's choice--
The fervour of my love affects my voice!

SONG -- Fitzbattleaxe.

A tenor, all singers above
(This doesn't admit of a question),
Should keep himself quiet,
Attend to his diet
And carefully nurse his digestion;
But when he is madly in love
It's certain to tell on his singing--
You can't do the proper chromatics
With proper emphatics
When anguish your bosom is wringing!
When distracted with worries in plenty,
And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,
And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,
A tenor can't do himself justice,
Now observe--(sings a high note),
You see, I can't do myself justice!
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 high note),
It's no use--I can't do myself justice!

Zara: Why, Arthur, what does it matter? When the higher
qualities
of the heart are all that can be desired, the higher
notes
of the voice are matters of comparative insignificance.
Who
thinks slightingly of the cocoanut because it is husky?
Be-
sides (demurely), you are not singing for an engagement
(putting her hand in his), you have that already!

Fitz.: How good and wise you are! How unerringly your practiced
brain winnows the wheat from the chaff--the material from
the merely incidental!

Zara: My Girton training, Arthur. At Girton all is wheat, and
idle chaff is never heard within its walls! But tell me,
is