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virgil thomson - the courtship of the yongly bongly bo كلمات الأغنية

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 somе milk_white hens of dorking–
“‘tis the lady jingly jonеs!
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 sh_ll
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 sh_ll
“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

- virgil thomson

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