Discobbolos said,

‘Oh! W! X! Y! Z!
‘It has just come into my head—

‘——We shall never go down again—

‘Dearest Mrs. Discobbolos!’

IV

So Mr. and Mrs. Discobbolos
Stood up, and began to sing,
‘Far away from hurry and strife
‘Here we will pass the rest of life,
‘Ding a dong, ding dong, ding!
‘We want no knives nor forks nor chairs,
‘No tables nor carpets nor household cares,

‘From worry of life we’ve fled—
‘Oh! W! X! Y! Z!
‘There is no more trouble ahead,

‘Sorrow or any such thing—

‘For Mr. and Mrs. Discobbolos!’

MR. AND MRS. DISCOBBOLOS

SECOND PART

I

Mr. and Mrs. Discobbolos
Lived on the top of the wall,
For twenty years, a month and a day,
Till their hair had grown all pearly gray,
And their teeth began to fall.
They never were ill, or at all dejected,
By all admired, and by some respected,

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

‘We have have no more room at all—

‘Darling Mr. Discobbolos!

II

‘Look at our six fine boys!
‘And our six sweet girls so fair!
‘Upon this wall they have all been born,
‘And not one of the twelve has happened to fall
‘Through my maternal care!
‘Surely they should not pass their lives
‘Without any chance of husbands or wives!’

And Mrs. Discobbolos said,
‘O, W! X! Y! Z!
‘Did it never come into your head

‘That our lives must be lived elsewhere,

Dearest Mr. Discobbolos?

III

‘They have never been at a ball,
‘Nor have even seen a bazaar!
‘Nor have heard folks say in a tone all hearty,
“What loves of girls (at a garden party)
Those Misses Discobbolos are!”
‘Morning and night it drives me wild
‘To think of the fate of each darling child!’

But Mr. Discobbolos said,
‘O, W! X! Y! Z!
‘What has come to your fiddledum head!

‘What a runcible goose you are!

‘Octopod Mrs. Discobbolos!’

IV

Suddenly Mr. Discobbolos
Slid from the top of the wall;
And beneath it he dug a dreadful trench,
And filled it with dynamite, gunpowder gench,
And aloud he began to call—
‘Let the wild bee sing,
‘And the blue bird hum!
‘For the end of your lives has certainly come!’

And Mrs. Discobbolos said,
‘O, W! X! Y! Z!
‘We shall presently all be dead,

‘On this ancient runcible wall,

‘Terrible Mr. Discobbolos!’

v

Pensively, Mr. Discobbolos
Sat with his back to the wall;
He lighted a match, and fired the train,
And the mortified mountain echoed again
To the sound of an awful fall!
And all the Discobbolos family flew
In thousands of bits to the sky so blue,

And no one was left to have said,
‘O, W! X! Y! Z!
‘Has it come into anyone’s head

‘That the end has happened to all

‘Of the whole of the Clan Discobbolos?’

THE QUANGLE WANGLE’S HAT

I

On the top of the Crumpetty Tree
The Quangle Wangle sat,
But his face you could not see,
On account of his Beaver Hat.
For his Hat was a hundred and two feet wide,
With ribbons and bibbons on every side
And bells, and buttons, and loops, and lace,
So that nobody ever could see the face

Of the Quangle Wangle Quee.

II

The Quangle Wangle said
To himself on the Crumpetty Tree,—
‘Jam; and jelly; and bread;
‘Are the best food for me!
‘But the longer I live on this Crumpetty Tree
‘The plainer than ever it seems to me
‘That very few people come this way
‘And that life on the whole is far from gay!’

Said the Quangle Wangle Quee.

III

But there came to the Crumpetty Tree,
Mr. and Mrs. Canary;
And they said,—‘Did you ever see
‘Any spot so charmingly airy?
‘May we build a nest on your lovely Hat?
Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that!
‘O please let us come and build a nest
‘Of whatever material suits you best,

‘Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!’

IV

And besides, to the Crumpetty Tree
Came the Stork, the Duck, and the Owl;
The Snail, and the Bumble-Bee,
The Frog, and the Fimble Fowl;
(The Fimble Fowl, with a Corkscrew leg;)
And all of them said,—We humbly beg,
‘We may build our homes on your lovely Hat,—
‘Mr. Quangle Wangle, grant us that!

‘Mr. Quangle Wangle Quee!’

V

And the Golden Grouse came there,
And the Pobble who has no toes,—
And the small Olympian bear,—
And the Dong with a luminous nose.
And the Blue Baboon, who played the flute,—
And the Orient Calf from the Land of Tute,—
And the Attery Squash, and the Bisky Bat,—
All came and built on the lovely Hat

Of the Quangle Wangle Quee.

VI

And the Quangle Wangle said
To himself on the Crumpetty Tree,—
‘When all these creatures move
‘What a wonderful noise there’ll be!’
And at night by the light of the Mulberry moon
They danced to the Flute of the Blue Baboon,
On the broad green leaves of the Crumpetty Tree,
And all were as happy as happy could be,

With the Quangle Wangle Quee.

THE CUMMERBUND

AN INDIAN POEM

I

She sate upon her Dobie,
To watch the Evening Star,
And all the Punkahs as they passed,
Cried, ‘My! how fair you are!’
Around her bower, with quivering leaves,
The tall Kamsamahs grew,
And Kitmutgars in wild festoons
Hung down from Tchokis blue.

II

Below her home the river rolled
With soft meloobious sound,
Where golden-finned Chuprassies swam,
In myriads circling round.
Above, on tallest trees remote
Green Ayahs perched alone,
And all night long the Mussak moan’d
Its melancholy tone.

III

And where the purple Nullahs threw
Their branches far and wide,—
And silvery Goreewallahs flew
In silence, side by side,—
The little Bheesties’ twittering cry
Rose on the flagrant air,
And oft the angry Jampan howled
Deep in his hateful lair.

IV

She sate upon her Dobie,—
She heard the Nimmak hum,—
When all at once a cry arose,—
‘The Cummerbund is come!’
In vain she fled:—with open jaws
The angry monster followed,
And so, (before assistance came,)
That Lady Fair was swollowed.

V

They sought in vain for even a bone
Respectfully to bury,—
They said,—‘Hers was a dreadful fate!’
(And Echo answered ‘Very.’)
They nailed her Dobie to the wall,
Where last her form was seen,
And underneath they wrote these words,
In yellow, blue, and green:—

Beware, ye Fair! Ye Fair, beware!
Nor sit out late at night,—
Lest horrid Cummerbunds should come,
And swollow you outright.

NOTE.—First published in Times of India, Bombay, July, 1874.

THE AKOND OF SWAT

Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or chair,

or SQUAT, The Akond of Swat?

Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,

OR HOT, The Akond of Swat?

Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop

or walk, or TROT, The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,

or a COT, The Akond of Swat?

When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T’s and finish his I’s

with a DOT, The Akond of Swat?

Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear

or BLOT, The Akond of Swat?

Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,

or PLOT, At the Akond of Swat?

If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,

or shot, The Akond of Swat?

Do his people prig in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,

GAROTTE? O the Akond of Swat!

Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn’t he care for public opinion

a JOT, The Akond of Swat?

To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one’s last new poem,

or WHAT, For the Akond of Swat?

At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,

or a LOT, For the Akond of Swat?

Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,

or a DOT, The Akond of Swat?

Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,

SHALLOT, The Akond of Swat?

Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ,

or a SCOT, The Akond of Swat?

Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,

or a GROTT, The Akond of Swat?

Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?

or a POT.