Twinkle, twinkle, cine-star, How I wonder how you are, Up above your fans so high Drawing such a salary.
You began as common clay, Or, at least, so people so; Then a rich and subtle change Jade you into something strange—
Cutely smiling, debonair, Thatched with thick, pomaded hair: Greeting morning with a song In a flat that's ten miles long—
Ten miles long and ten miles wide—These are flats all films provide: Valets, too, and silken shirts Made of silk so thick it hurts—
Meeting female stars in scores, Entering through mile-high doors, Brows plucked out and curves plucked in, Search-light eyes, and dental grin.
Cine-star, I weep for thee Forced to high society—Fed with glamour overmuch—For the clay-like, common touch.
—By F. G. H. Salusbury in the "Daily Herald."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.