Minstrel Troupes and Negro Baritones
In its predestined race from Pole to Pole,
The Song had caught a Rag-Time girls could shout
And Piano-Organs make a Din about;
But syncopated Melodies at last
Will pass away, and more shall come, no doubt.
And this I know: though Vaudeville delight,
Musical Comedy can bore me quite;
One act of Ibsen from the Gallery caught,
Better than Daly for a festal Night!
What! out of senseless Show-Girls to evoke
A Drama? Surely, I resent the Joke!
For me, it is not Pleasure, but a Pain--
An Everlasting Bore for decent Folk.
What, must the Theatre Manager be paid--
Our Gold for what his Carpenter has made--
Must we pay Stars we never did Contract,
And cannot hiss at?--Oh, the sorry trade!
Oh Thou, who dost with cool sarcastic Grin
Scorn the poo
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