
 Yes, when he heard a trumpet. 
 He'd just get up and hump it, 
 He'd clatter like mad, a galloping, galloping 
 On where the fight was thick. 
 The rest might like or lump it. 
 If that horse heard a trumpet. 
 He'd snort and prance and rear and dance. 
 Like an equine lunatic. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Of course it only goes to show 
 What all are supposed to know, 
 
 9' 
 
That men are always habit's slaves, 
 When habits once they fix. 
 Just as the twig is bent we find 
 The tree is sure to be indined. 
 The shoemaker ever should stick to his last, 
 
 And you can't teach old dogs new tricks. 
 
 There came a day when that war-horse gray 
 
 Was sold to a boorish clown 
 Of rustic ilk, who peddled milk 
 
 And cream in a market town. 
 That brave old nag was made to drag 
 
 A milk cart from early dawn ; 
 With a step of lead and a drooping head, 
 
 All his warlike spirit gone. 
 
 But down the road one morning. 
 The trumpets loud gave warning, 
 A cavalry troop came galloping, galloping, 
 Galloping fine as silk. 
 That horse began cavorting. 
 Then bolted wildly, snorting. 
 His old heels flew ! The cans went too ! 
 And up went the price of milk. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 That old war horse he seemed to say, 
 In sad and reproachful way: 
 " Gunpowder and cream are things I deem 
 That never were made to mix." 
 
 92 
 
Just as the twig is bent you'll find 
 The tree is sure to be inclined. 
 The shoemaker ever should stick to his last, 
 
 And you can't teach old dogs new tricks. 
 
 / III I II II I'll I 
 
 Lulu Glaser 
 
 93 
 
i '%^ 
 
 
 -mmwM^'^' 
 
 (From ne Mandarin) 
 
 ' I ^HERE once was a china shepherdess 
 
 That stood on a mantel-shelf; 
 On the other side of the mantelpiece 
 
 Was a lad much like herself 
 A shepherd lad all gaily clad 
 
 In pink and white and gold, 
 With love the twain were sweetly sad, 
 
 With love they never told. 
 Sing " Heigho " and " Lack-a-day," 
 True love's course is rough alway. 
 
 They looked on each other's loveliness, 
 
 But he seemed cold and she seemed coy. 
 
 Sorry the lot of the shepherdess ; 
 
 Sorry the lot of the shepherd boy. 
 
 Like this, stood the china shepherdess. 
 Through all the livelong day. 
 
 She held her crook with a winsome look. 
 And her smile seemed blithe and gay. 
 
 94 
 
That shepherd lad, for love, was sad, 
 Her hand he longed to kiss, 
 
 One china smile could have made him glad. 
 As he posed — about like this. 
 
 Sing a pitying roundelay. 
 
 True love's course is rough alway. 
 
 They looked on each other's loveliness, 
 
 But he seemed cold and she seemed coy. 
 
 Sorry the lot of the shepherdess ; 
 
 Sorry the lot of the shepherd boy. 
 
 But after the lamps are all turned out. 
 
 And the firelight dims its glow. 
 That china shepherdess, I believe, 
 
 Her love isn't loth to show. 
 That shepherd lad grows gay and glad 
 On the mantel-shelf above, 
 And their china hearts with rapture bound 
 
 As they whisper their china love. 
 Sing "Ohe" and "fa la lay," 
 True love's course grows smooth some 
 day. 
 
 They look on each other's loveliness, 
 He grows less cold and she less 
 coy. 
 Happy the lot of the shepherdess ; 
 Happy the lot of the shepherd 
 boy. 
 
 95 
 
 Adele Ritchie 
 
The Fairies' Lullaby 
 
 (From The Belle of Bohemia) 
 
 TX /"HEN you are safely lying in your downy little bed, 
 
 Just before you tumble off to sleep. 
 Snowy little nighties on and little prayers all said. 
 Still so wide awake you have to keep. 
 For the room is O so dark, 
 
 And you see a lot of things. 
 Ah, what is that now ? Hark ! 
 
 Like the fluttering of wings ! 
 O, bless you ! it's the fairies 
 
 Coming 'round their watch to keep. 
 And the wind is just then laughing 
 
 As they come to guard your sleep. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 So don't begin a-sighing. 
 
 And don't you go to crying ; 
 There's nothing going to hurt you, not at all. 
 
 For the fairies and the elves 
 
 Once were little ones themselves, 
 And they're good to all the children big and small ; 
 
 Just before you're sleeping, 
 
 You hear the wind come creeping 
 Around you with its oo-i-oo-i-oo ! 
 
 Remember: don't get scary. 
 
 It is just a lonely fairy, 
 And it will not hurt a little one like you. 
 
 96 
 
(Crooning Refrain, imitating sighing of wind') 
 
 Oo-i-oo-i-oo ! 
 
 Think of Cinderella and of sweet Red Riding Hood. 
 
 Fairies took of them the best of care. 
 Little Goody Two-shoes and the Beauty in the Wood ; 
 Snowdrop, too, and Little Golden Hair. 
 So just close your eyes up tight, 
 
 For I tell you it is true. 
 You will surely be all right 
 
 If the fairies watch for you. 
 If 'twere not for the children 
 
 All the fairies soon would die. 
 And so when the wind is moaning. 
 Why, it means a lullaby. 
 
 Refrain 
 So don't begin a-sighing. 
 And don't you go to crying ; 
 There's nothing going to hurt you, not at all. 
 For the fairies and the elves 
 Once were little ones themselves. 
 And they're good to all the children big and small ; 
 So just before you're sleeping, 
 If you hear the wind come creeping 
 Around you with its oo-i-oo-i-oo ! 
 Remember : don't get scary. 
 It is just a lonely fairy. 
 And it will not hurt a little one like you. 
 ( Crooning Refrain) 
 
 Oo-i-oo-i-oo I 
 
 97 
 
 Irene Bentley 
 
^f 
 
 T WANT to wahn yo' all agains' a lady. 
 I got to show her up, although I 
 hate ter. 
 She swahs she loves a moke till she finds 'at he 
 is broke ; 
 Den she draps him like a smokin' hot 
 pertater. 
 Her maiden name is Emmelina Winger; 
 
 Her color am de pales' choc'lut cream. 
 When I tink about de cash dat I wasted on dat 
 trash, 
 I skasely kin believe it ain't a dream. 
 
 Just keep away from Emmelina Winger; 
 She's a frivoling an' flinty-hearted stringer. 
 
 She's out fo' de stuff, 
 
 An' ef yo' hain't enough, 
 Bif! Kersmash! Out yo' go. 
 So long ez she kin wuhk yo' fo' a dollah, 
 She's closer dan yo' little brother's collah; 
 
 But a po' man hain't no show. 
 
 1 ben dar an' I know, 
 So keep away from Emmeline an' save yo' dough. 
 
 I took her out to all de evenin' pahties, 
 
 An' always in a hack — she scohned de cable. 
 
 I done stove off ma rent fo' to blow in every cent 
 On a plush coat trimmed wif imitation sable. 
 
I presented her a second-han' melojeon 
 
 An' a hat dat struck de neighbors deef an' dumb, 
 And dat fan o' turkey wings an' dem amefist ear-rings 
 
 An' de garnet what she spohted on her thumb. 
 
