nonsense, yes, perhaps -- but oh, such precious nonsense!
Gilbert and Sullivan have been all over my friends list today for some reason, so I thought that it might be fun to repost some of my reasonably extensive (read: far too extensive to be healthy) collection of G&S parodies, most of them on Tolkienian or Shakespearean topics. Those of you who've known me for a while can probably skip over them safely, as you've probably seen them... ;)
(I haven't given tune directions, as they're generally not hard to figure out.)
Scenes from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Lord of the Rings, or, The Land of Middle-earth
SCENE. -- Front yard of Bag End in Hobbiton, the Shire. Various hobbits discovered standing and sitting in various attitudes suggested by Rankin-Bass films and trippy illustrations from the 1970s.
CHORUS OF HOBBITS.
If you want to know who we are,
We are gentlemen of the Shire;
In many an inn and bar,
By many an alehouse fire,
We dine on six meals a day;
Our attitude's bright and gay;
But we don't mean it that way, oh!
If you think we are cutesy-poo,
Like an Ewok or Jar-Jar Binks,
You don't know what we do:
When we don't smokes, we drinks!
Our dwelling is Hobbiton;
We only stand three foot one;
We use evil rings for fun, oh, oh!
We use evil rings for fun!
If you want to know who we are,
We are gentlemen of the Shire;
In inn and bar, by alehouse fire;
In many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many a bar, oh, oh, oh, oh!
In inn and bar, by alehouse fire!
Enter Gandalf in great excitement. He carries a pack of fireworks on his back and a staff in his hand.
RECIT. -- GANDALF
Gentlemen, I pray you tell me
Where a gentle hobbit dwelleth, named Frodo,
The ward of Bilbo?
In pity speak, oh speak, I pray you!
TED SANDYMAN. Why, who are you who ask this question?
GANDALF. Come gather round me, and I'll tell you!
SONG and CHORUS -- GANDALF.
A wand'ring wizard I,
A thing of spells and magic,
Of stories dark and tragic,
Of counsel I'll prophesy...
This never got any further than this fragment, which, really, is probably just as well.
ARAGORN. Farewell, my own!
Star of the night, farewell!
For time unknown
I journey from Rivendell.
ARWEN. You'll win your throne!
In the meantime, farewell!
And all alone
I'll wait here in Rivendell.
FRODO. Alone, alone,
I'm journeying into hell;
Must I be shown
Away from fair Rivendell?
SAM, MERRY, PIPPIN, LEGOLAS, and GIMLI
We'll hear no tone
Of the lands that we love so well;
All that we've known
We leave here in Rivendell!
BOROMIR (mysteriously). But when is known
The plan that I will not tell,
None can postpone
The end of the Dark Lord fell!
ARAGORN and ARWEN / ALL OTHERS
Farewell, my own, / We'll hear no tone
Light of my life, farewell! / Of lands we love so well;
ALL. For time unknown
We/They journey from Riven, from Rivendell!
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in the land
Of Beleriand,
By a valiant man and strong, O!
It's the song of the warrior, wandering wide
In Doriath's land, by the riverside,
When Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in a glade
'Neath the stars, in the shade
To the sound of a fair pipe-song, O!
It's the song of the Elven-maid, peerly proud,
Who sang and danced, and who laughed aloud,
Who was seen by the warrior, wandering wide
In Doriath's land, by the riverside,
When Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in the hall
Of King Elu Thingol,
With a marriage deal gone wrong, O!
It's the song of the Elven-king, stern and dour,
Who sent Beren off to Morgoth's tower
For the hand of the Elven-maid, peerly proud,
Who sang and danced and who laughed aloud,
Who was seen by the warrior, wandering wide
In Doriath's land, by the riverside,
When Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in the halls
Of the Dark Lord's thralls,
For the triumph of love life-long, O!
It's the song of the Dark Lord of Angband,
Whose Jewel is clasped in Beren's hand
At the hest of the Elven-king, stern and dour,
Who sent Beren off to Morgoth's tower
For the hand of the Elven-maid, fair and bright,
Who danced for the Dark Lord's throne that night
For the sake of the warrior, brave and bold,
Their story will ever be after told
In the ancient tales and lays of old,
Of Beren One-hand and his ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
He sighs no more, for the pain he bore
Was all for the love of the ladye!
