On the Coast of Coromandel,
Where the early pumpkins grow,
In the middle of the woods
Lived the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.
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-Bònghy-Bò.
Of the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.

Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins grow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.
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-Bònghy-Bò.
Said the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.

"Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
Sitting where the pumpkins grow,
Will you come and be my wife?"
Said the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.
"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-Bònghy-Bò.
Said the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.

"On this Coast of Coromandel,
Shrimps and watercresses grow,
Prawns are plentiful and cheap,"
Said the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.
"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-Bònghy-Bò.
Said the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.

Lady Jingly answered sadly,
And her tears began to flow,
"Your proposal comes too late,
Mr. Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò!
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-Bònghy-Bò!
Mr. Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò!

"Mr Jones - (his name is Handel -
Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)
Dorking fowls delights to send,
Mr Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò!
Keep, oh! keep your chairs and candle,
And your jug without a handle,
I can merely be your friend!
- Should my Jones more Dorking send,
I will give you three, my friend!
Mr. Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò!
Mr. Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò!

"Though you've such a tiny body,
And your head so large doth grow,
Though your hat may blow away,
Mr. Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò!
Though you're such a Boddy 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-Bònghy-Bò,
Mr. Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò!"

Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
Where the early pumpkins grow,
To the calm and silent sea
Fled the Yonghy-Bònghy-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-Bònghy-Bò.
Said the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.

Through the silent-roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò,
With a sad primaeval 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-Bònghy-Bò,
Sang the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.

From the Coast of Coromandel
Did that Lady never go;
On that heap of stones she mourns
For the Yonghy-Bònghy-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-Bònghy-Bò.
For the Yonghy-Bònghy-Bò.