 So keep away from Emmelina Winger ; 
 She's a frivoling an' flinty-hearted stringer 
 She's out fo' de stuff, 
 An' ef yo' hain't enough, 
 Bif ! Kersmash ! Out yo' go. 
 So long ez she kin wuhk yo' fo' a dollah, 
 She's closer dan yo' little brother's collah ; 
 But a po' man hain't no show, 
 I ben dar an' I know, 
 So keep away from Emmeline an' save 
 yo' dough. 
 
 She accepted dem ere half-a-dozen stockins. 
 
 An' dat little half-breed Japanesy spannel. 
 An' after every present she looked as sweet an' 
 pleasant 
 
 As ef her love was warm as fur an' flannel. 
 But one day come a Pullman palace portah ; 
 
 He'd ben wif an excushion up de road. 
 He only flashed his roll, an' I los' complete 
 control 
 
 Of Emmelina. Dat very night it snowed. 
 
 So keep away from Emmeline Winger ; 
 She's a frivoling an' flinty-hearted stringer. 
 
 99 
 
She's out fo' de stuff, 
 An' ef yo' hain't enough, 
 Bif! Kersmash ! Out yo' go. 
 So long ez she kin wuhk yo' fo' a doUah, 
 She's closer dan yo' little brother's collah ; 
 But a po' man hain't no show, 
 I ben dar an' I know. 
 So keep away from Emmeline an' save yo' dough. 
 
If All the Stars Were Mine 
 
 T DREAMED the moon was a golden boat, 
 
 Up in the dark blue skies, 
 And I in that crescent craft afloat 
 
 Drifted to Paradise. 
 Oh, 1 floated on in the silvery light, 
 
 In a vision half divine. 
 For I was Queen of the Summer Night, 
 
 And all the stars were mine. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Oh, if the stars were mine, 
 
 I know what I would do : 
 Each one a lucky star should shine 
 
 For you, my dear, for you. 
 To you they'd bring delight 
 
 And happiness divine. 
 If I were Queen of the Summer Night, 
 
 And all the stars were mine. 
 
 I drifted long in the Summer air, 
 
 To an isle in the clouds above. 
 So I asked the stars for its name so fair — 
 
 And it was the Isle of Love. 
 Then soon I came to a meadow bright. 
 
 Where watch they made me keep. 
 For I was Shepherdess of the night 
 
 And the stars were all my sheep. 
 
Refrain 
 
 And If the stars were mine, 
 
 1 know what 1 would do : 
 I'd give them all for a glass of wine, 
 
 With you, my dear, with you. 
 For one hour of delight 
 
 That made the past divine : 
 ]f I were really the Queen of Night, 
 
 I'd give those stars of mine. 
 
 Lillian Russell 
 
Town and Country 
 
 ( From The Highwayman ) 
 
 T^ROM London town, from London town, 
 
 We come in periwigs, patches and paint. 
 In coach-and-four to your rustic door; 
 
 We find you exceedingly queer and quaint. 
 Of London town it's little you know. 
 
 So we'll tell you the chief of our aims is 
 To pose and prattle, take tea and tittle-tattle 
 
 In Piccadilly or St. James's. 
 
 In London town, in London town, 
 Dolly mustn't venture in her homespun gown ; 
 The Strephon of a village is a veritable clown 
 When he visits in society in London town. 
 
 103 
 
In London town, in London town, 
 
 With snuff-box, quizzing-glass, fluttering fan. 
 How we sneer and strut and old friends cut; 
 
 All but the smartest are beneath our ban. 
 Of London ways it's little you know. 
 
 You rustics with your herds and flocks all. 
 We've nothing but compassion for a person out of fashion 
 
 In Ranelagh or in Vauxhall. 
 
 In London town, in London town, 
 Dolly mustn't venture in her homespun gown ; 
 The Strephon of a village is a veritable clown 
 When he visits in society in London town. 
 
 Nellie Braggins 
 104 
 
I 
 
 The Song of the Sword 
 
 ( From Foxy Quiller ) 
 
 SING of the blade 
 For brave men made ; 
 By all noble hearts adored. 
 
 The ballad 1 bring 
 
 To you, comrades, to sing 
 Is a song of the right good sword. 
 
 Some tell you that love 
 
 Is all else above. 
 But I'm not of their foolish clan, 
 
 For I love more the sight 
 
 Of a sabre bright 
 In the hands of a fighting man. 
 
 Refrain 
 It's the sword, the flashing sword. 
 
 That maketh the foemen reel; 
 No music so grand on the sea or the land 
 
 As the clashing of steel on steel. 
 It's the sword, the trusty sword. 
 
 That faileth the soldier never; 
 Oh, beauty is brief as a Summer night. 
 
 But glory lasts forever ! 
 
 The power of gold 
 
 Is often told. 
 And the strength of the crafty pen ; 
 
 They have might I ween, 
 
 But the sabre keen 
 Is the weapon that's made for men. 
 
 105 
 
Oh, the love of maids 
 
 Is a joy that fades, 
 And has been since the world began ; 
 
 But a sword is true 
 
 To the death to you ; 
 'Tis the pride of a fighting man. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 It's the sword, the flashing sword. 
 
 That maketh the foemen reel; 
 No music so grand on the sea or the land 
 
 As the clashing of steel on steel. 
 It's the sword, the trusty sword, 
 
 That faileth the soldier never. 
 Oh, beauty is brief as a Summer night, 
 
 But glory lasts forever ! 
 
 Lizzie McNicoll 
 
 io6 
 
What! Marry Dat Gal 
 
 OT a lettah, jes' dis mawnin, suh, an' say I had 
 ter laff. 
 Come from dat gal yo' used ter see me wif so 
 much. 
 Recognized de writin' an' I felt myself grow pale; 
 Thought it more'n likely she wuz wuhkin' 
 up a touch. 
 But, say, huh huh ! wal yo' oughtah seen dat lettah ; 
 
 Ef I hadn't ben a laffin', swah to yo', I'd had ter cry ; 
 Fo' she wrote to make digestion dat les her an' me get 
 married. 
 Said she penitented all dem names she called me by. 
 
 Huh huh ! Yas sah ! Tole me not to doubt her. 
 Me marry her, aftah all I know about her ! 
 
 What ! Marry dat gal ? Well I guess no. 
 Not if she grubbled on her knees to ax me. 
 
 What ! Me tie up to a bleach-blon' coon 
 What wuhks me to de limit an' sacks me? 
 
 1 may not be so pertickler wahm. 
 
 But 1 guess I know 'nufF to keep outo' de stohm. 
 
 What ! marry dat gal when she used me so? 
 
 Wal, I'm some kin's o' fool, but dat kin' ? No ! ! 
 
 Say, yo' oughtah seen de answer what I sent her in reply; 
 
 Got de boss to write it in de reddes' kind o' ink. 
 Talk about sarkistical ! De papah mos' burned up. 
 
 Bet when she peruged it took her har all outo' kink. 
 
 107 
 
An' say — huh huh ! if yo' see a yaller lady 
 
 Havin' de hysteriacs, an' prancin like a goat, 
 
 Yo' needn't ask her name ; it is Phoebe Emma Jackson, 
 
 An' her ravins am de symptoms of dat lettah what I 
 wrote. 
 
 Huh huh ! Yes, suh ! Her career am checkered! 
 Me marry her'^. When I knows de lady's record? 
 
