I Could Go on Singing

I could go on singing

Till the cows come home

And the rooster

starts to crow

Crow, crow

When I see your eyes

I go all out

I must vocalize

till you shout

Enough already

I could go on singing

Till the moon turns pink

Anything from "Faust" to

Ink-a-dink-a-dink

Love does funny things

When it hits you this way

I must keep on singing

Like a lark,

going strong

With my heart

on the wings of a song

Singing day

Dr. Donne?

Please come in, Miss Bowman.

Mr. Donne's expecting you.

Thank you.

This way, please.

David.

Hello, Jenny.

Is this awfully inconvenient?

I don't think so.

Come on up.

I'll take your coat.

That's for social calls.

Well, you did say this

was business, didn't you?

Yes, Doctor.

Business.

Well, the business department

is in here.

Why do they call you Mister

if you're a doctor?

Surgeons are called Mister.

I see. You mean like a marquis

being called a lord?

That always mixes me up, too.

Secrets of the trade.

Won't you sit down?

- Yes. Thank you.

- Now, then, what is it?

Ear, nose, or throat?

Do you take care of

all three of those things?

Yes.

Which is it?

Were you surprised

to hear from me?

A little.

You sang this afternoon.

Charity concert, wasn't it?

Yes. How do you know?

It was in all the papers.

How did it go?

- It was ghastly.

- That means it was good.

No, it was terrible.

It was awful.

My throat was very raw,

and I couldn't...

I just sort of croaked out

the performance.

Tell me, am I keeping

this secretary person of yours?

No, no. She works here.

I know, but it's terribly late,

and it's Sunday, and I thought...

She's used to it.

Will you go on?

Well, I just...

I just got scared

I was going to lose my voice.

Since when?

Since when what?

Since when were you scared

that you were losing your voice?

Well, since I got to England.

And don't tell me

it's the climate...

because Tepaldi

and Callas sing here...

and they do very well.

Shall we take a look?

Would you come over here,

please?

Sit down.

How are your sinuses?

I don't know.

They're kind of...

- Any colds recently?

- No.

You used to have

a lot of colds.

Yes, but then they invented

paper handkerchiefs...

and that sort of

took the fun out of it.

Would you open

your mouth, please?

Wide.

Thank you.

All right. Say ahh.

Thank you.

Now I'm going to have a look

at your larynx.

I'm going to take

this piece of gauze...

Gauze, and you're going

to hold my tongue with it...

and you want me to relax

and breathe slowly in and out...

- and completely...

- Would you just do it?

- Yes, I will.

- Thank you.

Would you put out your tongue?

Yes, thank you.

You know,

I've been thinking...

Would you just sit there

for a moment?

Would you come back?

Excuse me.

I've been thinking

about Atlantic City.

Do you ever think about

Atlantic City, David?

Yes, I have done.

Does this hurt?

Would you swallow?

Thank you.

Well, am I going to lose

my voice, or what?

What do you think?

You mean there's

nothing wrong with me.

Your throat's a bit rough,

it's red, you've been singing...

and you've been smoking

too much.

When do you open in London?

Five days.

Look, do you mind

if I get out of...

I'm very sorry.

Of course, do.

I'll give you something

to ease the roughness.

Not that you'll take it.

But if you have got five days...

I strongly urge you

to take three of them off.

What would you advise,

a brisk walk through Hyde Park?

Sleep, rest, relaxation.

Where can I buy those?

Have a gargle

night and morning.

All right.

Well, why don't you

get me off on the right foot...

by offering me a drink?

You're going to get me in there

if it kills me, aren't you?

All right.

It's still scotch?

Still scotch.

No ice, I'm afraid.

That's all right.

Thank you.

You know, you've changed.

Well, I'd be scared

to hell if I hadn't.

And you've become so...

careful.

Have I?

Well, it comes, you know.

Care comes.

With gray hair and spectacles.

I heard about

your wife's death.

Janet was her name?

Yes. Janet.

- I read about your marriage.

- Which one?

Well, it doesn't

make any difference...

because neither one

was worth writing home about.

I should have married you,

David. I really should have.

And it would have worked.

Yes, it would.

No, you're wrong, Jenny.

- You're so sure?

- It's better as it is.

Tell me something... do you still

play that awful harmonica thing?

No. No, I gave that up.

I'm glad. You were terrible.

Do you still knit?

Oh, no. Nothing I knitted

ever fitted.

We must have had fun, David.

At least, that's the way

I remember it.

Is that the way

you remember it?

Yes.

Twist my arm and yes.

Salut.

Salut.

Why did you come?

I don't know. To tell you

the truth, I don't know.

Maybe it's just that I didn't

want to be alone...

first night

in a strange town.

You've a mass of friends

in town. You couldn't be alone.

Alone.

It's a most awful word.

And I know what it means.

Because I've been alone

since you, David.

You've been married twice.

Well, I was alone then, too.

Tell me, is this

when you were knighted?

The C.B.E. Or the...

- O.B.E.

- O.B.E.

That's good, isn't it?

Not quite, I'm afraid.

That's something.

Yes, it's something.

Why did you hide him from me?

- I didn't hide him.

- I saw you.

All right, I hid him.

Excuse me, Mr. Donne. Do you

require me for anything else?

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