Madame Eulalie’s Rare Plums

A WRITER of drama named Caine
Writes notes to the press to explain
That ‘Boom’ is a word
Of which he’s not heard.
For his is a soul above gain.

There was a great author named Jones
Who spoke of our Drama with groans.
But his own play, they state,
Isn’t anything great.
(Note: In glass houses, never throw stones.)

A critic cried wildly, “Great Scott!
Do illusions obsess me, or what?
Do I sleep? do I dream? or
Is it really true, Seymour,
That your musical play has a plot?”

No sin on Society’s tally
Can escape the keen eye of our Raleigh.
He knows all their druggings
And stabbings and Thuggings.
“Exposed!” yells the Smart Set. “How bally!”

There once was a queer-visaged Hun
Who wanted a capable son.
And it drove him half mad
When the three that he had
(Like the play) had a very short run.

There was a young man at the Bar
Who whistled that waltz by Lehar,
Till his wife, with a shriek,
Knocked him down with a cleek,
Saying, “Henry, you drive me too far!”