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
He sighs no more, for the pain he bore
Was all for the love of the ladye!
Shakespearean Parodies
HAMLET:
My eyes are fully open to the dreadful situation,
You must go at once to Claudius and make this demonstration:
You shall show him you've recovered your forgotten moral senses,
And you've given up the pleasure of incestuous offenses.
For myself, I will not perish by the sword or by the dagger,
Though my uncle and my schoolmates may indulge themselves in swagger,
But I'll trust them all as I would trust a scorpion or an adder
And I'll hoist them with their own petard -- their cunning doesn't matter!
CLAUDIUS: So our cunning doesn't matter--
GERTRUDE: So their cunning doesn't matter--
ALL: So their/our cunning doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!
GERTRUDE:
If you were not a little mad and generally silly,
Would you stab this good old man behind the arras, willy-nilly?
Would you tell me that your father's ghost on earth again is walking,
When I can clearly see that with intemperate air you're talking?
I will tell him that inside your skull it's gotten rather drafty,
And I'll never breathe a word that you are only mad-in-crafty.
I'm afraid that at the moment you're as mad as any hatter,
But I'll keep it to myself, for my opinion doesn't matter!
CLAUDIUS: Her opinion doesn't matter--
HAMLET: Her opinion doesn't matter--
ALL: Her/My opinion doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!
CLAUDIUS:
If I felt a little guiltier for killing of my brother,
And for following it up by wedding with my nephew's mother,
I'd confess to all the nation that I was King Hamlet's slayer,
Then I'd render up my crown and I'd retire to my prayer,
But I won't give up my crown, my queen, or even my ambition,
So I'll kneel in the church and make an impotent petition.
Though my words climb up to heaven without cable, rope, or ladder,
Still my thoughts remain below, and so my orisons don't matter!
HAMLET: So his orisons don't matter--
GERTRUDE: So his orisons don't matter--
ALL: So his orisons don't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!
YORK:
Now uncle me no uncles, for from you the word's ungracious!
(Oh, fie, a traitor now are you!)
Although you've had my sympathy your methods are audacious
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
What brings you back to England ere your banishment has ended?
Although no good will come of it I guess it can't be mended,
But if I weren't too old for this you'd soon be apprehended
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
BOLINGBROKE:
Now far be it from me to disobey the King my master:
(Oh, fie, a traitor I am not!)
Though I was banished Hereford, I'm returning as Lancaster.
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
I wouldn't say a word that could be reckoned as disloyal,
But I find the King's behaviour to be something less than royal,
And that's the kind of folly that will certainly destroy all
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
King Pharamond of ancient France
Resolved that men should wear the pants
And did command
In Salic land
No woman should inherit.
Yet France's authors do agree
That Salic land's in Germany;
Were there a female claimant, she
Could win the crown and wear it, and wear it, and wear it,
Could win the crown and wear it.
And I expect you'll all agree
That he was wrong to so decree,
And I am right, and you are right,
And all is right as right can be!
(Lords: And you are right, and we are right,
And all is right, as right as right can be,
And all is right as right can be,
Right as right can be!)
This stern decree, you'll understand,
Was only for the Salic land,
For Charlemagne
(The Saxons' bane)
Found German women shady.
And all of France's kings, you see,
From King Pepin to Louis Dix
Must trace their claim and pedigree
Back to a noble lady, a lady, a lady,
Back to a noble lady.
And you'll allow, as I expect,
My liege is right to thus object,
And he is right, and you are right,
And everything is quite correct!
(Lords: And he is right, and we are right,
And everything is quite, is quite correct,
And everything is quite correct,
All is quite correct!)
And to this day the kings of France,
When England would his right advance,
Do always claim
That from the dame
There is no proper title.
Yet from the female side they draw,
Regardless of their Salic law,
And so, my liege, regard this saw:
To claim your own is vital, is vital, is vital,
To claim your own is vital.
At what I say you shall not frown,
The time has come to claim your crown!
For I am right, and you are right,
Unwind your flag to great renown!
(Lords: And you are right, and we are right,
Unwind your flag to great, to great renown!
