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 his 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 Yongby-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-Bongby-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. Yongby-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 primeval 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.