The Tory: Perspectives and Poems: Dr Pratt Datta

OF THE AWEFULL BATTLE OF THE PEKES AND THE POLLICLES

OF THE AWEFULL BATTLE
OF THE PEKES AND THE POLLICLES

Together with some Account
of the Participation
of the Pugs and the Poms, and
the Intervention of the Great Rumpuscat

The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows,
Are proud and implacable passionate foes;
It is always the same, wherever one goes.
And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people say
That they do not like fighting, yet once in a way,
They will now and again join in to the fray
And they
                        Bark bark bark bark
                        Bark bark BARK BARK
        Until you can hear them all over the Park.

Now on the occasion of which I shall speak
Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week
(And that's a long time for a Pol or a Peke).
The big Police Dog was away from his beat—
I don't know the reason, but most people think
He'd slipped into the Wellington Arms for a drink—
And no one at all was about on the street
When a Peke and a Pollicle happened to meet.

They did not advance, or exactly retreat,
But they glared at each other, and scraped their hind feet,
And started to
                        Bark bark bark bark
                        Bark bark BARK BARK
        Until you could hear them all over the Park.

Now the Peke, although people may say what they please,
Is no British Dog, but a Heathen Chinese.
And so all the Pekes, when they heard the uproar,
Some came to the window, some came to the door;
There were surely a dozen, more likely a score.
And together they started to grumble and wheeze
In their huffery-snuffery Heathen Chinese.
But a terrible din is what Pollicles like,
For your Pollicle Dog is a dour Yorkshire tyke,
And his braw Scottish cousins are snappers and biters,
And every dog-jack of them notable fighters;
And so they stepped out, with their pipers in order,
Playing When the Blue Bonnets Came Over the Border.
Then the Pugs and the Poms held no longer aloof,
But some from the balcony, some from the roof,
Joined in
To the din
With a
                        Bark bark bark bark
                        Bark bark BARK BARK
        Until you could hear them all over the Park.

Now when these bold heroes together assembled,
The traffic all stopped, and the Underground trembled,
And some of the neighbours were so much afraid
That they started to ring up the Fire Brigade.
When suddenly, up from a small basement flat.
Why who should stalk out but the GREAT RUMPUSCAT.
His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing,
He gave a great yawn, and his jaws were amazing;
And when he looked out through the bars of the area,
You never saw anything fiercer or hairier.
And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning,
The Pekes and the Pollicles quickly took warning.
He looked at the sky and he gave a great leap—
And they every last one of them scattered like sheep.

And when the Police Dog returned to his beat,
There wasn't a single one left in the street.

TS Eliot‘s Old Deuteronomy

OLD DEUTERONOMY

Old Deuteronomy's lived a long time;
    He's a Cat who has lived many lives in succession.
He was famous in proverb and famous in rhyme
    A long while before Queen Victoria's accession.
Old Deuteronomy's buried nine wives
    And more—I am tempted to say, ninety-nine;
And his numerous progeny prospers and thrives
    And the village is proud of him in his decline.
At the sight of that placid and bland physiognomy,
    When he sits in the sun on the vicarage wall,
The Oldest Inhabitant croaks: 'Well, of all ...
    Things ... Can it be ... really! ... No! ... Yes! ...
        Ho! hi!
        Oh, my eye!
My mind may be wandering, but I confess
I believe it is Old Deuteronomy!'

Old Deuteronomy sits in the street,
    He sits in the High Street on market day;
The bullocks may bellow, the sheep they may bleat,
    But the dogs and the herdsmen will turn them away.
The cars and the lorries run over the kerb,
    And the villagers put up a notice: ROAD CLOSED—
So that nothing untoward may chance to disturb
    Deuteronomy's rest when he feels so disposed
Or when he's engaged in domestic economy:
    And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: 'Well, of all ...
    Things ... Can it be ... really! ... No! ... Yes! ...
        Ho! hi!
        Oh, my eye!
My sight's unreliable, but I can guess
That the cause of the trouble is Old Deuteronomy!'

