Oh! A Baronet's rank is exceedingly nice,
But the title's uncommonly dear at the price!
Ye well-to-do squires, who live in the shires,
Where petty distinctions are vital,
Who found Athenaeums and local museums,
With a view to a baronet's title—
Ye butchers and bakers and candlestick makers
Who sneer at all things that are tradey—
Whose middle-class lives are embarrassed by wives
Who long to parade as "My Lady",
Oh! allow me to offer a word of advice,
The title's uncommonly dear at the price!
Ye supple M.P.'s who go down on your knees,
Your precious identity sinking,
And vote black or white as your leaders indite
(Which saves you the trouble of thinking),
For your country's good fame, her repute, or her shame,
You don't care the snuff of a candle—
But you're paid for your game when you're told that your name
Will be graced by a baronet's handle—
Oh! Allow me to give you a word of advice—
The title's uncommonly dear at the price!
[Exit Robin.
Duet
Des.
Mar.
Des.
Mar.
Des.
Mar.
I once was a very abandoned person—
Making the most of evil chances.
Nobody could conceive a worse 'un—
Even in all the old romances.
I blush for my wild extravagances,
But be so kind
To bear in mind,
We were the victims of circumstances!
[Dance.
That is one of our blameless dances.
