Episode 2 : Hamish McTavish and Lady Penelope Featherington-Smythe: Rhymes in Flames

Victorian comic opera, Gilbert and Sullivan light opera

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[Spoken Dialogue]
[female vocalist, theatrical, dramatic, spoiled tone]
Prudence, my good woman, do pay attention! You have endured my tantrums since I was in diapers, ever since poor Mamma escaped to heaven! You know all my scandalous secrets, so do listen to my absolute agony! The entire kingdom looks at one, the great Lord's daughter, the magnificent Penelope, and assumes life is all cucumber sandwiches and ponies. Yes, Papa is obscenely wealthy, and I own enough silk to dress the entire House of Lords, but Prudence, my cheekbones are utterly exhausted from smiling at titled dullards! One is practically suffering!
[Verse 1]
[female vocalist, flirtatious, operatic, sarcastic tone]
They say that fair Penelope was born with silver spoon
I yawn at imported caviar by eleven in the noon
Papa’s massive fortune keeps the parliament in debt
While I am crushed beneath the weight of dreadful etiquette
I float in lace and velvet like a terribly pretty brick
And every dashing baronet is making one quite sick
[Chorus]
[female vocalist, grand operatic, dramatic tone]
Oh, what a tragedy, what a ghastly, frightful chore
To have a dozen billionaire earls pounding on my door
They offer me castles, exotic swans, and pearls
Pity the life of the ultimate high-society girl
Which useless aristocrat gets to buy my hand
When all of them have brain cells made of soggy sand

[Musical Interval 2: 01:30 - 02:05, 128 BPM, jaunty comic opera woodwind and harpsichord duet]
[Spoken Dialogue]
[female vocalist, bewildered, sarcastic tone]
Look at this, Prudence! Another ink-stained tragedy delivered on my silver tray! Let me read this poetic garbage... "Och, yer bonnie face makes my heart leap like a greasy haggis in a boiling pot!" A haggis?! Is that an infectious disease or a cooked organ?! What utter Highland lunatic wrote this?! Into the grate it goes, chop chop!
[Verse 2]
[female vocalist, sarcastic, lively operatic tone]
Lord Charles brought a racehorse that bit me on the arm
Sir William brought a diamond ring to advertise his charm
Count Arthur sang a ballad in a screeching treble key
He sounded like a rusty gate that needed grease and tea
They posture with a stiff upper lip and hold their breath in tight
While Scottish nonsense letters keep arriving every night
I am far too busy being worshiped like a queen
To read a rambling essay on a muddy bog machine
[Chorus]
[female vocalist, grand operatic, dramatic tone]
Oh, what a tragedy, what a ghastly, frightful chore
To have a dozen billionaire earls pounding on my door
They offer me castles, exotic swans, and pearls
Pity the life of the ultimate high-society girl
Which useless aristocrat gets to buy my hand
When all of them have brain cells made of soggy sand
[Outro]
[female vocalist, lighthearted, theatrical operatic tone]
What, another one, Prudence? "Yer eyes burn hotter than burning peat moss..." Ugh! Frightful! Fetch the silver tongs, it's bonfire time! Now, squeeze me into this corset until my lungs collapse, Mr. Wonderful is waiting!
[Grand operatic orchestral finale with brass flourish]

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[Narrative Introduction] [Spoken intro over a grand Victorian orchestral overture] [female vocalist, theatrical, grand operatic tone] [Episode Two of Hamish McTavish and Lady Penelope Featherington-Smythe: Ep 2 - Rhymes in the Grate. We find ourselves in the lavish dressing room of the London manor. The young, stunning, and thoroughly spoiled Penelope is preparing for yet another evening of grand society balls...] [Musical Interval 1: 00:00 - 00:35, 128 BPM, dramatic operatic strings and woodwind flourishes establishing a posh Victorian manor setting] [Spoken Dialogue] [female vocalist, theatrical, dramatic, spoiled tone] Prudence, my good woman, do pay attention! You have endured my tantrums since I was in diapers, ever since poor Mamma escaped to heaven! You know all my scandalous secrets, so do listen to my absolute agony! The entire kingdom looks at one, the great Lord's daughter, the magnificent Penelope, and assumes life is all cucumber sandwiches and ponies. Yes, Papa is obscenely wealthy, and I own enough silk to dress the entire House of Lords, but Prudence, my cheekbones are utterly exhausted from smiling at titled dullards! One is practically suffering! [Verse 1] [female vocalist, flirtatious, operatic, sarcastic tone] They say that fair Penelope was born with silver spoon I yawn at imported caviar by eleven in the noon Papa’s massive fortune keeps the parliament in debt While I am crushed beneath the weight of dreadful etiquette I float in lace and velvet like a terribly pretty brick And every dashing baronet is making one quite sick [Chorus] [female vocalist, grand operatic, dramatic tone] Oh, what a tragedy, what a ghastly, frightful chore To have a dozen billionaire earls pounding on my door They offer me castles, exotic swans, and pearls Pity the life of the ultimate high-society girl Which useless aristocrat gets to buy my hand When all of them have brain cells made of soggy sand [Musical Interval 2: 01:30 - 02:05, 128 BPM, jaunty comic opera woodwind and harpsichord duet] [Spoken Dialogue] [female vocalist, bewildered, sarcastic tone] Look at this, Prudence! Another ink-stained tragedy delivered on my silver tray! Let me read this poetic garbage... "Och, yer bonnie face makes my heart leap like a greasy haggis in a boiling pot!" A haggis?! Is that an infectious disease or a cooked organ?! What utter Highland lunatic wrote this?! Into the grate it goes, chop chop! [Verse 2] [female vocalist, sarcastic, lively operatic tone] Lord Charles brought a racehorse that bit me on the arm Sir William brought a diamond ring to advertise his charm Count Arthur sang a ballad in a screeching treble key He sounded like a rusty gate that needed grease and tea They posture with a stiff upper lip and hold their breath in tight While Scottish nonsense letters keep arriving every night I am far too busy being worshiped like a queen To read a rambling essay on a muddy bog machine [Chorus] [female vocalist, grand operatic, dramatic tone] Oh, what a tragedy, what a ghastly, frightful chore To have a dozen billionaire earls pounding on my door They offer me castles, exotic swans, and pearls Pity the life of the ultimate high-society girl Which useless aristocrat gets to buy my hand When all of them have brain cells made of soggy sand [Outro] [female vocalist, lighthearted, theatrical operatic tone] What, another one, Prudence? "Yer eyes burn hotter than burning peat moss..." Ugh! Frightful! Fetch the silver tongs, it's bonfire time! Now, squeeze me into this corset until my lungs collapse, Mr. Wonderful is waiting! [Grand operatic orchestral finale with brass flourish]

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