I.

On the Coast of Coromandel, Where the early pumpkins grow, In the middle of the woods Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

Two old chairs, and half a candle,— One old jug without a handle,— These were all his worldly goods: In the middle of the woods,

These were all the worldly goods Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Once, among the Bong-trees walking

Where the early pumpkins grow, To a little heap of stones Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. There he heard a Lady talking,

To some milk-white Hens of Dorking,— “‘ Tis the Lady Jingly Jones! “On that little heap of stones “Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!”

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. “Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly! “Sitting where the pumpkins grow,

“Will you come and be my wife?” Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. “I am tired of living singly,— “On this coast so wild and shingly,—

“I'm a-weary of my life; “If you'll come and be my wife, “Quite serene would be my life!” — Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. “On this Coast of Coromandel, “Shrimps and watercresses grow, “Prawns are plentiful and cheap.”

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, “You shall have my chairs and candle, “And my jug without a handle!— “Gaze upon the rolling deep

( “Fish is plentiful and cheap ) — “As the sea, my love is deep!” Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

Lady Jingly answered sadly, And her tears began to flow,— “Your proposal comes too late, “Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

“I would be your wife most gladly!” ( Here she twirled her fingers madly ) “But in England I've a mate! “Yes! you've asked me far too late,

“For in England I've a mate, “Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! “Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! “Mr. Jones — ( his name is Handel,—

“Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.) “Dorking fowls delights to send, “Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! “Keep, oh I keep your chairs and candle,

“And your jug without a handle,— “I can merely be your friend! “— Should my Jones more Dorkings send, “I will give you three, my friend!

“Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! “Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! “Though you've such a tiny body, “And your head so large doth grow,—

“Though your hat may blow away, “Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! “Though you're such a Boddy Doddy — “Yet I wish that I could modi-

“fy the words I needs must say! “Will you please to go away? “That is all I have to say — “Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,

“Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!” Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, Where the early pumpkins grow, To the calm and silent sea

Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. There beyond the Bay of Gurtle, Lay a large and lively Turtle;— “You're the Cove,” he said, “for me;

“On your back beyond the sea, “Turtle, you shall carry me!” Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.

Through the silent-roaring ocean Did the Turtle swiftly go; Holding fast upon his shell Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,

With a sad primaeval motion Towards the sunset isles of Boshen Still the Turtle bore him well, Holding fast upon his shell.

“Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!” Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. From the Coast of Coromandel

Did that Lady never go; On that heap of stones she mourns For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. On that Coast of Coromandel,

In his jug without a handle, Still she weeps, and daily moans; On that little heap of stones To her Dorking Hens she moans

For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.