All: Unwind your flag to great renown,
To great renown!)
(I haven't given tune directions, as they're generally not hard to figure out.)
Scenes from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Lord of the Rings, or, The Land of Middle-earth
SCENE. -- Front yard of Bag End in Hobbiton, the Shire. Various hobbits discovered standing and sitting in various attitudes suggested by Rankin-Bass films and trippy illustrations from the 1970s.
CHORUS OF HOBBITS.
If you want to know who we are,
We are gentlemen of the Shire;
In many an inn and bar,
By many an alehouse fire,
We dine on six meals a day;
Our attitude's bright and gay;
But we don't mean it that way, oh!
If you think we are cutesy-poo,
Like an Ewok or Jar-Jar Binks,
You don't know what we do:
When we don't smokes, we drinks!
Our dwelling is Hobbiton;
We only stand three foot one;
We use evil rings for fun, oh, oh!
We use evil rings for fun!
If you want to know who we are,
We are gentlemen of the Shire;
In inn and bar, by alehouse fire;
In many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many a bar, oh, oh, oh, oh!
In inn and bar, by alehouse fire!
Enter Gandalf in great excitement. He carries a pack of fireworks on his back and a staff in his hand.
RECIT. -- GANDALF
Gentlemen, I pray you tell me
Where a gentle hobbit dwelleth, named Frodo,
The ward of Bilbo?
In pity speak, oh speak, I pray you!
TED SANDYMAN. Why, who are you who ask this question?
GANDALF. Come gather round me, and I'll tell you!
SONG and CHORUS -- GANDALF.
A wand'ring wizard I,
A thing of spells and magic,
Of stories dark and tragic,
Of counsel I'll prophesy...
This never got any further than this fragment, which, really, is probably just as well.
ARAGORN. Farewell, my own!
Star of the night, farewell!
For time unknown
I journey from Rivendell.
ARWEN. You'll win your throne!
In the meantime, farewell!
And all alone
I'll wait here in Rivendell.
FRODO. Alone, alone,
I'm journeying into hell;
Must I be shown
Away from fair Rivendell?
SAM, MERRY, PIPPIN, LEGOLAS, and GIMLI
We'll hear no tone
Of the lands that we love so well;
All that we've known
We leave here in Rivendell!
BOROMIR (mysteriously). But when is known
The plan that I will not tell,
None can postpone
The end of the Dark Lord fell!
ARAGORN and ARWEN / ALL OTHERS
Farewell, my own, / We'll hear no tone
Light of my life, farewell! / Of lands we love so well;
ALL. For time unknown
We/They journey from Riven, from Rivendell!
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in the land
Of Beleriand,
By a valiant man and strong, O!
It's the song of the warrior, wandering wide
In Doriath's land, by the riverside,
When Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in a glade
'Neath the stars, in the shade
To the sound of a fair pipe-song, O!
It's the song of the Elven-maid, peerly proud,
Who sang and danced, and who laughed aloud,
Who was seen by the warrior, wandering wide
In Doriath's land, by the riverside,
When Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in the hall
Of King Elu Thingol,
With a marriage deal gone wrong, O!
It's the song of the Elven-king, stern and dour,
Who sent Beren off to Morgoth's tower
For the hand of the Elven-maid, peerly proud,
Who sang and danced and who laughed aloud,
Who was seen by the warrior, wandering wide
In Doriath's land, by the riverside,
When Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
Tinuviel alone he spied
And was lost in the love of the ladye.
I have a song to sing, O!
(Sing me your song, O!)
It is sung in the halls
Of the Dark Lord's thralls,
For the triumph of love life-long, O!
It's the song of the Dark Lord of Angband,
Whose Jewel is clasped in Beren's hand
At the hest of the Elven-king, stern and dour,
Who sent Beren off to Morgoth's tower
For the hand of the Elven-maid, fair and bright,
Who danced for the Dark Lord's throne that night
For the sake of the warrior, brave and bold,
Their story will ever be after told
In the ancient tales and lays of old,
Of Beren One-hand and his ladye.
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
He sighs no more, for the pain he bore
Was all for the love of the ladye!
Heighdy! Heighdy!
Misery me, lackadaydee!
