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