III.
In this lecture I shall deal with the production of Lyrics, Blank Verse and (if I am allowed) Hymns (Ancient and Modern).
First we will write a humorous lyric for the Stage, bearing in mind, of course, the peculiar foibles, idiosyncrasies and whims of Mr. Alf Bubble, who will sing it (we hope). Mr. Bubble's principal source of fun is the personal appearance of his fellow-citizens. Whenever a new character comes on the stage he makes some remark about the character's "face." Whenever he does this the entire audience rolls about on its seat, and cackles and gurgles and wipes its eyes, and repeats in a hoarse whisper, with variations of its own, the uproarious phrasing of Mr. Bubble's remark. If Mr. Bubble says, "But look at his face!" the audience, fearful lest its neighbours may have missed the cream of the thing, splutters hysterically in the intervals of eye-wiping and coughing and choking and sneezing, "He said, 'What a face!'" or "He said, 'Did you see his face?'" or "He said, 'Is it a face?'"
All this we have got to remember when we are writing a lyric for Mr. Bubble. Why Mr. Bubble of all people should find so much mirth in other men's faces I can't say, but there it is. If we write a song embodying this great joke we may be certain that it will please Mr. Bubble; so we will do it.
Somebody, I think, will have made some slighting remark about the Government, and that will give the cue for the first verse, which will be political.
We will begin:—
Thompson ....
I don't know why the people in humorous lyrics are always called Thompson (or Brown), but they are.
Thompson, being indigent,
Thought that it was time he went
Into England's Parliament,
To earn his daily bread ....
That is a joke against Parliament, you see—Payment of Members and all that; it is good. At the same time it is usual to reserve one's jokes for the chorus. The composer, you see, reserves his tune for the chorus, and, if the author puts too much into the verse, there will be trouble between their Unions.
Now we introduce the face-motif:—
Thompson's features were not neat;
When he canvassed dahn our street
Things were said I won't repeat,
And my old moth-ah said:—
This verse, you notice, is both in metre and rhyme; I don't know how that has happened; it ought not to be.
Now we have the chorus:—
"Oh, Mr. Thompson,
It isn't any good;
I shouldn't like to vote for you,
So I won't pretend I should;
I know that you're the noblest
Of all the human race ...."
That shows the audience that face is coming very soon, and they all get ready to burst themselves.
"I haven't a doubt, if you get in,
The Golden Age will soon begin—
But I don't like—your FACE."
At this point several of the audience will simply slide off their seats on to the floor and wallow about there, snorting.
The next verse had better be a love-verse.
Thompson wooed a lovely maid
Every evening in the shade,
Meaning, I am much afraid,
To hide his ugly head ....
Head is not very good, I admit, but we must have said in the last line, and as we were mad enough to have rhymes in the first verse we have got to go on with it.
But when he proposed one night—
Did it by electric light—
Mabel, who retained her sight,
Just looked at him and said:—
Now you see the idea?
"Oh, Mr. Thompson,
It isn't any good;
I shouldn't like to marry you,
So I won't pretend I should;
I know that you have riches
And a house in Eaton Place ....
(Here all the audience pulls out its handkerchief)
I haven't a doubt that you must be
The properest possible match for me,
But I don't like—your FACE."
I have got another verse to this song, but I will not give it to you now, as I think the Editor is rather bored with it. It is fortunate for Mr. Bubble that he does not have to perform before an audience of Editors.
Having written the lyric the next thing to do is to get a composer to compose music for it and then you get it published. This is most difficult, as composers are people who don't ever keep appointments, and music publishers like locking up lyrics in drawers till the mice have got at the chorus and the whole thing is out of date.
By the time that this song is ready Mr. Bubble may quite possibly have exhausted the face-motif altogether and struck a new vein. Then we shall have wasted our labour. In that case we will arrange to have it buried in somebody's grave (Mr. Bubble's for choice), and in 2000 A.D. it will be dug up by antiquaries and deciphered. Even a lyric like this may become an Old Manuscript in time. I ought to add that I myself have composed the music for this lyric, but I really cannot undertake to explain composing as well as poetry.
The serious lyric or Queen's Hall Ballad is a much easier affair. But I must first warn the student that there are some peculiar customs attaching to this traffic which may at first sight appear discouraging. When you have written a good lyric and induced someone to compose a tune for it your first thought will be, "I will get Mr. Throstle to sing this, and he will pay me a small fee or royalty per performance;" and this indeed would be a good arrangement to make. The only objection is that Mr. Throstle, so far from paying any money to the student, will expect to be paid about fifty pounds by the student for singing his lyric. I do not know the origin of this quaint old custom, but the student had better not borrow any money on the security of his first lyric.
