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No. 13 - Song - Bobinot and Chorus - "The Duke of Thingumybob."
| Bobinot: | The average hard-working peasant When leading his usual life Wakes up in the morning with nobody present (Unless it, perhaps, is his wife.) He pulls on his clothes and he picks up his hat, Has breakfast, goes out, slams the door, and that's that. But His Grace the Duke of Thingumybob! Each morning when he wakes By his bedside notices nine or ten Severe respectable serving men. With the help of these, or more if you please, His toilet then he makes; A couple of lackeys will tie his cravat, Two others stand by with his coat and his hat, Another start curling his hair from the roots up While somebody else tries to fasten his boots up. A dignified gent comes and sprays him with scent, Each man has a different job; For it's not orthodox to put on your own socks If you chance to be the Duke of Thingumybob! |
| Chorus: | Oh, His Grace the Duke of Thingumybob! Each morning when he wakes By his bedside notices nine or ten Severe respectable serving men. With the help of these, he'll dress by degrees, Each man's a diff'rent job; |
| Bobinot: | And they won't, I suppose, Let you blow your own nose, If you chance to be the Duke of Thingumybob! |
| Bobinot: | When lads of the Village go wooing The lasses they want for their own, They've plenty of chances for billing and cooing And meeting their sweethearts alone. They stroll through the fields or they sit hand in hand, A kiss and a squeeze, and the wedding's all planned. But if His Grace the Duke of Thingumybob Adores a damsel fair, When to woo the beautiful maid he tries He's watched by dozens of curious eyes. Oh, he wants a place where they can embrace, But someone's always there; He'll start in the garden declaring his "pash" When up comes Lord Blank and the Marquis of Dash, Away to the terrace by then he has borne her, But Count Umpedoodleum pops round the corner; He drags her indoors to the tapestried hall, And bumps into Baroness What-you-may-call; Perhaps in the salon he'll try tête-à-têting, But old Lady Whatnot is sitting there waiting; In most of the rooms there are lackeys and grooms, He can't get away from the mob; So it strikes me the cellar's the best place to tell her She's worshipped by the Duke of Thingumybob! |
| Chorus: | If His Grace the Duke of Thingumybob Adores a damsel fair, When to woo the beautiful maid he tries He's watched by dozens of curious eyes. Oh, he wants a place where they can embrace Away from all the mob; |
| Bobinot: | For you can't sit on benches With cuddlesome wenches Supposing you're the Duke of Thingumybob! |
| Bobinot: | Two fellows of humble position Fall out-- never mind about what — They take off their coats without asking permission And have a "set to" on the spot. Their friends may look on but they won't interfere Till one of the two gets a nasty thick ear. But if His Grace the Duke of Thingumybob Get punched upon the nose, Well he can't hit out at the other chap Or start away on a lively scrap, For a noble Lord must fight with a sword And not give vulgar blows; A message polite to his rival he sends By two of his aristocratic young friends, And when they've exchanged ev'ry usual greeting, At dawn in a meadow they fix up a meeting, The parties arrive in a coach on the spot With seconds and doctors and goodness knows what, The signal is given, they start like old Harry With rapiers a-flashing to thrust and to parry, Until with a twist and a turn of the wrist One fellow puts paid to his job, While the other cries "Lummy!" I'm pinked in the tummy, Let's hope it's not the Duke of Thingumybob! |
| Chorus: | If His Grace the Duke of Thingumybob Get punched upon the nose, Well he can't hit out at the other chap Or start away on a lively scrap, For a noble Lord must fight with a sword Unlike the vulgar mob; |
| Bobinot: | Now when I have a tiff It's just "Bing! Bang! and Biff!" But of course I'm not the Duke of Thingumybob! |
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Page modified 7 January 2017