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Gus the Theatre Cat
Gus is the cat at the theatre door,
His name as I ought to have told you before,
Is really Asparagus, but that’s such a fuss to pronounce,
That we usually call him, just Gus.
His coat’s very shabby,
He’s thin as a rake,
He suffers from palsy that makes his paws shake,
Yet he was in his youth quite the smartest of cats,
But no longer a terror to mice, or to rats,
For he isn’t the cat that he was in his prime,
Though his name was quite famous,
He says, in its time,
And whenever he joins his friends at their club,
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub),
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days,
For he once was the star of the highest degree,
He has acted with Irving, he has acted with Tree,
And he likes to relate their success on the halls,
Where the Gallery once gave him, seven cat-calls,
But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
I have played in my time every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart,
I’d extemporise backchat I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act, with my back and my tail,
With an hour of rehearsal I never could fail,
I’d a voice that could soften, the hardest of hearts,
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts,
I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell,
When the curfew was rung then I swung on the bell,
In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick Whittington’s cat,
But my grandest creation, as history will tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne,
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested the need for a cat,
And I say now these kittens they do not get trained,
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned,
They never get drilled in a regular troupe,
And they think they are smart just to jump through a hoop!
And he says as he scratches himself with his claws,
Well the theatre is certainly, not what it was,
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery, when I made history,
As Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery, when I made …
His name as I ought to have told you before,
Is really Asparagus, but that’s such a fuss to pronounce,
That we usually call him, just Gus.
His coat’s very shabby,
He’s thin as a rake,
He suffers from palsy that makes his paws shake,
Yet he was in his youth quite the smartest of cats,
But no longer a terror to mice, or to rats,
For he isn’t the cat that he was in his prime,
Though his name was quite famous,
He says, in its time,
And whenever he joins his friends at their club,
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub),
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days,
For he once was the star of the highest degree,
He has acted with Irving, he has acted with Tree,
And he likes to relate their success on the halls,
Where the Gallery once gave him, seven cat-calls,
But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
I have played in my time every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart,
I’d extemporise backchat I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act, with my back and my tail,
With an hour of rehearsal I never could fail,
I’d a voice that could soften, the hardest of hearts,
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts,
I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell,
When the curfew was rung then I swung on the bell,
In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick Whittington’s cat,
But my grandest creation, as history will tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne,
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested the need for a cat,
And I say now these kittens they do not get trained,
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned,
They never get drilled in a regular troupe,
And they think they are smart just to jump through a hoop!
And he says as he scratches himself with his claws,
Well the theatre is certainly, not what it was,
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery, when I made history,
As Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery, when I made …
Demeter5 |
Latest page update: made by Demeter5
, Jul 29 2008, 5:47 AM EDT
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