 What ! Marry dat gal ? Well I guess no. 
 Not if she grubbled on her knees to ax me. 
 
 What ! Me tie up to a bleach-blon' coon 
 What wuhks me to de limit an' sacks me? 
 
 I may not be so pertickler wahm. 
 
 But I guess I know 'nuff to keep outo' de stohm. 
 
 What! marrv dat gal when she used me so? 
 
 Wal, I'm some kin's o' fool, but dat kin' ? No ! ! 
 
 io8 
 
My Angeline 
 
 (From The Wizard of the Nile) 
 
 CHE kept her secret well, oh yes, 
 
 Her hideous secret well. 
 We together were cast, 1 knew not her past; 
 
 For how was I to tell ? 
 I married her, guileless lamb I was; 
 
 I'd have died for her sweet sake. 
 How could I have known that my Angeline 
 
 Had been a Human Snake? 
 Ah, we had been wed but a week or two 
 
 When I found her quite a wreck : 
 Her limbs were tied in a double bow-knot 
 
 At the back of her swan-like neck. 
 No curse there sprang to my pallid lips, 
 
 Nor did 1 reproach her then ; 
 I calmly untied my bonny bride. 
 
 And straightened her out again. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 My Angeline! My Angeline! 
 Why did'st disturb my mind serene? 
 My well-beloved circus queen. 
 My Human Snake, my Angeline! 
 
 At night I'd wake at the midnight hour, 
 With a weird and haunted feeling. 
 
 And there she'd be, in her robe de nuit, 
 A-walking upon the ceiling. 
 
 109 
 
She said she was being "the human fly," 
 
 And she'd hft me up from beneath 
 By a section slight of my garb of night, 
 
 Which she held in her pearly teeth. 
 For the sweet, sweet sake of the Human Snake 
 
 I'd have stood this conduct shady; 
 But she skipped in the end with an old, old friend, 
 
 An eminent bearded lady. 
 But, oh, at night when my slumber's light, 
 
 Regret comes o'er me stealing; 
 For I miss the sound of those little feet, 
 
 As they pattered along the ceiling. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 My Angeline ! My Angeline ! 
 Why did'st disturb my mind 
 
 serene ? 
 My well-beloved circus queen. 
 My Human Snake, my Angeline! 
 
 Frank Daniels 
 
The Drum-Major 
 
 (From The Casino Girl) 
 
 "VT'OU may rave of stage Lotharios 
 With voices sweet as Mario's, 
 Of leading men so graceful in their poses, 
 
 Of artists so aesthetic, 
 
 Of pianists so poetic. 
 Of bards who sing of nightingales and roses ; 
 
 But still a girl is partial 
 
 To a uniform that's martial — 
 Gold lace possesses magic to engage her — 
 
 Lieutenant, Captain, Colonel, 
 
 To attract have charms eternal ; 
 But give me the spectacular Drum-Major. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 With his fascinating air 
 
 And his captivating stare. 
 Of radiant Don Juans he is the acme; 
 
 When he looks in my direction 
 
 I succumb to heart affection. 
 And the most romantic sentiments attack me. 
 
 I'm ready quite to follow 
 
 This Adonis, this Apollo, 
 His fond and ardent worshipper to be ; 
 
 As he poses statuesquely 
 
 And he swaggers picturesquely, 
 The Drum-Major is the man for me. 
 
1 adore not the fraternity 
 
 Of heroes of modernity, 
 Exploited by the newest school of fiction; 
 
 They're usually distressing, 
 
 They're so fearfully depressing, 
 And as husbands they would cause domestic friction. 
 
 No girl herself had better link 
 
 To heroes found in Maeterlinck, 
 Or decadent creations of old Ibsen. 
 
 Give me that ornamental man. 
 
 The drum-inspiring gentleman, 
 Who well might pose as model for a Gibson. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Though his intellect be dim. 
 
 He has splendid length of limb, 
 Which artists praise in phrases eulogistic; 
 
 And through happy dearth of brains 
 
 He is spared the modern pains 
 Of being too "advanced" and pessimistic. 
 
 A subject for a Phidias, 
 
 No sombre thoughts insidious 
 Perplex him in his journey o'er life's sea. 
 
 As a modern maiden's duty 
 
 Is to worship manly beauty. 
 The Drum-Major is the man for me. 
 
A Sailor's Song 
 
 (From The Highwayman') 
 
 MY jolly hearts, now ashore again are we; 
 Tip us your flippers, lads, you're the 
 proper sort ; 
 No matter what's the town it is all the same 
 to me — 
 I have a gal I fondly love in ev'ry port. 
 There's black-eyed Peg of Portsmouth town ; 
 
 There's blue-eyed Kate of Cork ; 
 There's Hampton Bess with eyes of brown; 
 There's Sue of Yankee York ; 
 
 They love me well, the pretty dears. 
 
 Whatever may befall; 
 Yes, ev'ry one is true to me. 
 And I am true to all. 
 
 Refrain 
 Here's a health in steaming grog 
 To all I name and more ; 
 
 113 
 
Here's a health to ev'ry girl 
 
 That madly I adore ; 
 A health to those I'm going to love 
 
 And those I've loved before. 
 The girls' hearts all go pit-a-pat 
 
 When Jack is on the shore. 
 
 Afloat or ashore, it is all the same to me; 
 
 Tip us your flippers, lads, pass the grog around ; 
 I've vet to see the port in my sailin' on the sea 
 
 Where pretty girls and lively ones are never to be 
 found. 
 There's Dinah lives down Dover way ; 
 
 There's Margot of Marseilles ; 
 There's Tita ofi^ in Naples' bay. 
 And Maggie up in Wales ; 
 
 I love 'em all ; I love 'em all, 
 So fondly that I'm blest 
 If I can tell which of the lot 
 I think I love the best. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Here's a health in steaming grog 
 
 To all I name and more ; 
 Here's a health to ev'ry girl 
 
 That madly I adore ; 
 A health to those I'm going to love 
 
 And those I've loved before. 
 The girls' hearts all go pit-a-pat 
 
 When Jack is on the shore. 
 
 114 
 
A Hundred Wives 
 
 (From The Rounders) 
 
 \X7HEN first I sailed from Germany the traveling was risky? 
 
 Our cargo was entirely made of rare old wine and whisky; 
 
 As you'd expect, the ship was wrecked one night so dark and 
 
 murky, 
 We ran aground, ourselves we found upon the coast of Turkey. 
 They dragged me to the Sultan, in his Oriental glories, 
 I won his heart by telling him some German dialect stories; 
 The Sultan laughed at all my jokes, he longed for life to 
 
 share 'em. 
 So he made of me a pasha, and he gave to me a harem. 
 
 Oh, how I love my darling, 
 
 My Sally and my Sue, 
 My Clementine, my Angeline, 
 
 My Lucy and my Lou ; 
 I'm true to Maude and Sadie, 
 
 To Mabel and Marie; 
 In fact, there are only a hundred girls 
 
 In the world for me. 
 
 To see me shopping with my wives my friends have often 
 wondered — 
 
 I buy their shoes by freight-car loads, their bonnets by the 
 hundred ; 
 
 The butcher's and the grocer's bills are certainly heart- 
 breakers, 
 
 And when our washing is hung out it covers forty acres. 
 
