I could sing, if my fervour were mock,
It’s easy enough if you’re acting,
But when one’s emotion
Is born of devotion,
You mustn’t be over-exacting.
One ought to be firm as a rock
To venture a shake in vibrato;
When fervour’s expected,
Keep cool and collected,
Or never attempt agitato.
But, of course, when his tongue is of leather,
And his lips appear pasted together,
And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,
A tenor can’t do himself justice.
Now observe—(sings a cadence)—
It’s no use—I can’t do myself justice!