Volume 102 — THE IMPERIAL JACK-IN-THE-BOX.
Reading edition
A SONG FOR THE SHOUTING EMPEROR.
AIR—"The Major-General."
I am the very pattern of a Modern German Emperor, Omniscient and omnipotent, I ne'er give way to temper, or If now and then I run a-muck in a Malay-like fashion, As there's method in my madness, so there's purpose in my passion. 'Tis my aim to manage everything in order categorical— My fame as Cosmos-maker I intend shall be historical. I know they call me Paul Pry, say I'm fussy and pragmatical— But that's because sheer moonshine always hates the mathematical. I'm not content to "play the King" with an imperial pose in it— Whatever is marked "Private" I shall up and poke my nose in it.
ALL.
He won't let drowsing dogs lie, he'll stir up the tabby sleeping Tom— In fact, he is the model of a modern German Peeping Tom! I bounce into the Ball-Room when they think I'm fast asleep at home, And measure steps and skirts and things and mark what state folks keep at home; Watch the toilette of young Beauty on the very strictest Q.T. too, Evangelise the Army and keep sentries to their duty, too, On the Navy, and the Clergy, and the Schools, my wise eyes shoot lights, Sir. I'm awfully particular to regulate the footlights, Sir. I preach sermons to my soldiers and arrange their "duds" and duels, too, And tallow their poor noses, when they've colds, and mix their gruels, too; I'll make everybody moral, and obedient, and frugal, Sir— In fact I'm an Imperial edition of MCDOUGALL, Sir!
ALL.
He'd compel us to drink water and restrain us when to wed agog; In fact he is the model of a Modern German pedagogue. I've all the god-like attributes, omniscient, ubiquitous, I mean to squelch free impulse, which is commonly iniquitous. But what's the good of being Chief Inspector of the Universe, And prying into everything from pompous Law to puny verse, If everything or nearly so, shows a confounded tendency To go right of its own accord? My Masterful Resplendency Would radiate aurorally, a world would gaze on trustingly If only things in general wouldn't go on so disgustingly. Where is the pull of being Earth's Inspector autocratical, When the Progress I'd be motor of seems mainly automatical?
ALL.
Hooray! My would-be Jupiter, a parvenu is told again He's not the true Olympian, Jack-in-the-Box is "Sold Again!!!"
"ARTIFICIAL OYSTER-CULTIVATION," read Mrs. R., as the heading of a par in the Times. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed, "who on earth would ever think of eating 'artificial oysters!'"
NOTHING is certain in this life except Death, Quarter Day and stoppage for ten minutes at Swindon Station.
SO CONVENIENT!
Young Wife. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING, REGGIE DEAR?"
Reggie Dear. "ONLY TO THE CLUB, MY DARLING."
Young Wife. "OH, I DON'T MIND THAT, BECAUSE THERE'S A TELEPHONE THERE, AND I CAN TALK TO YOU THROUGH IT, CAN'T I?"
Reggie. "Y-YES—BUT—ER—YOU KNOW, THE CONFOUNDED WIRES ARE ALWAYS GETTING OUT OF ORDER!"