 "5 
 
I'm very fond of children, but I almost have the rabies 
 When all the night 1 walk the floor with twenty teething 
 
 babies ; 
 Our Christmas stockings are a sight, it takes months to 
 
 prepare 'em, 
 And Santa Claus goes crazy when he drops into my harem. 
 
 Oh, how I love my Daisy, 
 
 My Gladys and my Nell, 
 My Annie and my Fanny, 
 
 My Beatrice and Belle, 
 My Polly and my Molly, 
 
 Estelle and Eulalie; 
 In fact, there are only a hundred girls 
 
 In the world for me. 
 
 I have to keep my better halves in watches, chains, and 
 
 lockets — 
 I wake at morn — a hundred wives are going through my 
 
 pockets ; 
 I love my wives' relations, but it makes me somewhat glummer 
 When eighty-five mammas-in-law come on to spend the 
 
 summer. 
 My life is the reverse of calm, it's rather harem-scarem. 
 But that's to be expected when one's living in a harem ; 
 When I come home they greet me with a smile that's 
 
 ornamental, 
 They welcome me with loving words and dances Oriental. 
 
 Oh, how I love my Delia, 
 My Stella and Sophia, 
 
 ii6 
 
Cornelia and Ophelia, 
 
 My May and my Maria, 
 To Cora, Dora, Nora 
 
 I'll ever faithful be, 
 Because there are only a hundred girls 
 
 In the world for me. 
 
 T. Q. Seabrooke 
 
 117 
 
( f=7w^ 
 
 The Farmer and the Scarecrow 
 
 (From The Highwayman) 
 
 A FARMER had a buxom wife, 
 "^^ His fondest pride, his joy in life. 
 
 And she was fair, 
 
 With charms so rare 
 And ne'er a thought of care. 
 The farmer was so old and grim. 
 She did not care a straw for him ; 
 
 And they do say, 
 
 With gallants gay 
 She'd pass the time away. 
 The farmer had a scarecrow neat 
 To frighten crows that stole his wheat. 
 
 But we know they 
 
 Won't keep away 
 A gallant young and gay. 
 
 ii8 
 
Refrain 
 All merrily went till one fine day 
 That farmer homeward came. 
 
 Then 'twas " O ! Deary me ! 
 What is this that 1 see? 
 A cavalier kissing my dame ! " 
 Tol de rol lol and tol de rol lee ! 
 Zooks ! What a sight for a farmer to see. 
 
 That gallant fled at goodly pace, 
 
 But couldn't yield that dame with grace ; 
 
 So in the field, 
 
 Well concealed, 
 He took the scarecrow's place. 
 He wore that scarecrow's tattered dress, 
 And she would go, as you may guess. 
 
 Some time each day. 
 
 As gossips say. 
 To drive the crows away. 
 The farmer went to market oft. 
 When he returned (so gossips scoff^ed) 
 He had a mighty cause to mourn ; 
 The crows had eaten all his corn. 
 
 Refrain 
 All merrily went till one fine day 
 
 That farm.er from market came. 
 
 Then 'twas " Lawks ! Deary me ! 
 What is this that I see ? 
 I have neither scarecrow nor dame." 
 Tol di rol and tol di rol lee ! 
 Zooks ! What a sight for a farmer to see. 
 
 119 
 
 Jerome Sykes 
 
He Was a Married Man 
 
 (From The Belle of Bohemia) 
 
 A LL the day and night 
 
 Raged the long, long fight, 
 All the day the cannon roared. 
 
 Many soldiers brave 
 
 Found a hero's grave 
 As the deadly hail outpoured. 
 
 " Who'll blow up that wall ?" 
 
 Then the General cried; 
 "It is certain death," said he. 
 
 Then a small, pale man. 
 
 With a timid look, 
 Stood forth and said, "Take me." 
 
 For he was a married man ; 
 
 To certain death he swiftly ran. 
 
 While all his comrades cheered. 
 No blowing up he feared. 
 
 For he was a married man. 
 
 Through the quiet night 
 Came the shrieks of fright. 
 
 For a house was wrapped in flame. 
 "Who will save my child?" 
 Cried a mother wild, 
 
 While the crowd looked on in shame. 
 Is there none will dash 
 Through that wall of fire \ 
 
Are the days of heroes o'er ? 
 
 No! A wild-eyed man, 
 
 With a joyous shout, 
 Rushed in that blazing door. 
 
 For he was a married man ; 
 
 He cared not when the roast began. 
 
 To him the flames were not 
 
 So particularly hot. 
 For he was a married man. 
 
 Through the whirl and rush 
 
 Of a city street, 
 Came the cry of wild despair. 
 
 See, adown the street 
 
 Comes the rushing team ; 
 In the coach two ladies fair ! 
 
 Who is that who steps 
 
 In the horses' path? 
 While the people shout "Huzza!" 
 
 Ah ! he sneaks away 
 
 When he sees these dames. 
 They're his wife and her mamma. 
 
 For he was a married man; 
 
 He smiled the while those horses ran. 
 
 Oh, he shunned those hoofs so rough. 
 He'd been stepped on quite enough, 
 
 For he was a married man. 
 
" Man the lifeboats there ! " 
 
 Cried the captain bold. 
 'Tis a wreck that must appall, 
 
 And our boat is filled 
 
 By a crowd so great 
 It is bound to sink with all. 
 
 " Who will jump and drown, 
 
 All the rest to save 
 From a watery grave?" they shout. 
 
 Then a weary man. 
 
 With a hopeless smile 
 Said " Me!" and tumbled out. 
 
 For he was a married man; 
 
 He cared not how cold the waters 
 
 ran. 
 
 He was used to the condition 
 Of a chilly proposition. 
 For he was a married man. 
 
 Sam Bernard 
 
Mam'selle 
 
 (From The Casino Girl) 
 
 VX/'HEN I was in Paree 
 
 The Frenchmen were so kind ; 
 They vowed and swore 
 " Je t'aime — t'adore!" 
 
 Of course, I didn't mind. 
 Their ardent love for me 
 
 They showed in every way; 
 They'd kiss my hand 
 With grace so grand, 
 
 And then to me they'd say : 
 
 Mam'selle, 
 
 Ma belle, 
 Charmante Americaine ! 
 
 Cherie, 
 
 You see 
 How you have turned my brain; 
 
 Your style, 
 
 Your smile, 
 Affect me like champagne. 
 
 Though I'm blase, 
 
 Don't be glace 
 To me, mam'selle. 
 
 Ma belle ! 
 
 The noblesse of Paree 
 
 Thought I'd a rich papa; 
 
 123 
 
124 
 
They'd roll their eyes, 
 And heave such sighs, 
 
 And say, "O la la la la!" 
 They bought me jewels rare. 
 
 Of their fond love to speak. 
 With finger tips 
 Upon their lips. 
 They'd cry, " Ma foi ! Tre; 
 
 Mam'selle, 
 
 Ma belle, 
 Charmante Americaine ! 
 
 Cherie, 
 
 You see 
 How you have turned my brain ; 
 
 Your style 
 
 Your smile, 
 Affect me like champagne. 
 
 Though I'm blase, 
 
 Don't be glace 
 To me, mam'selle, 
 
 Ma belle ! 
 
