The Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo

On the Coast of Coromandel

Where the early pumpkins blow,

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 blow,

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 blow.

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, 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 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. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!

Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!"

Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,

Where the early pumpkins blow,

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 primæval motion

Toward 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 the little heap of stones

To her Dorking Hens she moans.

For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo,

For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.