Copyright © 2004 by Paul Howarth
All Rights Reserved

[Robin] Away, Remorse!
Compunction, hence!
Go, Moral Force!
Go, Penitence!
To Virtue's plea
A long farewell -
Propriety,
I ring your knell!
Come, guiltiness of deadliest hue!
Come, desperate deeds of derringdo!

Henceforth all the crimes that I find in the Times.
I've promised to perpetrate daily;
Tomorrow I start with a petrified heart,
On a regular course of Old Bailey.
There's confidence tricking, bad coin, pocketpicking,
And several other disgraces--
There's postagestamp prigging, and then thimblerigging,
The threecard delusion at races!
Oh! A baronet's rank is exceedingly nice,
But the title's uncommonly dear at the price!

Ye welltodo 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 middleclass 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!

By Arthur Sullivan
Generated by NoteWorthy Composer

Ruddigore No. 23
Vocal
Right Hand
Left Hand
Tempo