 125 
 
The Philadelphia Maid 
 
 (From The Rounders) 
 
 IV/TY family have all been saints 
 
 For twenty generations, 
 Quite free from all the tints and taints 
 
 Of worldly dissipations. 
 All pleasure they consider crime ; 
 
 Of love they were not makers ; 
 They never went out for " a time," 
 
 For all of them were Quakers. 
 Emotion I have never felt; 
 
 It was against the law; 
 For 1 was born and always dwelt 
 
 In Phil-a-del-phi-a. 
 
 O 'tis a place of solemn lives. 
 
 Where joy has never tarried ; 
 There husbands may not kiss their 
 wives 
 
 Till they've been two years 
 married. 
 There William Penn his vigil keeps ; 
 
 With reverence I name him. 
 'Tis there that old Ben Franklin 
 sleeps — 
 
 For which no one can blame him. 
 It takes a hundred years for one 
 
 To be a grandmamma. 
 No clocks are fast; no watches run 
 
 In Phil-a-del-phi-a. 
 
 126 
 
 Madge Lessing 
 
American Heiresses 
 
 (From The Rounders) 
 
 "XX/E'RE adding local color to our nation just at present, 
 
 As various far lands we hear the news from ; 
 And French and German noblemen will find it very pleasant, 
 
 Of Yankee brides 'twill give them more to choose from. 
 We'll annex the Philippines, and then if a noble means 
 
 To espouse a Yankee girl he'll have a chance 
 To pick out a dark brunette who has eyes and tresses jet. 
 
 And this will be the wedding song and dance : — 
 
 {Imitation Philippine Song) 
 
 Refrain 
 
 That's the newest Yankee girl, whose praises we shall sing. 
 Of heiresses American she is the latest thing; 
 The Filipino heiresses to Gotham we shall bring. 
 They're going to be chickens under Uncle Sam's wing. 
 
 Fair Cuba, too, is bound to be a State, unless she's clannish, 
 
 The land of the cigar and the banana; 
 So If you've admiration for the style of beauty Spanish, 
 
 We'll offer you an heiress from Havana. 
 Her eyes will be like stars, and her voice like a guitar's. 
 
 This new type of native beauty in our era; 
 And when home your bride you're bringing you will hear the 
 music ringing 
 
 In tempo of the rhythmic habanera: — 
 
 (Illustration of Spanish Dance) 
 
 127 
 
Refrain 
 
 That's the newest Yankee girl, whose praises we shall sing. 
 Of heiresses American she is the latest thing; 
 Beauties dark and starry-eyed to Gotham we shall bring, 
 They're going to be chickens under Uncle Sam's wing. 
 
 We're also seeking citizens in sev'ral far and nigh lands, 
 
 Though we have not the Hottentot and Zulu ; 
 So we can offer heiresses from far Hawaiian Islands, 
 
 The interesting belles of Honolulu. 
 They're pretty, so they say, of a shade cafe au lait 
 
 (In wardrobe, though, they do not come out strong); 
 
 And if you wed a lady of com- 
 plexion rather shady. 
 Then this will be your 
 wedding dance and 
 song : — 
 
 {^Hawaiian Song) 
 
 Refrain 
 
 That's the newest Yankee girl 
 we have upon the string. 
 
 Of heiresses American she is 
 the latest thing ; 
 
 All those Sandwich Island 
 belles to Gotham we 
 shall bring. 
 
 They're going to be chickens 
 under Uncle Sam's 
 wing. 
 
 Madge Lessing 
 
 128 
 
Cholly Chumley of the Guards 
 
 (From The IdoT s Eye) 
 
 ' I ''ALK about your Tommy Atkins, Captain Jinks and all 
 the lot, 
 
 Who are military heroes with the bards. 
 Captain Jinks amounts to nothing; Tommy A. is "tommy rot" 
 
 Compared to me, the glory of the Guards. 
 We fellows do no fighting, there are other chaps for that ; 
 
 For beauty and for dancing we are known. 
 We take no orders such as " ordah-oomps " or " shoulder- 
 oomps ;" 
 
 We're the swells, you know, who give the service tone. 
 
 I'm the famous Cholly Chumley of the Guards. 
 Oh, we're dreadful lady-killers in the Guards. 
 
 When we're out upon parade 
 
 Ev'ry widow, wife or maid 
 Begs a smile from us, the heroes of the Guards, 
 
 Doncher know. 
 Captain Cholly Chumley of the Guards ! 
 
 I usually wear whiskers, but I've shaved 'em off, you see, 
 
 For I was much too lovely with 'em on. 
 Why, when I took a walk such crowds of ladies followed me. 
 
 And their husbands would come home and find 'em gone. 
 The Queen designed this uniform especially for me ; 
 
 Though, if I sneezed, the rags would fly for yards. 
 And when she saw me dressed in these she said, "At last 1 see 
 
 The only perfect figure in the Guards." 
 
 129 
 
Oh, we're all so blooming dashing in the Guards ; 
 
 Oh, we cannot keep from " mashing" in the Guards. 
 Ladies follow me in droves, 
 While their husbands, jealous coves, 
 
 Curse the name of Cholly Chumley of the Guards, 
 Doncher know. 
 
 We're such devils with the fair ones in the Guards. 
 
 To fight the blawsted Zulus once, the Queen she sent me out. 
 
 I gave the wretched rascal blokes " what for." 
 I blew my cigarette at them, which put them all to rout; 
 
 But fighting Zulus is a horrid bore. 
 However, when our gracious Queen heard how I'd fought 
 and bled, 
 
 She sent me a silk umbrella with regards. 
 And she says: "I'm very certain that if I should wed again, 
 
 I should pick out Cholly Chumley of the Guards." 
 
 I'm the famous Cholly Chumley of the 
 
 Guards ; 
 Oh, we're dreadful lady-killers in the 
 Guards. 
 When we're out upon parade 
 Ev'ry widow, wife and maid 
 Begs a smile from us, the heroes of the 
 Guards, 
 Doncher know. 
 Captain Cholly Chumley of the Guards. 
 
 Frank Daniels 
 

 
 
 iv/z-f" 
 
 m-' 
 
 Cupid and I 
 
 ( From The Serenade^ 
 
 /'^UPID once found me a-dreaming, 
 Lulled by the soft summer breeze, 
 Where golden sunshine was streaming 
 
 Through the deep shade of the trees; 
 He gave no heed to my sighing. 
 
 What could 1 know of his art? 
 Swiftly his arrow came flying. 
 
 True was his aim at my heart. 
 
 Happy was that day for me — 
 
 Love, I knew thee well; 
 But from folly I am free; 
 
 Vain is now thy spell. 
 Smiling 1 can go my way, . 
 
 Broken is my chain. 
 I am Cupid's slave no longer; 
 
 I am free aofain. 
 
 131 
 
I found sly Cupid a-sleeping, 
 
 Captured his arrows and bow. 
 Though he implored me with weeping, 
 
 I would not let my prize go. 
 " Come, for my bow's safe returning, 
 
 I promise thee," said the boy, 
 "Thou shalt know naught of Love's yearning; 
 
 Thou shalt know only its joy." 
 
 Happy was the day for me, 
 
 Free now is my heart. 
 Merrily I laugh at thee, 
 
 Love ; my slave thou art. 
 Smiling I can go my way, 
 
 Life is joy to me. 
 Cupid, if thou seek'st to wound me, 
 
 1 can laugh at thee. 
 
