—Finale

Airs from "The Grand Duke"

Dykes:
Solo (Ludwig) and Chorus, No. 22.
A truce to all this yelling
That down the breeze is swelling;
It really is repelling,
And on my nerves it's telling.

Chorus:
All silent be.

Dykes:
Solo (Herald) and Chorus, No. 23.
Come, gather round the rostrum,
All ceremonial scorning,
And choose who will become,
On this beautiful morning

Your member from these thrum,
Who stand the scene adorning;
We have to hit on one
On this beautiful morning.

Chorus:
Repeats as in score.

Dykes:
Your pandemonium stow,
More businesslike we must be.
The candidates also
Are looking rather crusty;
Then let's move on, although
The singing's not so dusty—
Yet it's hardly "comme il faut"—
More businesslike we must be.

Dykes:
Air-Recit. (Ludwig), No. 24.,
Come then to the polling. You know the nominees,
You must elect the man you think the swell one.
I count the polls and scan the physiognomies—
And first of those with sympathies Cromwellian.

Clerk:
Let them stand forth.
Who try to be superior with sympathies Cromwellian—
Now, who votes for Job Gone Frand,
page 22 And who polls for Bill?

Dykes:
Air: "The Prince of Monte Carlo"
I think it's plain to us all
That Massive's the victor of this fray;
Three hearty cheers I call
For Be All. Hip

Chorus:
Hip-ray! Hip-ray! Hip-ray!
Fraud's off his pedestal;
We hope he takes the warning,
And Cromwell's looking quite small
On this beautiful morning.