The Social Notes Say Madge Will Marry

Grind the organ, toot the flute; Push the trombone in an’ oot; Tickle the strings of your mandolin; Howl yer joy an’ crack the grin; Salute the Stars, the Sun, an’ Moon-- Our own Madge will marry soon.

Clang the cymbals, twang the harp; Blow the bazoo loud and sharp; Finger the strings of the wailing cello; Make welkin ring with joyous bellow; Ring out wild bells your merry tune-- Our own Madge will marry soon.

Pipe the playful flageolet; Blast the ear with the gay cornet; Blow the tuba, strike the lyre; Light the heavens with red fire; Make merry with the big bassoon-- Our own Madge will marry soon.

Scrape the gut of the violin; Loud Hosannah’s sing with vim; Beat the merry Zilophone; Keep records on the gramophone; Shake the foot in the Rigadoon-- Our own Madge will marry soon.

The possession of wealth only makes some people look ridiculous who otherwise would occasion no comment.

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Every man hath a burden with which he hath laden himself. See that thou knowest thy strength before thou take on thy burden.