 Alice Neilsen 
 
 132 
 
Mindin' the Baby 
 
 (From The Idol's Eye) 
 
 T'M the oldest of a dozen, and I'm just fifteen; 
 
 The w'y the world is treatin' me is just blime mean. 
 I ain't so orful wuss on looks and style I know, 
 Cuz plenty of the fellers round the plice has told me so. 
 I've got a new red jersey, and a big green hat 
 Chuck full o' yaller ostrich feathers long as that, 
 But what's the use of togs if all your looks is hid 
 Because you're always mindin' of the youngest kid .^ 
 
 Oh, wot's the use o' havin' grite ambition 
 
 When yer was horned the fust o' sich a number? 
 I might be a Duchuss myby ; 
 ' Stead o' which I minds the bvby, 
 A-singin' "'Ush, my dear, lie still and slumber." 
 I stops ter speak ter some good lookin' feller, 
 Puts the byby on the sidewalk or the floor ; 
 Then it's " Yah-yah-yah-boo-hoo!" 
 I could whack 'im black and blue. 
 ■ Ow I hopes ter ' Evin there woun't be any more. 
 
 I bin tendin' o' them bybies since I's five years old. 
 
 I used ter drop 'em everywhere — too big fer me to hold. 
 
 I got a lovely figger, though me gownd's undid. 
 
 But what's the use o' figgers when you has ter mind a kid? 
 
 I never 'ad no fun at all in all my dys ; 
 
 I ain't bin to no dances ; I ain't seen no pl'ys. 
 
 The butcher's boy would marry me, if I'd get rid 
 
 Of this everlastin' mindin' of a kid 
 
 133 
 
Oh, wot's the use o' havin' grite ambition, 
 
 When you've always got a sickly brat a-bawlin'? 
 
 With me feller 1 goes walkin' ; 
 
 Of love and sich he's talkin' 
 When the bloomin' blawsted byby tunes his squallin'. 
 I sometimes try to read a yaller novel 
 
 Full o' rummy old elopements, crime and gore ; 
 
 Then it's " Yah-yah-yah-boo-hoo!" 
 
 'Old yer noise, you silly — do. 
 'Ow I 'opes to 'Evin there woun't be any more. 
 
 134 
 
Don Jose of Sevilla 
 
 T^ON JOSE of Sevilla was a gay roue, 
 Acting parts, 
 Breaking hearts, 
 Haifa score a day. 
 Ever with his regiment, a-marching here and 
 there ; 
 Thought it fun 
 When he'd won 
 Favors from the fair. 
 No one could resist him. 
 
 Oh, dear, no. 
 Ev'ry damsel kissed him. 
 Loved him so. 
 Then at once she missed him. 
 
 Off he'd go. 
 Then this dashing Don Jose 
 Snapped his fingers as he'd say : 
 
 That for love. Piffpaff! 
 Let her go. Piffpaff! 
 
 135 
 
It's only one more village belle. 
 
 Love's a bore. PifFpafF! 
 
 I've girls galore. PiffpafF! 
 My motto's ever Vive la bagatelle. 
 
 Don Jose of Sevilla met his fate one day. 
 Met a maid, 
 Not afraid 
 Of his winning way. 
 She was but a country lass, who milked, and 
 raked the hay. 
 Tall and stout ; 
 At a bout 
 Muscular, they say. 
 Said she, listening to him : 
 
 " You're too new." 
 Thought she'd try to do him 
 
 Just a few. 
 In the millpond threw him. 
 
 Soaked him through. 
 After this, gay Don Jose. 
 Snapped his fingers as 
 he'd say : 
 
 That for love. Piffpaff! 
 
 Let her go. PiffpafF! 
 It's only one more village belle. 
 
 Love's a bore. Piffpaff! 
 
 I've girls galore. Piffpaff! 
 My motto's ever Vive la bagatelle. 
 
 136 
 
 Marie Tempest 
 
De Gold Mine 
 
 \X7HEN ma fust man passed in his checks, 
 
 An' climb de golden fence, 
 He done lef me wot seemed to be 
 
 A sum of cash immense. 
 He had four hundred on his life; 
 
 On gettin' dat I reckoned ; 
 But now I'se broke 'case of dat moke 
 
 Dat married me — my second. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 But he's used me for a gold mine long enough; 
 
 All ma cash has done diminish 
 
 To a microscopic finish. 
 He's done opposed to any wuhk dat's rough ; 
 He don't leave me enough to purchase snuff. 
 De bes' seegars in town he'll set and puff; 
 
 While I kain't get de tin 
 
 Fo' a half-pint jug o' gin. 
 Had enough o' all his swindlin', 
 He must take to choppin' kindlin' ; 
 Fo' he's used me as a gold mine long enough. 
 
 Dat man o' mine — de fust, I mean — 
 
 Jes' worked and scrimped and saved. 
 
 He done up whitewash jobs all day ; 
 At night cut har and shaved. 
 
 137 
 
He owned de mortgage on dis house; 
 
 And he did not intend it, 
 Dat he should make his little stake 
 
 Fo' no-good trash to spend It. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Dat man's used me fo' a gold mine long enough; 
 
 But he'll have to turn wood-sawyer 
 
 Soon ez I kin find a lawyer. 
 I'se took in washin' till my hands is rough ; 
 He goes an' c'lects de cash ! Say — ain't dat tough? 
 Sit's roun' de s'loon, talks politics and guff, 
 
 While clo'es I really needs. 
 
 (I'se still wearin' widder's weeds.) 
 Tells folks how to save de nation, 
 While I wash fo' all creation ! 
 But he's used me fo' a gold mine long enough. 
 
 138 
 
It's What Eve Said to Adam 
 
 (From The Belle of Bohemia) 
 
 A/T EN are dreadful creatures, 
 
 Made but to deceive. 
 So it has been ever 
 
 Since Adam dwelt with Eve. 
 If he comes home tipsy, 
 
 He will say — the scamp — 
 He took just one whiskey, 
 
 Because he had a cramp. 
 
 * Refrain 
 
 It's what Eve heard from Adam, and what Adam said to Eve. 
 Men have'nt changed a bit; they were created to deceive. 
 He speaks of "lodge" and "sick friends;" and of course 
 
 she will believe 
 The same old things that Adam told to silly little Eve. 
 
 Sitting in the moonlight. 
 
 Pretty girl — and man, 
 Spooning, billing, cooing. 
 
 As only lovers can. 
 Then she whispers fondly : 
 
 " Tell me, I implore. 
 Darling, did you ever 
 
 Love like this before ?" 
 
 139 
 
Refrain 
 
 It's what Eve said to Adam, and what Adam said to Eve. 
 Love hasn't changed a bit ; it was created to deceive. 
 He answers : "You're my first love, a kiss, dear, to receive." 
 The same old yarn that Adam told to silly little Eve. 
 
 Happy couple plighted, 
 
 Makv; a pretty pair; 
 Soon to be united ; 
 
 Prospects very fair. 
 He gives her a ring, and 
 
 As she turns it o'er 
 She observes : " Who was it 
 
 Wore this ring before ?" 
 
 Refrain 
 
 It's what Eve said to Adam, and what Adam said to Eve. 
 Engagement rings are transferred very often, 1 believe. 
 He finds papa is not rich, and then he takes his leave ; 
 The same old trick that Adam played on silly little Eve. 
 
