Virtual Vaudeville Title

The Hebrew Glazier

Copyright secured 1879.
By Ger. Falcon.



Solomon Bulenrinsky, a glass puteen, and a member of the proscribed race. Mike, a sprig of the Emerald Isle.

SCENE - A street. Enter Mike stealthily, looking as if in quest, of some one.

MIKE: Ha ! by the howls in me grandfather's socks, where can he have gone to? How can I have missed him? Has he tumbled down a coal-hole? No. Has he shinned up a telegram pole, or taken refige in some fire-plug? No. Then where in the name o' me mother-in-law's double-decked slippers can the spal- peen have gone to? Divil a wan o' me knows. It's as mishterious as if it war the work o' some wonder workin' wizard. Hist: Be the heart o' me pet bun- ion, here's some one comin' up the street. It's him, too. Now to hide myself and to pounce on the putty- souled son of a sea-cook, like an aigle swooping down on its prey. - (Exit).

(Enter Solomon with box on back).

SOLOMON: He! he! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! he! he! I ran the Irishers out of all the wind that his bread-bas- ket could hold. Then I gave him the slip, cut up an- other street, and here I am. Ah, it takes a Sheeny to get the best of anyone when it's a case of cunning against cunning. He can bamboozle any one from the common place Irisher up to the North American In- dian. Oh, ain't I glad I was made a Sheeny. Oh, if they hadn't made one out of me, I'd have raised the ghost of Moses with my row, and got myself dyed and scoured into one anyhow, if not done completely over again.





Good-evening, friends, I'm Solomon Bulenrinsky,
I came here all the way from Ludlow street;
You bet I am a bully little Sheeny,
At glass puteen, you bet I can't be beat.

My route is right through Ludlow to the Bowery.
And from the Bowery down to Avenue A,
When the loafers on the corner do insult me,
I only turn around to them and say:


Butsky (sym) Vutzsky, (sym),
They're Irish and they don't know what I mean,
That's the only way I fool dose Irish loafers,
For I am a bully sheeny glass puteen.

Now the other day a loafer on the corner,
Come up and asked me if I was alive,
And with a club be hit me on the shoulder,
And for the nearest store I made a dive.

The man that owned the store he chased me quickly,
And with his fist he hit me in the eye,
Then I told him for to nemt, a, missamashinna,
And at the dirty loafers I did cry.

Butsky, (sym) Vutzsky, (sym), etc.

Now another loafer standing on the corner,
Says there's going to be a big wind out to day;
You better strap your business to a lampost,
And hold on or you will both get blowed away.

He said he know a place they wanted monkeys,
To carry signs for sixty cents a day,
I asked him then, why he was not a working,
And I nearly drove him mad when I did say.

Butsky, (sym) Vutzsky, (sym), etc.

(As he ceases singing Mike appears up stage, and is seen to poise and throw a stone down at him. The stone strikes the glass in box-there is a terrible crash- the glass is scattered about, and the glazier jumps three feet and falls on his mouth and nose upon the stage. Music-Mike rushes to the front, seizes Solomon by the neck and drags him to his feet.)

MIKE: (shaking him) Now, ye thin-skinned, yellow- tanned, graisy, slippery, thaivin', botching glass puddiner, if ye ever knew the first line ov a prayer spit it out with all yer might, without regard for the second line to make up the rhyme, for in forty winks ye'll be a more inanimate lump than any hunk o' putty ye iver saw in all yer windy-mendin' career. Out with it, I say, or I'll holler pork in yer ears.

SOLOMON:Oh! Oh! Leave me be-you Irisher. Leave me be-Butsy-Vutsky.

MIKE: Ah, call me that agin kind I'll tear the livers out o' ye and fry them in bacon. Why didn't you mend my windy in a decent fashion?

SOLOMON: I did mend your window right-It was not my fault that it broke.

