Author of Ozma of Oz, The Boy Fortune Hunters in the Yucatan, Daughters of Destiny, etc.
From the unproduced musical comedy The Girl from Oz, circa 1909.
ELILE:
They say it’s very wrong to kiss,
And dangerous and rude,
For microbes linger on the lips—
A wild, ferocious brood!
And science warns us when lips meet
The bugs are knocked from off their feet
And there and back with every smack
They’re tossed and strewed.
JACK:
Let’s trade microbes!
POLLY:
I’ll agree!
DICK:
Any bug that loves your lips
Will just suit me.
Will just suit me.
JACK:
Let my-crobes be thy-crobes, and thine
I’ll gladly take instead of mine;
I’ll gladly take instead of mine;
POLLY:
I’m not afraid, so let us trade—
ALL:
’Twill just suit me!
(Quartette repeats refrain.)
(Quartette repeats refrain.)
JACK:
They’re going to pass a Pure Kiss Law
The young folks to allure;
The kiss and girl will both be chased,
We’ll run ’em down for sure.
It’s scientific, but it’s queer;
The Kiss Inspector won’t be near,
And antisceptic [sic] lips I fear
We can’t endure.
POLLY:
The festive microbe’s everywhere—
He’s even in the hash;
He burrows in our prayer-books
And clings to all our cash.
So what’s the harm if from our lips
The tiny rascal nectar sips?
And if to other lips he skips
Why, let him go!
(Refrain as before.)
DICK:
If kissing is contagious, then
We can’t escape our fate.
It’s up to all courageous men
To boldly osculate.
It may be deadly dangerous
A girlish mouth to madly muss,
But it’s a risk that most of us
Will undertake.
JACK:
Let’s trade microbes!
ELILE:
I’ll agree!
DICK:
Any bug that loves your lips
Will just suit me!
Will just suit me!
POLLY:
The kissing-bug is out of date,
The microbe’s here, so let me state
I’m not afraid—
The microbe’s here, so let me state
I’m not afraid—
ELILE:
Then let us trade---
ALL:
’Twill just suit me!
Philadelphia Public Ledger, February 24, 1918.
The First Spring Thaw in Supposyville
They’re always celebrating
In Supposyville. Some reason
For happiness and joy they find
In every single season!
And while the rest of us go grumbling
Through each month and year,
A-wishing it were summer
Or that spring or fall were here,
This merry realm picks all the plums
It can pick from the present—
And really, come to think of it,
Their plan is much more pleasant.
And, they’re making now the greatest,
Biggest fuss you ever saw
A-celebrating—bless my heart
And heels—the first spring thaw!
A party at the castle’s called
Without the least delay—
If each had made a million
He could not appear more gay!
“’Tis time to think of gardens,
Of planting and new clothes;
’Tis time to clean the rust and dust
From plowshares, rakes and hoes.”
Thus cry the couriers from all
The corners of the town,
“You’re bidden to the castle.
’Tis the order of the crown.”
And there the entertainment is
Of such a kind and quality,
No word of mine can half express
The pure delight and jollity
With which Supposies plan to meet
The coming of the spring.
The Queen advises them about
Apparel, while the King
Sets all the Lords High This and That
A-planning garden plots.
And each goes home just burdened down
With seeds and flower pots,
With patterns, muslins, bits of silk—
There’s not a thing too small
To interest Supposy folk.
Dear, how I love them all!
Copyright © 2022 Eric Shanower and David Maxine. All rights reserved.