For a serious or Queen's Hall lyric all that is necessary is to think of some natural objects like the sun, the birds, the flowers or the trees, mention them briefly in the first verse and then in the second verse draw a sort of analogy or comparison between the natural object and something to do with love. The verses can be extremely short, since in this class of music the composer is allowed to spread himself indefinitely and can eke out the tiniest words.
Here is a perfect lyric I have written. It is called, quite simply, Evening:—
Sunshine in the forest,
Blossom on the tree,
And all the brave birds singing
For you—and me.
Kisses in the sunshine,
Laughter in the dew,
And all the brave world singing
For me—and you.
I see now that the dew has got into the second verse, so it had better be called quite simply The Dawn.
A MIDSUMMER NIGHTMARE.
John Bull. "'IF I HAD WIT ENOUGH TO GET OUT OF THIS WOOD,' ..."
A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act III., Sc. 1.
You notice the artistic parallelism of this lyric; I mean, "The brave birds singing" in one verse and "The brave world singing" in the next. That is a tip I got from Hebrew poetry, especially the Psalms: "One day telleth another; and one night certifieth another," and so on. It is a useful trick to remember, and is employed freely by many modern writers, the author of "The King's Regulations," for example, who in Regulation 1680 has the fine line:—
"Disembarkations are carried out in a similar manner to embarkations."
That goes well to the Chant in C major by Mr. P. Humphreys.
But I am wandering. It is becoming clear to me now that I shall not have time to do Blank Verse or Hymns (Ancient and Modern) in this lecture, after all, so I will give you a rough outline of that special kind of lyric, the Topical Song. All that is required for this class of work is a good refrain or central idea; when you have got that, you see how many topics you can tack on to it. But if you can tack on Mr. Winston Churchill you need not bother about the others.
Our central idea will be "Rations," and the song will be called Heaps and Heaps:—
Now Jimmy Brown
(always begin like that)
Now Jimmy Brown
He went to town,
But all the people said,
"We're rationed in our jam, you know,
Likewise our cheese and bread;
But we've lots of politicians
And Ministers galore,
We've got enough of them and, gee!
We don't want any more."
Chorus.
We've had heaps and heaps and heaps of Mr. Smillie (Loud cheers);
We've had heaps and heaps and heaps of our M.P. (Significant chuckles);
At political carouses
We've had heaps of (paper) houses
But though we WAIT, no houses do we SEE
(Bitter laughter).
The khaki-boys were good enough for fighting,
But now we hear the khaki-coat is barred;
If they ration us in Mr. Winston Churchill,
Why, anyone may have my ration-card!
(Uproar.)
All you have to do now is to work in some more topics. I don't think I shall do any more now. The truth is, that that verse has rather taken it out of me.
In my next lecture I shall deal with Blank Verse and "The King's Regulations."
A.P.H.
ELIMINATION.
Stranger. "Can you tell me where Mr. Tooley lives?"
Native. "There's fifteen families o' Tooleys."
Stranger. "Mr. Samuel Tooley?"
Native. "There's twenty Sam Tooleys."
Stranger. "He is, I believe, a carpenter."
Native. "Ten on em's carpenters."
Stranger. "His age is seventy-eight."
Native. "Ah, that must be me. What can I do fur ee?"
"Deeside Forest Fire.
Ground game flew from their nesting places with shrill cries."—Daily Paper.
Odd behaviour for hares and rabbits?
Professional Candour.
"Young Gentlemen Taught
BALLROOM DANCING
(Privately).
Individual Instruction. No Class."
Advert. in South African Paper.
"For Sale.—A chance for Art Collectors:—Beautiful Enamel on Gold by Email de Geneve."
—Singapore Free Press.
We understand that the advertiser has also for sale some priceless statuary by the eminent sculptor, Plâtre de Paris.
"By Lady M—— S——.
My favourite quotation is: 'Things are what they are, and the consequences will be what they will be; why, then, should we wish to be deceived?'—Samuel Butler."—Daily Sketch.
It always looks well, when mentioning the name of the author of one's favourite quotation, to get it right. There seems to be an Analogy here between Lady M—— S—— and that Pharaoh "who knew not Joseph."