TO MADGE
THE SOCIAL NOTES SAY MADGE WILL MARRY
Grind the organ, toot the flute;
Push the trombone in an’ oot;
Tickle the strings of your mandolin;
Howl yer joy an’ crack the grin;
Salute the Stars, the Sun, an’ Moon—
Our own Madge will marry soon.
Clang the cymbals, twang the harp;
Blow the bazoo loud and sharp;
Finger the strings of the wailing cello;
Make welkin ring with joyous bellow;
Ring out wild bells your merry tune—
Our own Madge will marry soon.
Pipe the playful flageolet;
Blast the ear with the gay cornet;
Blow the tuba, strike the lyre;
Light the heavens with red fire;
Make merry with the big bassoon—
Our own Madge will marry soon.
Scrape the gut of the violin;
Loud Hosannah’s sing with vim;
Beat the merry Zilophone;
Keep records on the gramophone;
Shake the foot in the Rigadoon—
Our own Madge will marry soon.
The possession of wealth only makes some people look ridiculous who otherwise would occasion no comment.
Every man hath a burden with which he hath laden himself. See that thou knowest thy strength before thou take on thy burden.