To be sure

To be sure
I'm not a connoiseur,
Arrah will you now be easy:
I don't the op'ra know at all,
And then I have not heard them squall,
From Mingotti to Marchesi!
Wid dere con amore,
Dere il mio cuore,
Dere amorosa,
Dere tormentosa,
Dere occhietti,
Si Furbetti,
Dere amante
Constante,
The padre,
The madre,
The bella,
Sorella,
The moglie, the figlio,
Et tutt' il famiglio:
The soft John Bull to take by the ears,
To whom this Babel proves the music of the spheres;
And as they sigh,
And pant, and die,
He joins the roar,
And cries out bravo and encore:

There was silver Lovatini,
And graceful Zamparini,
That bawling taef Morigi,
Who turn'd monkey to oblige ye;
The mellow Scotti,
The tender Pachierotti,
Manzoli, Guarducci,
Peretti, Tenducci,
And then, O cara,
The wonderful and surprising Madam Mara!
Who pretty well have sack'd the pence,
And sold the Englitch sound for sense.

To be sure
I'm not a connoiseur,
Arrah will you now be aesy;
I don't the op'ra know at all,
And then I have not heard them squall,
From Mingotti to Marchesi!
With dere con amore,
Dere il mio cuore,
Dere amorosa,
Dere tormentosa,
Dere occhietti,
Si furbetti,
Dere amante,
Constante,
The padre,
The madre,
The bella,
Sorella,
The moglie, the figlio,
Et tutt' il famiglio.
The soft John Bull to take by the ears,
To whom this Babel proves the music of the spheres!
And as they go on with their dolce amare,
Their dolce cantare,
Viva l'amore!
Their trombetti sonate
Canoni sparate,
Lara lara la,
Boo, boo, boo,
Astonish'd John cries out bravo! encore!
And swears all English music's a vile bore.