Old Deuteronomy lies on the floor
    Of the Fox and French Horn for his afternoon sleep;
And when the men say: 'There's just time for one more,'
    Then the landlady from her back parlour will peep
And say: 'Now then, out you go, by the back door,
    For Old Deuteronomy mustn't be woken—
I'll have the police if there's any uproar'—
    And out they all shuffle, without a word spoken.
The digestive repose of that feline's gastronomy
    Must never be broken, whatever befall:
And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: 'Well, of all ...
    Things ... Can it be ... really! ... Yes! ... No! ...
        Ho! hi!
        Oh, my eye!
My legs may be tottery, I must go slow
And be careful of Old Deuteronomy!'

Milton‘s Musing Old Possum‘s Book of Practical Cats by Eliot Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer

MUNGOJERRIE AND RUMPELTEAZER

Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer were a very notorious
            couple of cats.
As knockabout clowns, quick-change comedians, tight-rope
            walkers and acrobats
They had an extensive reputation. They made their home in
            Victoria Grove—
That was merely their centre of operation, for they were
            incurably given to rove.
They were very well known in Cornwall Gardens, in Launceston
            Place and in Kensington Square—
They had really a little more reputation than a couple of cats
            can very well bear.

        If the area window was found ajar
        And the basement looked like a field of war,
        If a tile or two came loose on the roof,
        Which presently ceased to be waterproof,
        If the drawers were pulled out from the bedroom chests,
        And you couldn't find one of your winter vests,
        Or after supper one of the girls
        Suddenly missed her Woolworth pearls:
Then the family would say: 'It's that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!'—And most of the
            time they left it at that.

Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a very unusual gift of the gab.
They were highly efficient cat-burglars as well, and remarkably
            smart at a smash-and-grab.
They made their home in Victoria Grove. They had no
            regular occupation.
They were plausible fellows, and liked to engage a friendly
            policeman in conversation.

        When the family assembled for Sunday dinner,
        With their minds made up that they wouldn't get thinner
        On Argentine joint, potatoes and greens,
        And the cook would appear from behind the scenes
        And say in a voice that was broken with sorrow:
        'I'm afraid you must wait and have dinner tomorrow!
        For the joint has gone from the oven—like that!'
Then the family would say: 'It's that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!'—And most of the
            time they left it at that.

Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a wonderful way of
            working together.
And some of the time you would say it was luck, and some of
            the time you would say it was weather.
They would go through the house like a hurricane, and no
            sober person could take his oath
Was it Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer? or could you have
            sworn that it mightn't be both?

        And when you heard a dining-room smash
        Or up from the pantry there came a loud crash
        Or down from the library came a loud ping
        From a vase which was commonly said to be Ming—
Then the family would say: 'Now which was which cat?
It was Mungojerrie! AND Rumpelteazer!'—And there's
            nothing at all to be done about that!

Old Possum‘s Book of Practical Cats by Eliot The Song of the Jellicles

THE SONG OF THE JELLICLES
            Jellicle Cats come out to-night,
            Jellicle Cats come one come all:
            The Jellicle Moon is shining bright—
            Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.
Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.
Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,
Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;
They like to practise their airs and graces
And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise.
Jellicle Cats develop slowly,
Jellicle Cats are not too big;
Jellicle Cats are roly-poly,
They know how to dance a gavotte and a jig.
Until the Jellicle Moon appears
They make their toilette and take their repose:
Jellicles wash behind their ears,
Jellicles dry between their toes.
Jellicle Cats are white and black,
Jellicle Cats are of moderate size;
Jellicles jump like a jumping-jack,
Jellicle Cats have moonlit eyes.
They're quiet enough in the morning hours,
They're quiet enough in the afternoon,
Reserving their terpsichorean powers
To dance by the light of the Jellicle Moon.
Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats (as I said) are small;
If it happens to be a stormy night
They will practise a caper or two in the hall.
If it happens the sun is shining bright
You would say they had nothing to do at all:
They are resting and saving themselves to be right
For the Jellicle Moon and the Jellicle Ball.

