Cantata on Poems of Edward Lear

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say.
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And everyone cried, "You'll all be drowned!"
They all called aloud, "Our Sieve ain't big,
"But we don't care a button! We don't care a fig!
"In a Sieve we'll go to sea!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
"O won't they be soon upset, you know!
"For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
"And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
"In a Sieve to sail so fast!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, "How wise we are!
"Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
"Yet we never can think we were rash on wrong,
"While round in our Sieve we spin!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
"O Timballo! How happy we are,
"When we live in a sieve and a crockery-jar.
"And all night long in the moonlight pale,
"In the shade of the mountains brown!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jackdaws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, "How tall they've grown!
"For they've been to the Lakes, and the Terrible Zone,
"And the hills of the Chankly Bore,:
And they drank to their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, "If we only live,
"We too will go to sea in a Sieve, --
"To the hills of the Chankly Bore!"
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.

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 a chair,
                                     or SQUAT,
                                     The Akond of Swat?


Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffe 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 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,
                                     SHALLOTT,
                                     The Akond of Swat?

Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his stewart a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
                                     or a SCOT,
                                     The Akond of Swat?

Does 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.
                                     The Akond of Swat?

Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
                                     or ROT,
                                     The Akond of Swat?

Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
                                     or a KNOT,
                                     The Akond of Swat?

Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
                                     or NOT,
                                     The Akond of Swat?

Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake
                                     in a YACHT,
                                     The Akond of Swat?

Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what 
                                     Is the Akond of Swat!