MIKE: You lie like an alderman. It was your fault, You didn't put no putty on the pane-blast yer eyes, ye used spit, and the minute my old woman's bustle dropped on the floor out the whole thing dropped like a set o' false teeth.

SOLOMON: The bustle was too heavy. -It shook the house most to pieces.It was not my fault that your wife uses stones in her behind machine.

MIKE: Hang ye! I'll have ye arrested for slander. My owld woman uses only one week's edition ov the Sun, and yesterday's stale coffee-rolls compressed. Take that for yer impudence in casting sick remarks on a woman's behind machine. Lie down till I sit on ye. (Crushes the Sheeny down. Suddenly the Sheeny buries his teeth in his leg. Mike yells, and falls on the stage, but springs up with a bound like rubber and rushes around groaning in agony with both his hands clasped to the rear of his trowsers.)

MIKE: Oh, murther an' ouns! How's this? Me solid South is ruined entirely.

SOLOMON: (rushing after him) Hey! Hey! Vat is the matter. Did I hurt you somewhat?

MIKE: Oh! oh! How I wish I had me paws free that I could get you by the neck again.

SOLOMON: Hey? Wait a little. Let me see what de damage is; I couldn't help it, Irisher.

(Seizes Mike by the seat of his trowsers. The cloth rips. Mike tears away, leaving the whole seat in the Sheeny's hand. Tableau - Mike at R. aghast with hands covering the rent through which is seen the tail of his long red shirt. Sheeny L. holding the torn pieces in astonishment.)

MIKE: May the vargin protect me!

SOLOMON: It come out so easy as anything.

MIKE: Yes, you lantern-jawed Jew. It's well seen that these same trowsers were purchased from one of yer own countrymen.

SOLOMON: Turn around and let me look at you.

MIKE:  (turning) There. How does me solid South look? Bad scran to that glass o' yours. It's been the manes o' tearin' me fortifications to pieces, and cuttin' the tenderest bunch o' mate on me whole carcass. What shall I do? How can I go home to me Bridget with this open countenance, through the people in the streets?

SOLOMON: I can fix it.

MIKE: How?

SOLOMON: Glass puteen.

MIKE:  Out wid ye, ye fool. Shure d'ye take me for a noodle? Can't the people see through the glass? What good would glass do?

SOLOMON: (thinking) But I have some ground glass. They can't see through that.

MIKE: (scratching his head and thinking) Be the powers yer right. Now yer talking. Oh, me bewitch- in' Shaney, if ye ever did a good turn in yer life, do me one by puttin' in a glass puddin' in me desaycrated posteriors. And for the Lord's sake, put plenty o' putty round it, so that it will stick, and I'll forgive ye for the spit ye used on the other pane-to-day? (Music. Solomon unshoulders his box and proceeds to set in pane of ground glass in Mike's trowsers. Business, striking and ludicrous. The operation completed they shake hands.)

MIKE: Ah, my noble Sheeny glass-puteen, but yer a jewel, and a good Samarrytan at that. Come along with me to O'Donegan's on the corner, till I show ye how I repay a rale good service.


AIR-Sheeny Glazier.

SOLOMON: Good-evening, friends, I'm going now to leave you,
I hope my reputation I've sustained
As the bossest and the bulliest little Sheeney
Of all the glass puteens that ever reigned.

MIKE: You bet my friends he jist is all he uttered,
The cliverest Sheeny glazier ever seen,
If proof ye wish jist view my sate of honor,
The doin' of this champion glass puteen.

SOLOMON: Butsky! (Sym)

MIKE: Vutsky! (SYM)
I say it, but Lord knows what it may mean,

SOLOMON: Oh, that's the way I fool these Irish fellers,
Oh, I'm a bully Sheeny glass puteen.

BOTH - For he's a bully Sheeny glass puteen.

Music gradually increases to furious quickness. Sheeny trips Mike, who falls and smashes his stern light. As he goes down he pulls Sheeny along, glass box and all. Crash! Tableau!



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