Original Plays, Second Series

by W. S. Gilbert

In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolous.

I can tell undoubted Raphaels from Gerard Dows and Zoffanies;

I know the croaking chorus from the “Frogs” of Aristophanes.

Then I can hum a fugue, of which I’ve heard the music’s din afore,

(Bothered for next rhyme.)—Din afore, din afore, din afore—

(struck with an idea)

And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense “Pinafore.”

(Joyously.) And whistle all the airs, etc.

All. And whistle all the airs, etc.

Gen. Then I can write a washing bill in Babylonic cuneiform,