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Musical: Connecticut Yankee, A
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He: Come, sit thee near; Place thyself upon my knee; Make an end of thy fear, For I love but thee in Camelot. She: Oh, no not here Where observed of all we'll be. Should thy father appear, He would surely scold and damn a lot. He: Care not a jot, Hearken to my plot; Soon we'll retreat to a sweet spot! Oh for a year on a desert island with thee, Out in the sheer middle of the sea. We'll sing tra-la; wouldn't we be happy and gay, With thy mamma many miles away? In the morning air, Murmur a blessing; First we'll eat, Then we will dress. If it's fair, We'll be caressing, If it rains We'll caress! Who knows next year what the population will be; Out in the middle of the sea? Oh for a year on a desert island with thee, Out in the sheer middle of the sea. We'll sing tra-la; wouldn't we be happy and gay, With thy mamma many miles away? In the morning air, Murmur a blessing; First we'll eat, Then we will dress. If it's fair, We'll be caressing, If it rains We'll caress! Who knows next year what the population will be; Out in the middle of the sea? She: I'll pack each little thing for thee. What ten books shall I bring for thee? We'll need some books to read; He: Thou needst not bring ten books along, If thou wilt bring thy looks along, 'Twill be enough for me. If the heat begins to swelter, We won't have to fear the sun. We will lie beneath a shelter only big enough for one. She: Let the prudish people quarrel; We'll forget them for the nonce. If they think our love immoral, Hon - i soit qui mal y pense. He: I'll dress the way that Adam did. She: And I the way his Madam did. He: I'll see enough of thee! Oh for a year on a desert island with thee, Out in the sheer middle of the sea. We'll sing tra-la; wouldn't we be happy and gay, With thy mamma many miles away? In the morning air, Murmur a blessing; First we'll eat, Then we will dress. If it's fair, We'll be caressing, If it rains We'll caress! Who knows next year what the population will be; Out in the middle of the sea? Oh for a year on a desert island with thee, Out in the sheer middle of the sea. We'll sing tra-la; wouldn't we be happy and gay, With thy mamma many miles away? In the morning air, Murmur a blessing; First we'll eat, Then we will dress. If it's fair, We'll be caressing, If it rains We'll caress! Who knows next year what the population will be; Out in the middle of the sea?
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