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No. 7 - Quartette and Chorus - "The Lay of the Merry Ha! Ha!"
| Snodgrass: | Some years ago a little bird As censor posed on men. |
| Arabella: | When anything absurd occurred Its laughter sounded then. |
| Polly: | With mocking melody 'twas fraught When ridicule was needed. |
| Pickwick: | The echo of its laugh we've caught, And use it just as he did. Ah! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Polly: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Snod.: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Arabella: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Pickwick: | And ev'ry pose and peculiarity Will find it's greeted with hilarity; |
| Chorus: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Polly: | That lay is sung to boasters Who their wond'rous deeds relate. |
| Snod.: | And people who by boring you Your feelings irritate. |
| Pickwick: | I must say that is great. |
| Arabella: | When proud young fathers rave about Their ever-lasting baby, |
| Pickwick: | This little song will help you out, By now you've learned it, may be. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Polly: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Snod.: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Arabella: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Pickwick: | When the laugh's on us
we're loud in abusing it, But in our turn we're very fond of using it. |
| Chorus: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Arabella: | The lady with the worn-out voice Who'll stand for hours and chant, |
| Snod. | The kindest of us will rejoice When she catches cold and can't. |
| Polly: | Your sweetheart's little brothers too, Who watch you both like weasels. |
| Pickwick: | You sing this song, I know you do, When they get mumps or measles. Ah! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Polly: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Snod.: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Arabella: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Pickwick: | In a case like this with unanimity Men throw away their magnanimity. |
| Chorus: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Polly: | The parvenu who goes abroad, Whom ev'rybody hates, |
| Snod.: | Who says his father is a lord, And talks of dukes and mates. |
| Pickwick: | And brags of his estates. |
| Arabella: | How quickly his pretensions drop When some one says: "How silly!" |
| Pickwick: | Your father keeps a tailor's shop In Bond Street, Piccadilly. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Polly: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Snod.: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Arabella: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
| Pickwick: | I've always given him the preference, So call on me when in need of a reference. |
| Chorus: | Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. |
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American Musical Theatre | Mr. Pickwick
Page modified 11 February 2017