Complete lyrics of "Cuttings from a Nonsense Book"
(words: Gelett Burgess; music: John Kilpatrick)

Frontispiece

The Burgess Nonsense Book, being a complete collection of the humorous master pieces of Gelett Burgess Esq., sometime editor of The Lark. With nonsense quattrains, epics, poems, cartoons, and a myriad impossibilities, adorned with less than a million heart-rending illustrations by the author. The whole forming a book of blissful bosh for the blasé; an infallible Cyclopedia of Balderdash, Ferocious Fancies and Inconsequential Vagaries – than which, nothing could be more so.

Epigram

To him who vainly conjures sleep
In counting visionary sheep;
To her who, in the dentist's power
Would fain recall a gayer hour;
To him who visits tiresome aunts,
And comes across this book by chance;
To her who in the hammock lies,
And, bored with Ibsen, BURGESS tries;
To those who can't remember dates
While nonsense rhymes stick in their pates;
To those who buy, and do not borrow,
Nor put it off until tomorrow;
To all who in these pages look,
I dedicate this Nonsense Book!

Digital Extremities

On digital extremities:
A poem and a gem it is!

I'd rather have fingers than toes;
I'd rather have ears than a nose;
And as for my hair, I'm glad it's all there;
I'll be awfully sad when it goes.

Cranial Ambulation

The lecture: a slight divagation
Concerning cranial ambulation.

I love to go to lectures
And make the people stare
By walking round upon their heads
And spoiling people's hair!

City Flora

On City Flora: – semi-culled
By one whose fame is somewhat dulled.

There is a theory some deny
That lampposts once were three foot high;
And a little boy was terrible strong,
And he stretched ’em out to ’leven foot long.

The Minutes

The meeting of a social club: at which
(The secretary's minutes seem to show)
Proceedings did not go without a hitch.
If you have ever been to one, you'll know!

As Mr Smith still held the floor the chair objected to motion made by Mr Jones as being out of order . . .  Mr Robinson, failing to receive his expected support, and not being recognized by the chair, dropped out of the discussion; there seemed to be a general desire to reopen the subject that had been laid upon the table.

The Floorless Room

The floorless room: a novel sort
Of argument without support.

I wish that my room had a floor!
I don't so much care for a door;
But this crawling around without touching the ground
Is getting to be quite a bore!

The window pain: a theme symbolic,
Pertaining to the Melon Colic.

The window has four little panes;
    But one have I –
The window pains are in its sash;
    I wonder why!

The Towel and the Door

The towel and the door, Ah well,
The moral I'd not dare to tell!

The towel hangs upon the wall,
And somehow, I don't care, at all!
The door is open; I must say,
I rather fancy it that way!

The Door and the Towel

The Door and Towel, once again:
Preposterous, Inverse, Insane!

The towel hangs upon the wall,
And somehow, I don't care, at all!
The door is open; I must say,
I rather fancy it that way!

The Purple Cow

I never saw a purple cow,
I never hope to see one.
But I can tell you, anyhow, 
I'd rather see than be one.

The Purpil Cowe

A Mayde there was, semely and meek enow,
She sate a-milken of a purpil Cowe:
Rosy hire Cheke as in the Month of Maye,
And sikerly her merry Songe was gay
As of the Larke uprist, washen in Dewe;
Like Shene of Sterres, sperkled hire Eyen two.
Now came ther by that Way a hendy Knight
The Mayde espien in morwening Light.
A faire Person he was – of Corage trewe
With lusty Berd and Chekes of rody Hewe:
Dere Ladye (quod he) far and wide I've straied
Uncouthe Adventure in straunge Contrie made
Fro Berwicke unto Ware. Pardé I vowe
Erewhiles I never saw a purpil Cowe!
Fayne wold I knowe how Catel thus can be?
Tel me I pray you, of yore Courtesie!
The Mayde hire Milken stent – Goode Sir she saide
The Master's Mandement on us ylaid
Decrees that in these yclept gilden Houres
Hys Kyne shall ete of nought but Vylet Floures!

Confession

Ah yes, Ah yes I wrote the” Purple Cow” –
I'm sorry now I wrote it!
But I can tell you anyhow,
I'll kill you if you quote it!

Finis

So ends the tome: are you, my friend,
as glad as I to see the end?
Have you donned motley for the money
and feared your jests were none too funny?
So ends the tome: so ends my folly;
'tis dismal work, this being jolly.
No more I'll play the Harlequin
unless more royalties come in.

----------------

Supplement (alternative to The Minutes)

The Museum of Kisses

The Museum of Kisses; Surely
No one could visit it demurely.

This is the place I'd like to burglarize;
It is the Royal Museum of Kisses.
It has an Annual Show, and gives a prize
To all the most deserving men and misses.

And ranged in various rows about the wall
Are kisses, all deserving great attention;
But in one room, the sweetest, best of all,
Are those of one whose name I dare not mention!