Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, With a gloomy brow and dissatisfied air, Looks distrest, And he bows his best, And he puts his right hand on the side of his breast, And he says,--says he, "We _can't_ agree; His terms are a vast deal too high for me.-- There's the rent, and the rates, and the sesses, and taxes-- I can't afford Fiddle-de-dee what he _axes_. If you'll only permit Fal-de-ral-tit----" The "Generous Public" cried, "Deuce a bit! Dol-drum!--Dol-drum!-- We'll none of us come. It's 'No Go!'--it's 'Gammon!'--it's 'all a Hum:'-- You're a miserly Jew!-- 'Cock-a-doodle-do!' He _don't_ ask too much, as you know--so you do-- It's a shame--it's a sin--it's really too bad-- You ought to be 'shamed of yourself--so you had!" Dol-drum the Manager never before In his life-time had heard such a wild uproar. Dol-drum the Manager turn'd to flee; But he says--says he, "_Mort de ma vie!_ I shall _nevare_ engage vid dat Fiddle-de-dee!" Then all the gentlefolks flew in a rage, And they jump'd from the Omnibus on to the Stage, Lords, Squires, and Knights, they came down to the lights, In their opera-hats, and their opera-tights. Ma'am'selle Cherrytoes Shook to her very toes, She couldn't hop on, so hopped off on her merry toes. And the "evening concluded" with "Three times three!" "Hip!--hip!--hurrah! for Fiddle-de-dee!" Dol-drum the Manager, full of care, With a troubled brow and dissatisfied air, Saddest of men, Sat down, and then Took from his table a Perryan pen, And he wrote to the "News," How MacFuze, and Tregooze, Lord Tomnoddy, Sir Carnaby Jenks of the Blues, And the whole of their tail, and the separate crews Of the Tags and the Rags, and the No-one-knows-whos, Had combined Monsieur Fal-de-ral-tit to abuse, And make Dol-drum agree With Fiddle-de-dee, Who was not a bit better singer than he. --Dol-drum declared "he never could see, For the life of him, yet, why Fiddle-de-dee, Who, in B flat, or C, Or whatever the key, Could never at any time get below G, Should expect a fee the same in degree As the great Burlybumbo who sings double D." Then slyly he added a little N.B. "If they'd have him in Paris he'd not come to me!" The Manager rings, And the Prompter springs To his side in a jiffy, and with him he brings A set of those odd-looking envelope things, Where Britannia (who seems to be crucified,) flings To her right and her left funny people with wings, Amongst Elephants, Quakers, and Catabaw Kings; And a taper and wax, And small Queen's heads in packs, Which, when notes are too big, you're to stick on their backs. Dol-drum the Manager sealed with care The letter and copies he'd written so fair, And sat himself down with a satisfied air; Without delay He sent them away, In time to appear in "our columns" next day!