MR. BUMBLE
(spoken) Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry...Liberal terms? Three pounds!
SOWERBERRY
(spoken) Well, as a matter of fact, I was needing a boy....
MR. BUMBLE
He's a born undertaker's mute.
I can see him in his black silk suit.
Following behind the funeral procession...
With his features fixed in a suitable expression.
There'll be horses with tall balck plumes
To escort us to the family tombs,
With mourners
In all corners
Who've been taught to week in tune.
Then the coffin lined with satin.
That's your funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
Large enough to wear your hat in.
That's your funearl.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
We're just here to glamourize you for that
Endless sleep.
MRS. SOWERBERRY AND SOWERBERRY
You might just as well look fetching
When you're six feet deep.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
At the wake we'll drink a toddy
To the body beautiful.
MR. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
Not our funeral.
BOTH
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
If you're fond of overeating
That's your funeral.
MRS. SOWERBERRY
That's your funeral.
SOWERBERRY
Starve yourself by undereating
That's your funeral.
THE FUNERAL PROCESSION
That's your funeral?
MRS. SOWERBERRY
Visualize the earth descentind on you clod by clod.
You can't come back when
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