3. Solo.

(Air—"Rajah of Bhong," Country Girl.)

Theo. Tresizes:
I am a dancing master gay,
Butterfly flitting from day to day.
Why—
Just look in my eye.

Chorus:

Just look in his eye.

Theo:
All the nice people their homage pay,
All of the hall-room beneath my sway.
Lies.

Chorus:
He's Theo Tresize.
He's Theo Tresize.

Theo:
For I was christened Theo you see,
It means Theodore between you and me);
If you Would foxtrot. I'll shew you what's what;
You'll learn to twist.
Like Theo Tresize,

(Chorus repeat.)
Theo:
I laid the foundations of Goring Street,
Saved your young maidens from boredom sweet.
Sighs.

Chorus:
Did Theo Tresize.
Did Theo Tresize.

Theo:
Auckland enlisted my timely aid,
And to the Davis a trip I made!
Prize!

Chorus:
Oh, many the cries.
For Theo Tresize.

Theo:
All tepischorean tumbles I know,
All that's in Heaves and all below:
From Polka to prancing there's nothing in dancing
Unknown alone
To Theo Tresize.

(Chorus repeat.)
Theo:
As a producer I won great fame,
All that's artistic is in my name; Byes!
(Boys in an Irish idiom.)

Chorus:
There aren't any flies
On Theo Tresize.

Theo:
All of them love me whose blood is blue,
Gaze on my autographed picture, you! Guys!

Chorus:
He's Theo Tresize.
He's Theo Tresize

Theo:
For I improved the old foxtrot so,
Found a new onestep that's all the go
(I say that it's Spanish, hut it might be Danish),
For as I can tell you
Your Theo Tresize.

page 15

Chorus:
or he, you see, is Theo Tresize,
and once his name blared to the skies
at now-a-day the cabarets
much too full for Theo Tresize.

Solo.

(Air—"If: you Look in Her Eyes.")

Morton.

roamed this way from over the seas
from far Archipelagoes:
played the candle in Kingdoms of Greece,
and Mary in "Mary Rose."
[unclear: ve] acted Hamlet many a time,
[unclear: t] after dinner snooze;
[unclear: ut] now I chase the wild-cat rhyme,
[unclear: nd] dip deep in praise of booze.

[unclear: ad] is the lot of a Morton,
[unclear: oses] and rue and ruth;
[unclear: h] if my name'd been Norton,
[unclear: ow] I'd have told the truth!
would have penned no word of Journalese,
[unclear: r] of chimpanzeeze,
[unclear: or] of Diction'ries;
[unclear: ad] is the lot of a Morton,
[unclear: Oh], for my vanished youth!

When I was young I felt very sure
The world would resound my name.
That my message would long endure,
Written in words of flame;
But Whistler now. alas, feels no more,
And Lindsay I know I am not;
Sad the heart and dreary and sore.
The maudlin Morton's lot.

Bad is the life of a jotter.
Worse it grows from day today;
Now if I had been a potter,
Thumping at his wet clay,
I would have written not a sonnet,
Bought not a bonnet,
Take my word on it.
Sad is the life of a jotter,
With printer's devils to pay.