 Happy couple married ; 
 
 Wedded bliss they win ; 
 Paradise and heaven — 
 
 Till the bills come in. 
 Baby is a beauty, 
 
 Such a cunning mite. 
 Seems a sin about such 
 
 A little thing to fight. 
 
 140 
 
Refrain 
 
 He wants it named for mother; she wants it named for hers. 
 So they wrangle in a tangle ; with repartee and slurs. 
 They fight about the baby's name until both vow to leave; 
 The way that papa Adam fought with little mother Eve. 
 
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 Virginia Earl 
 
 141 
 
r 
 
 The Bells of St. Swithin's 
 
 (From Robin Hood') 
 
 N olden times 
 St. Swithin's chimes 
 Tol'd blithely ev'ry hour 
 From out the old gray tower. 
 'Neath Swithin's shade 
 A lovely maid 
 Lived in a cottage bower, 
 As fair as any flower. 
 She heard the chimes through all the day ; 
 She heard them call the folk to pray ; 
 She learned to love their roundelay 
 From old St. Swithin's tower. 
 
 Ring on, bell ; 
 For wedding song or funeral knell, 
 Your message to each hearer tell. 
 Betimes, 
 Ye chimes. 
 
 Ding, dong, dong ! 
 Of joy or grief may be your song. 
 
 If mirth or pain 
 
 Be your refrain, 
 Still ring, ye bells, and sing. 
 
 A youth there came 
 
 With love aflame 
 To that sweet maiden's bower 
 Beneath St. Swithin's tower. 
 
 142 
 
With smile and sigh 
 He bade her fly, 
 Nor heed what clouds might lower — 
 True love's enough for dower. 
 A little space with him she strayed, 
 When warningly those chime bells played: 
 " Turn back, turn back, O gentle maid, 
 His love will last an hour." 
 
 Ring on, bell ; 
 For wedding song or funeral knell. 
 Your message to each hearer tell. 
 Betimes, 
 Ye chimes. 
 
 Ding, dong, dong ! 
 Of joy or grief may be vour song. 
 
 If mirth or pain 
 
 Be your refrain. 
 Still ring, ye bells, and sing. 
 
 
 Jessie Bartlett Davis 
 
 14.3 
 
 (.v^^.^^ 
 
 w 
 
Gypsy Love Song 
 
 (From The Fortune Teller') 
 
 ' I ''HE birds in the forest are calling for thee ; 
 
 All the shades and the glades are lonely; 
 Summer is there, with her blossoms fair ; 
 
 You are absent only. 
 No bird that nests in the greenwood tree 
 
 But sighs to greet you and kiss you ; 
 A.1I the flowers yearn for your safe return, 
 
 And, most -of all, / miss you. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Slumber on, my little gypsy sweetheart. 
 
 Dream of the field and the grove. 
 Can you hear me, hear me in that dreamland 
 
 Where your fancies rove ? 
 Slumber on, my little gypsy sweetheart, 
 
 Wild little woodland dove. 
 Can you hear the song that tells you 
 
 All my heart's true love ? 
 
 The fawn that you tamed has a look In its eyes 
 
 That says : " Must we long be parted ? " 
 Songs that are trolled by our comrades old 
 
 Now are not light-hearted. 
 The wild rose fades in the leafy shades, 
 
 Its ghost will find you and haunt you. 
 All the friends sigh : " Come to our woodland home." 
 
 And, most of all, / want you. 
 
 144 
 
 r^:^> 
 
Refrain 
 
 Slumber on, my little gypsy sweetheart, 
 
 Dream of the field and the grove ; 
 Can you hear me, hear me in that dreamland 
 
 Where your fancies rove ? 
 Slumber on, my little gypsy sweetheart. 
 
 Wild little woodland dove. 
 Can you hear the song that tells you 
 
 All my heart's true love ? 
 
 Eugene Cowles 
 
 145 
 
Virginia Earl 
 
 The Casino Girl 
 
 CHE has to be pretty to start with, 
 
 Know what to say and do ; 
 Have charms to capture a heart with. 
 
 And skill to keep it, too. 
 A gay soubrette as a rule of course. 
 
 But sometimes — oh — so pure! 
 For as a Salvation lassie she once 
 
 Was dainty and demure. 
 
 Refrain 
 First she dances along the line, 
 
 A-swinging to and fro ; 
 Then she'll sway this kind of way. 
 
 And then she poses so. 
 Smiling at the boxes with 
 
 A roguish eye — comme 9a ! 
 The while she sings those clever things 
 
 Of tra-la-la-la-la-la ! 
 
 146 
 
She has to be stylish and graceful. 
 
 With ready smile and blush ; 
 As fair to the eye as an ace full 
 
 When held against a flush. 
 Her ankles whirl in a cloud of lace, 
 
 And by them hearts are wrecked. 
 As she trips along with a cute little song 
 
 In Parisian dialect. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 First she rustles her skirts like this ; 
 
 Then she tilts them up like that ; 
 Then she skips and then she trips, 
 
 And then she kicks a hat. 
 When she sees a chap she knows 
 
 She sets his brain awhirl 
 With roguish eye, with feet that fly. 
 
 Oh, that's a Casino girl ! 
 
 Mabelle Gilman 
 
 147 
 
I 
 
 Kleptomania 
 
 (From 7*^1? Highwayman') ' 
 
 F the awful instigator 
 
 Or the dreadful perpetrator 
 Of a criminal deed you're seeking for to ferret out, 
 
 The detective who dispuises. 
 
 Whistles, " hists " and theorizes 
 Is the one who sets the greatest stock of merit out. 
 
 On a fellow's nose a soot-print. 
 
 In the sand a tiny footprint. 
 Strand of hair, a broken twig, are clues most black ; 
 
 And if any such you find. 
 
 You can safely bear in mind 
 That you are very close upon the track. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 You're on the track ! You're on the track ! 
 
 You have found the proper clue. 
 
 You have little else to do ; 
 
 You are close upon the trail. 
 
 You will land your man in jail — 
 You're on the track ! You're on the track ! 
 
 If a wretch in anguish utter 
 
 Steals a slice of bread — no butter — 
 ' Cause he's starving and of pie he hasn't got any. 
 
 He has time for deep repentance, 
 
 For the justice in his sentence 
 Gives him twenty years in that far bay called Botany. 
 
 148 
 
But it's very much more healthy 
 
 For the tolerably wealthy 
 To appropriate, embezzle and conceal, 
 
 For Dame Justice sits and grieves. 
 
 Never calling people thieves 
 If they do not really need the things they steal. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 You're on the track ! You're on the track ! 
 
 " He can't help it," so they say, 
 
 Wealthy thieves are born that way ; 
 
 If of cash one has no lack. 
 
 He's a kleptomaniac. 
 You're on the track ! You're on the track ! 
 
 149 
 
Inconsistency 
 
 (From Papa's Wife) 
 
 TT seems one's dress is always changing; 
 
 For instance, a few years ago 
 Nobody seemed to mind my knees ; 
 
 My stockings 'twas all right to show. 
 But then — my neck ! it must be covered ; 
 
 And now it's different, if you please; 
 For I can show my neck and shoulders, 
 
 But I must cover up my knees. 
 
 Refrain 
 But why ? What difference can it make ? — 
 
 I cannot see, although I try — 
 Whether one's frock is cut high below 
 
 Or cut below up high. 
 
