Edward Lear

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.

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!

On the Coast of Coromandel Where the early pumpkins blow, In the middle of the woods Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò. Two old chairs, and half a candle,— One old jug without a handle,—

They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon,

"Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."

They sailed away for a year and a day To the land where the bong-tree grows.

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! How charmingly sweet you sing! O let us be married! too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?"

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea In a beautiful pea green boat, They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar,

On a little heap of Barley Died my aged uncle Arly, And they buried him one night;— Close beside the leafy thicket;— There, his hat and Railway-Ticket;— There, his ever-faithful Cricket;—

Ploffskin, Pluffskin, Pelican jee! We think no Birds so happy as we! Plumpskin, Ploshkin, Pelican jill! We think so then, and we thought so still!

It's a fact the whole world knows, That Pebbles are happier without their toes.

The Pobble who has no toes Had once as many as we; When they said, "Some day you may lose them all;"— He replied, — "Fish fiddle de-dee!"

When awful darkness and silence reign Over the great Gromboolian plain, Through the long, long wintry nights. When the angry breakers roar As they beat on the rocky shore;— When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights

On the top of the Crumpetty Tree The Quangle Wangle sat, But his face you could not see, On account of his Beaver Hat.

Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of Swat?

Calico Jam, The little Fish swam, Over the syllabub sea, He took off his hat, To the Sole and the Sprat, And the Willeby-Wat,—

Calico Pie, The little Birds fly Down to the calico tree, Their wings were blue, And they sang "Tilly-loo!" Till away they flew,—

They went to sea in a sieve, they did; In a sieve they went to sea; In spite of all their friends could say.

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.

His mind is concrete and fastidious, His nose is remarkably big; His visage is more or less hideous, His beard it resembles a wig.

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear! Who has written such volumes of stuff! Some think him ill-tempered and queer, But a few think him pleasant enough.

There was an Old Man with a beard, Who said, "It is just as I feared!— Two Owls and a Hen, Four Larks and a Wren, Have all built their nests in my beard!"