Monsieur le Blond on London by W. S. Gilbert

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Monsieur le Blond on London

Air — "Fall of Paris"

Fun, II - 3rd March 1866

I've spent three weeks, my SKETCHLEY, in your fog-enveloped Fatherland, And really, sir, upon the shores of Tartarus I'd rather land. I mean to show it up at home, so with the lying curtain hence! That shrouds your wretched country and your insular impertinence. I landed inside out, and asking, "Is it heels or is it head?" And this decided fact from my condition I elicited.
	The sea around you shows, When a strong sou'-wester blows,
That it never was intended that you Vandals should be visited.
	Creaking, squeaking, groaning, moaning, Rolling, bowling, baggage-owning;
Agonising illness, culminating in a trance,
	You hurl, or 'twouldn't be you, sir, At those who come to see you, sir, —
We manage all these little matters better far in France!

Your infamous outspoken press the emblem is of sinistry, Abusing, as they please, the Opposition and the Ministry; Of freedom of opinion in their minds there seems a drop or two, For really they appear to say whatever they think proper to! Your journals are absurdly cheap, and even the tip-topper ones Are always to be had, I find, for prices that are copper ones;
	Which seems absurd to me, And I really blush to see
That all their illustrations are ridiculously proper ones!
	Reading, weeding, selling, quelling, Stopping, whopping, press-compelling,
Safety and continuance of kindgom to enhance;
	Publishing diurnal lists Of too outspoken journalists,
Are matters that we always manage better far in France!

Your theatres suffer from a dullness which appears incurable; Your actors and your actresses are simply unendurable; The whole affair is dull, and melancholy, and dejectable; The dresses, too, with hardly an exception, are respectable! Then the idiotic words and songs your operas you fetter to, Opera and ballad, comic song, and operetta, too.
	I go to see a play That's original, you say,
And I've always seen it done at home, and done a great deal better, too!
	Laughing, chaffing, playing, saying, Talking, walking, stage-arraying;
Opera, or vaudeville, or incidental dance:
	Paris in and out of it, There cannot be a doubt of it,
We manage all these little matters better far in France!

I find my little pleasant ways entirely unsocketed; The waiter tells me that the sugar isn't to be pocketed, I answer him by looking with a noble air his face in full, And when he isn't looking, sir, I stow away the basin-full! But landlords, on the other hand, show foolish incongruity, In giving soap to customers they lose a small annuity.
	You'll find our people will Charge it extra in the bill,
For we always look upon it as a dainty superfluity!
	Splashing, dashing, scrubbing, rubbing, Messing, dressing, drubbing, tubbing,
Taking hip or shower bath whenever you've a chance;
	It's shocking inhumanity, Amounting to insanity, —
We manage all these little matters better far in France!

Your ladies must be beautiful, I grant you, for unless they were They never could afford to walk out in the dreadful dress they wear. But married dames and single girls all dress so very shady-like, And all your ladies really are ridiculously ladylike. As soon as they are married they prefer to stop all day at home, And always take their dinners in a formal kind of way at home;
	A tedious affair, And Parisian ladies stare,
And wonder what on earth can make your Englishwomen stay at home.
	Frizzing, quizzing, eyeing, sighing, Painting, fainting, tresses-dyeing,
Giving you three volumes of a novel at a glance.
	Before they marry, dutiful, Then flirty, oh it's beautiful!
Now that's the way our womankind behave themselves in France!

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