 A lady dances in a ball-room ; 
 
 She shows her shoulders and her arms. 
 Only a bit of ribbon lies 
 
 Between the public and her charms. 
 A scandal if she showed her ankles ! 
 
 A riot if she showed her knees ! 
 But at the seaside in the summer, 
 
 Why, you can see them all you please. 
 
 Refrain 
 But why ? What difference can it make ? — 
 
 I cannot see, although I try — 
 Whether one's frock is cut high below 
 
 Or cut below up high. 
 
 150 Anna Held 
 
Tne Swearing Skipper 
 
 (From Foxy Quilkr) 
 
 I HERE once was a skipper of a taut Dutch ship, 
 
 And his name was Van der Decken ; 
 He sailed and he sailed a roving trip 
 
 Down to Cape Good Hope, I reckon. 
 One night he tried to sail in the teeth of a breeze, 
 
 But, lor ! he couldn't make head ; 
 So he made such 'orrid remarks as these, 
 
 Which air some o' the things he said : 
 
 Refrain 
 
 " By the great Horn Spoon, I'll double that cape! 
 
 " 1 swear by my grandad's bones ! 
 " May 1 die on land m a drunken scrape ! 
 
 " May I go to Davy Jones ! 
 " I swear bv blankety-blank-blank-blank, 
 
 " I swear — ! " {Roar of thunder; crash in orchestra) 
 And he would have said more, I make no doubt 
 
 But the terrible thunder drowned him out. 
 
 Take warning, my mates, of this wild yarn 
 
 Of that most cantankerous gaby. 
 And never say anything worse than " Darn " 
 
 No matter how mad you may be ; 
 For " Darn " and " Gosh " and the likes of those 
 
 Are good enough cuss words quite. 
 It's better to come to blood and blows 
 
 Than to say as he said that night : 
 
 '5' 
 
Chorus 
 
 "I swear," says he, "I'll double that cape, 
 
 And I will turn back never;" 
 So there he Is in a dreadful scrape — 
 
 And never, no never, can he escape- 
 Swearing away, a spectral shape. 
 And sailing on forever. 
 
 152 
 
When Chloe Sings a Song 
 
 T^AR is music in de banjo when it sounds, 
 
 Dar is music in de whistle o' de breeze, 
 Dar is music fo' creation on de whole ob dis plantation, 
 
 Dar is music in de buzzin' ob de bees ; 
 But de swcetes' music dat I ever hear 
 
 Is de sound dat de soft breeze brings 
 In tones so clear to dis chile's ear 
 
 When my sweet Chloe sings. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Do yo' hear dem tones a-comin' 
 When de old banjo is strummin'? 
 Why, de bees dey stop dere hummin ' 
 
 When dey hears 'em come along. 
 O'er de whole o' dis plantation 
 It's de cause ob a sensation. 
 Sweetes' music in creation 
 
 Is when Chloe sings a song. 
 
 Dar is music in de tambourine and bones, 
 
 Dar is music in de fiddle and de bow, 
 Dar is livelv music eber when de steamer down de riber 
 
 Comes along and lets her loudess whistle blow. 
 But de darkeys come around fo' miles an' miles — 
 
 It's wonderful de crowd it always brings — 
 Wif every chile's face wreathed in smiles 
 
 When my sweet Chloe sings. 
 
 153 
 
Refrain 
 
 Do yo' heah dem tones a-comin' 
 When de ole banjo is strummin'r 
 Why, de bees dey stop dere hummin' 
 
 When dey hears 'em come along. 
 O'er de whole o' dis plantation 
 It's de cause ob a sensation; 
 Sweetes' music in creation 
 
 Is when Chloe sings a song. 
 
 Dar is music when de red-birds chirp and sing, 
 
 And de oriole is whistlin' on his nest; 
 
 Dar is music in the tingle ob de rain upon de shingle 
 
 When in de cabin all have gone to rest. 
 But dar's not a bird in air or in de trees, 
 
 Dar's not a bird dat flies around on wings, 
 Wif tones as sweet as dem you meet 
 
 When dat gal Chloe sings. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Do 'yo hear dem tones a-comin' 
 Wid de ole banjo a-strummin'? 
 Why, de bees dey stop dere hummin' 
 
 When dey hears 'em come along. 
 O'er de whole o' dis plantation 
 It's de cause ob a sensation. 
 Sweetes' music in creation, 
 
 Is when Chloe sings a song. 
 
 154 
 
I Didn't Like Him 
 
 T3ERHAPS you may a-noticed I been soht o' solemn lately, 
 
 Haven't been a-lookin' quite so pleasant. 
 Mebbe I have been a little bit too proud and stately ; 
 
 Dat's because I'se lonesome jes' at present. 
 I an' him agreed to quit a week or so ago, 
 
 Fo' now dat I am in de social swim 
 I'se 'rived to de opinion dat he ain't my style o' beau. 
 
 So I tole him dat my watch was fas' fo' him. 
 
 Refrain 
 
 Oh, I didn't like his clo'es. 
 
 An' I didn't like his eyes, 
 Nor his walk, nor his talk, 
 
 Nor his ready-made neckties. 
 I didn't Hke his name a bit, 
 
 Jes' 'spise de name o' Jim ; 
 If dem ere reasons ain't enough, 
 
 I didn't like Him. 
 
 Dimon' ring he give to me an' said it was a fine stone. 
 
 Guess it's only alum mixed wif camphor. 
 Took it roun' to Eisenstein ; he said it was a rhinestone, 
 
 Kind, he said, he didn't give a dam fur. 
 Sealskin sack he give to me it got me in a row. 
 
 P'liceman called an' asked to see dat sack; 
 Said another lady lost it. Course / don't know how ; 
 
 But I had to go to jail or give it back. 
 
 155 
 
Refrain 
 
 Oh, I didn't like his trade ; 
 
 Trade dat kep' him out all night. 
 He'd de look ob a crook, 
 
 An' he owned a bull's-eye light. 
 So when policemen come to ask 
 
 What 1 knew 'bout dat Jim, 
 I come to de confusion dat 
 
 I didn't like Him. 
 
 156 
 
The Strolling Players 
 
 T^ROM town to town we fare, lads, 
 
 In bright or rainy weather; 
 
 We have all the sister muses in our pack. 
 
 Oh, why should we despair, lads, 
 
 While we are young together. 
 
 And a penny buys a pennyworth of sack. 
 
 Sing heigho ! Sing hey-dey ! 
 And troll away, my brothers ; 
 For each day is May-day 
 
 To hearts that mock at care. 
 'Tis laughter we're after; 
 We leave the frowns to others. 
 Sing heigho ! Sing hey-dey ! 
 A groat is cash to spare. 
 
 Let cavaliers with gold, lads. 
 Buy any lips they fancy ; 
 Your player hath those lips upon the sly. 
 We've song and story old, lads, 
 For Meg, or Kate, or Nancy, 
 And they give to us the smiles that gallants buy. 
 
 Sing heigho ! Sing hey-day ! 
 A murrain take the law, boys. 
 Each day is a gay day 
 
 To players as they roam. 
 We're vagabonds and rogues. 
 And of nothing stand in awe, bovs; 
 Our creed is do what pleases you; 
 Bohemia's our home. 
 
 157 
 
De Wolf Hopper 
 
 158