THE COURTSHIP OF THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BÒ.

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

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-Bò, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy Bò. Once, among the Bong-trees walking

Where the early pumpkins blow, To a little heap of stones Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. 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-Bò, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. “Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly! Sitting where the pumpkins blow,

Will you come and be my wife?” Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. “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-Bò,

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

Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. “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-Bò, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

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

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-Bò! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò! “Mr. Jones ( his name is Handel,—

Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.) Dorking fowls delights to send, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò! Keep, oh, 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-Bongy-Bò! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò! “Though you've such a tiny body, And your head so large doth grow,—

Though your hat may blow away, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò! Though you're such a Hoddy 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. Yongby-Bonghy-Bò! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!”

Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, Where the early pumpkins blow, To the calm and silent sea Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

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-Bò, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. Through the silent-roaring ocean

Did the Turtle swiftly go; Holding fast upon his shell Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. 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-Bò, Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. From the Coast of Coromandel Did that Lady never go;

On that heap of stones she mourns For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. 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-Bò,

For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.