Gus is the cat at the theatre door
His name, as I ought to have told you before
Is really Asparagus, and that's a fuss to pronounce
That we usually call him just Gus
His coat's very shabby, he's thin as a rake
And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake
Yet he was in his youth quite the smartest of cats
But no longer a terror to mice or to rats
For he isn't the cat that he was in his prime
Though his name was quite famous, he says, in his time
And whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which takes place at the back of the neighboring pub)
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days
For he once was a star of the highest degree
He has acted with Irving, he's acted with Tree
And he likes to relate his success on the halls
Where the gallery once gave him seven cat calls
But his greatest creation as he loves to tell
Was Firefrorefiddle, the fiend of the fell
I have played in my time every possible part
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart
I'd extemporize backchat, I knew how to gag
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag
I knew how to act with my back and my tail
With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail
I'd a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts
I have sat by the bedside of poor little Nell
When the curfew was rung then I swung on the bell
In the pantomime season, I never fell flat
And I once understudied Dick Whittington's cat
But my grandest creation, as history will tell
was Firefrorefiddle, the fiend of the fell
Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne-acapo
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