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No. 12: Duet (Woodpecker & Bunthunder)
To MIDI File

Enter WOODPECKER.

Woodpecker (chant).
  Your pardon, sir. Am I addressing
  The Major-General Bunthunder
    I greatly wonder?
      In search of him I roam.
Bunthunder (chant).
  I am, as you are rightly guessing,
  That most unhappy warrior —
No man sorrier —
      But I am not at home.
Woodpecker (suspiciously).
      You're not at home?
Bunthunder.
      No, sir, I'm not at home.
Woodpecker (chant).
  This information is distressing;
    If you will shortly be returning,
My soul is burning
      With keen anxiety to know?
Bunthunder.
  I've gone abroad on business pressing;
    When home from places foreigneering
I shall be steering
      Is quite uncertain! Go!
Woodpecker (doubtfully).
      Uncertain? Oh!
Bunthunder.
      It's quite uncertain! Go!
Woodpecker.
      Oh!
Bunthunder.
      Go!

Woodpecker.
    From the Marchionesses,
Whom nobody guesses
  To be of the rank of a peeress or peer —
    In courtesy lacking
They sent us all packing,
  And each with a very fine flea in his ear.
    Those Johnnies and Jackies
The overfed lackies
  They "went for" the bride and her guests with a rush —
    The combat was heated,
But we were defeated
  By insolent armies of powder and plush.
    And Mister Maguire,
Who's raging with ire,
  Has taken an oath by the powers that be,
    That restaurant-keeper,
Shall not close a peeper
  Until she has published an apologee!

Woodpecker. Bunthunder.
    From the Marchionesses,
  Tho' called upon
    Whom nobody guesses       I've never been
  To be of the rank of a peeress or peer —     To court a warrior's tomb,
    In courtesy lacking   Or to defend
    They sent us all packing,       my Sovereign Queen
  And each with a very fine flea in his ear.     In battle's dread boom-boom!
    Those Johnnies and Jackies   Resistless I,
    The overfed lackies       when I am stirr'd
  They "went for" the bride and her guests with a rush —     To doughty deeds of wrath,
    The combat was heated   So on myself
    But we were defeated       I have conferr'd
  By insolent armies of powder and plush.     The Order of the Bath.
And Mister Maguire,   You trace my humour's
    Who's raging with ire,       devious path?
  Has taken an oath by the powers that be,     You see my meaning through?
    That restaurant-keeper,
  The knightly Order
    Shall not close a peeper       of the Bath —
  Until she has published an apologee!     I don't believe you do!
    Ha, ha! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!      
          No!
    Ho, ho! Ho, ho! Ho, ho!      
          No!
  Until she has published an apologee!     I don't believe you do!
    Published an apologee! Ha, ha!     I don't believe you do!
    Apologee, apologee,     No! No!
    Published an apologee!     I don't believe you do!

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