Once more:—
Will. What can you do?
Cat.My pictures folk applaud;
They say they're scratchy, but resemble Claude.
I'm not much of a linguist, my good friend,
But I've a-talion at my finger's end;
I can't dance well amongst young ladies, yet
I come out very well in a puss-et.
I sing at times like any cat-a-lani.
Will. Your favourite opera is——
Cat. The Purr-itani.
In the course of the piece King Noodlehead sings a song in which some fun is made of the conventionalities of Italian opera:—
At the Opera, and at Covent Garden as well,
I have always observed that the expiring swell,
Tho' you'd fancy just there he'd be shortest of breath,
Sings a difficult song just before his own death.
Such as diddle, diddle, diddle,
Chip chop ri chooral i day,
That's how they arrange things at the Operay.
And I've likewise remarked that the young hero-ine
Walks about in a low dress of thin white sat-in,
Defying the fog, and the cold and the damp,
And also rheumatics, and likewise the cramp.
With a diddle, diddle, diddle, etc.
I've remarked that the peasants who come on the scene,
Are, p'raps, awkward, but still most offensively clean,
They lay monstrous stress on the "whens" and the "whats,"
And sing—"Oh, joy"—together like mere idi-ots.
With a diddle, diddle, diddle, etc.