The Good Old Melodram’

I’m sick of moving picture shows and vaudeville cheap and light,

For joke and jest and all the rest I have no appetite;

The slight of hand, the high trapeze, the tumblers by the score,

The song and dance, the clownish prance, I want to see no more.

Light opera I now taboo, and comedy the same,

The singing stunts I worshipped once I now think rather tame;

There’s only one show now for me, the rest are froth and sham,

I want tonight, with rant and fight, the good old melodram’.

Ah, give me sword and give me gun, and plot and counter plot,

The stress and strife, the flashing knife, the battles waxing hot.

I want to hear the villain’s laugh, and see the hero’s strides,

And hear him rant because he can’t discover “where she hides”.

Ah give me blood, and prison scenes, and endless hours of woe;

The hero’s “stop!” the villian’s drop, the fiddle’s tremolo.

Tonight no vaudeville for me, or moving picture sham,

But one good show of long ago, a good old melodram’.

May 27, ‘09