He sighs no more, for the pain he bore
Was all for the love of the ladye!
Shakespearean Parodies
HAMLET:
My eyes are fully open to the dreadful situation,
You must go at once to Claudius and make this demonstration:
You shall show him you've recovered your forgotten moral senses,
And you've given up the pleasure of incestuous offenses.
For myself, I will not perish by the sword or by the dagger,
Though my uncle and my schoolmates may indulge themselves in swagger,
But I'll trust them all as I would trust a scorpion or an adder
And I'll hoist them with their own petard -- their cunning doesn't matter!
CLAUDIUS: So our cunning doesn't matter--
GERTRUDE: So their cunning doesn't matter--
ALL: So their/our cunning doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!
GERTRUDE:
If you were not a little mad and generally silly,
Would you stab this good old man behind the arras, willy-nilly?
Would you tell me that your father's ghost on earth again is walking,
When I can clearly see that with intemperate air you're talking?
I will tell him that inside your skull it's gotten rather drafty,
And I'll never breathe a word that you are only mad-in-crafty.
I'm afraid that at the moment you're as mad as any hatter,
But I'll keep it to myself, for my opinion doesn't matter!
CLAUDIUS: Her opinion doesn't matter--
HAMLET: Her opinion doesn't matter--
ALL: Her/My opinion doesn't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!
CLAUDIUS:
If I felt a little guiltier for killing of my brother,
And for following it up by wedding with my nephew's mother,
I'd confess to all the nation that I was King Hamlet's slayer,
Then I'd render up my crown and I'd retire to my prayer,
But I won't give up my crown, my queen, or even my ambition,
So I'll kneel in the church and make an impotent petition.
Though my words climb up to heaven without cable, rope, or ladder,
Still my thoughts remain below, and so my orisons don't matter!
HAMLET: So his orisons don't matter--
GERTRUDE: So his orisons don't matter--
ALL: So his orisons don't matter, matter, matter, matter, matter!
YORK:
Now uncle me no uncles, for from you the word's ungracious!
(Oh, fie, a traitor now are you!)
Although you've had my sympathy your methods are audacious
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
What brings you back to England ere your banishment has ended?
Although no good will come of it I guess it can't be mended,
But if I weren't too old for this you'd soon be apprehended
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
BOLINGBROKE:
Now far be it from me to disobey the King my master:
(Oh, fie, a traitor I am not!)
Though I was banished Hereford, I'm returning as Lancaster.
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
I wouldn't say a word that could be reckoned as disloyal,
But I find the King's behaviour to be something less than royal,
And that's the kind of folly that will certainly destroy all
(Taradiddle taradiddle tol lol lay!)
King Pharamond of ancient France
Resolved that men should wear the pants
And did command
In Salic land
No woman should inherit.
Yet France's authors do agree
That Salic land's in Germany;
Were there a female claimant, she
Could win the crown and wear it, and wear it, and wear it,
Could win the crown and wear it.
And I expect you'll all agree
That he was wrong to so decree,
And I am right, and you are right,
And all is right as right can be!
(Lords: And you are right, and we are right,
And all is right, as right as right can be,
And all is right as right can be,
Right as right can be!)
This stern decree, you'll understand,
Was only for the Salic land,
For Charlemagne
(The Saxons' bane)
Found German women shady.
And all of France's kings, you see,
From King Pepin to Louis Dix
Must trace their claim and pedigree
Back to a noble lady, a lady, a lady,
Back to a noble lady.
And you'll allow, as I expect,
My liege is right to thus object,
And he is right, and you are right,
And everything is quite correct!
(Lords: And he is right, and we are right,
And everything is quite, is quite correct,
And everything is quite correct,
All is quite correct!)
And to this day the kings of France,
When England would his right advance,
Do always claim
That from the dame
There is no proper title.
Yet from the female side they draw,
Regardless of their Salic law,
And so, my liege, regard this saw:
To claim your own is vital, is vital, is vital,
To claim your own is vital.
At what I say you shall not frown,
The time has come to claim your crown!
For I am right, and you are right,
Unwind your flag to great renown!
(Lords: And you are right, and we are right,
Unwind your flag to great, to great renown!
All: Unwind your flag to great renown,
To great renown!)