Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
‘Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!’

VI

‘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-Bonghy-Bò!
‘Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!’

VII

‘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. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
‘Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!’

VIII

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.

IX

Through the silent-roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
With a sad primæval 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.

X

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.

THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES

I

The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said, ‘Some day you may lose them all;’—
He replied,—‘Fish fiddle de-dee!’
And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink,
Lavender water tinged with pink,
For she said, ‘The World in general knows
There’s nothing so good for a Pobble’s toes!’

II

The Pobble who has no toes,
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose,
In a piece of scarlet flannel.
For his Aunt Jobiska said, ‘No harm
‘Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
‘And it’s perfectly known that a Pobble’s toes
‘Are safe,—provided he minds his nose.’

III

The Pobble swam fast and well
And when boats or ships came near him
He tinkledy-binkledy-winkled a bell
So that all the world could hear him.
And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the further side,—
‘He has gone to fish, for his Aunt Jobiska’s
‘Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!’

IV

But before he touched the shore,
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green Porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.
And when he came to observe his feet
Formerly garnished with toes so neat
His face at once became forlorn
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

V

And nobody ever knew
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble’s toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.
Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,
Or crafty Mermaids stole them away—
Nobody knew; and nobody knows
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!

VI

The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed in a friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back, and carried him up,
To his Aunt Jobiska’s Park.
And she made him a feast at his earnest wish
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;—
And she said,—‘It’s a fact the whole world knows,
‘That Pobbles are happier without their toes.’

THE NEW VESTMENTS

There lived an old man in the Kingdom of Tess,
Who invented a purely original dress;
And when it was perfectly made and complete,
He opened the door, and walked into the street.

By way of a hat, he’d a loaf of Brown Bread,
In the middle of which he inserted his head;—
His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,
The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;—
His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins;—so were his Shoes;—
His Stockings were skins,—but it is not known whose;—
His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;—
His Buttons were Jujubes, and Chocolate Drops;—
His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,
And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order;
And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,
A Cloak of green Cabbage-leaves stitched all together.

He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise,
Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings, and Boys;—
And from every long street and dark lane in the town
Beasts, Birdles, and Boys in a tumult rushed down.
Two Cows and a half ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;—
Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;—
Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,—
And the tails were devour’d by an ancient He Goat;—
An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore up his
Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;—
And while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops,
Ten Boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.—
He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,
For Scores of fat Pigs came again and again;—
They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,—
They tore off his stockings, his shoes, and his drawers;—
And now from the housetops with screechings descend,
Striped, spotted, white, black, and gray Cats without end,
They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,—
When Crows, Ducks, and Hens made a mincemeat of that;—
They speedily flew at his sleeves in a trice,
And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;—
They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,—
Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.

And he said to himself as he bolted the door,
‘I will not wear a similar dress any more,
‘Any more, any more, any more, never more!’

MR. AND MRS. DISCOBBOLOS

I

Mr. and Mrs. Discobbolos
Climbed to the top of a wall.
And they sate to watch the sunset sky
And to hear the Nupiter Piffkin cry
And the Biscuit Buffalo call.
They took up a roll and some Camomile tea,
And both were as happy as happy could be—

Till Mrs. Discobbolos said,—
‘Oh! W! X! Y! Z!
‘It has just come into my head—

‘Suppose we should happen to fall! ! ! ! !

‘Darling Mr. Discobbolos!

II

‘Suppose we should fall down flumpetty
‘Just like pieces of stone!
‘On to the thorns,—or into the moat!
‘What would become of your new green coat?
‘And might you not break a bone?
‘It never occurred to me before—
‘That perhaps we shall never go down any more!’

And Mrs. Discobbolos said—
‘Oh! W! X! Y! Z!
‘What put it into your head

‘To climb up this wall?—my own

‘Darling Mr. Discobbolos?’

III

Mr. Discobbolos answered,—
‘At first it gave me pain,—
‘And I felt my ears turn perfectly pink
‘When your exclamation made me think
‘We might never get down again!
‘But now I believe it is wiser far
‘To remain for ever just where we are.‘—
And Mr.