The Rum Tum Tugger

THE RUM TUM TUGGER

The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat:
If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse,
If you put him in a house he would much prefer a flat,
If you put him in a flat then he'd rather have a house.
If you set him on a mouse then he only wants a rat,
If you set him on a rat then he'd rather chase a mouse.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat—
    And there isn't any call for me to shout it:
        For he will do
        As he do do
            And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a terrible bore:
When you let him in, then he wants to be out;
He's always on the wrong side of every door,
And as soon as he's at home, then he'd like to get about.
He likes to lie in the bureau drawer,
But he makes such a fuss if he can't get out.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat—
    And it isn't any use for you to doubt it:
        For he will do
        As he do do
            And there's no doing anything about it!

The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious beast:
His disobliging ways are a matter of habit.
If you offer him fish then, he always wants a feast;
When there isn't any fish then he won't eat rabbit.
If you offer him cream then he sniffs and sneers,
For he only likes what he finds for himself;
So you'll catch him in it right up to the ears,
If you put it away on the larder shelf.
The Rum Tum Tugger is artful and knowing,
The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't care for a cuddle;
But he'll leap on your lap in the middle of your sewing,
For there's nothing he enjoys like a horrible muddle.
Yes the Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat—
    And there isn't any need for me to spout it:
        For he will do
        As he do do
            And there's no doing anything about it!

Growltiger‘s Last Stand by TS Eliot

GROWLTIGER'S LAST STAND

Growltiger was a Bravo Cat, who travelled on a barge:
In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large.
From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims,
Rejoicing in his title of 'The Terror of the Thames'.

His manners and appearance did not calculate to please;
His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;
One ear was somewhat missing, no need to tell you why,
And he scowled upon a hostile world from one forbidding eye.

The cottagers of Rotherhithe knew something of his fame;
At Hammersmith and Putney people shuddered at his name.
They would fortify the hen-house, lock up the silly goose,
When the rumour ran along the shore: GROWLTIGER'S ON THE LOOSE!

Woe to the weak canary, that fluttered from its cage;
Woe to the pampered Pekinese, that faced Growltiger's rage;
Woe to the bristly Bandicoot, that lurks on foreign ships,
And woe to any Cat with whom Growltiger came to grips!

But most to Cats of foreign race his hatred had been vowed;
To Cats of foreign name and race no quarter was allowed.
The Persian and the Siamese regarded him with fear—
Because it was a Siamese had mauled his missing ear.

Now on a peaceful summer night, all nature seemed at play,
The tender moon was shining bright, the barge at Molesey lay.
All in the balmy moonlight it lay rocking on the tide—
And Growltiger was disposed to show his sentimental side.

His bucko mate, GRUMBUSKIN, long since had disappeared,
For to the Bell at Hampton he had gone to wet his beard;
And his bosun, TUMBLEBRUTUS, he too had stol'n away—
In the yard behind the Lion he was prowling for his prey.

In the forepeak of the vessel Growltiger sate alone,
Concentrating his attention on the Lady GRIDDLEBONE.
And his raffish crew were sleeping in their barrels and their bunks—
As the Siamese came creeping in their sampans and their junks.

Growltiger had no eye or ear for aught but Griddlebone,
And the Lady seemed enraptured by his manly baritone,
Disposed to relaxation, and awaiting no surprise—
But the moonlight shone reflected from a thousand bright blue eyes.

And closer still and closer the sampans circled round,
And yet from all the enemy there was not heard a sound.
The lovers sang their last duet, in danger of their lives—
For the foe was armed with toasting forks and cruel carving knives.

Then GILBERT gave the signal to his fierce Mongolian horde;
With a frightful burst of fireworks the Chinks they swarmed aboard.
Abandoning their sampans, and their pullaways and junks,
They battened down the hatches on the crew within their bunks.

Then Griddlebone she gave a screech, for she was badly skeered;
I am sorry to admit it, but she quickly disappeared.
She probably escaped with ease, I'm sure she was not drowned—
But a serried ring of flashing steel Growltiger did surround.

The ruthless foe pressed forward, in stubborn rank on rank;
Growltiger to his vast surprise was forced to walk the plank.
He who a hundred victims had driven to that drop,
At the end of all his crimes was forced to go ker-flip, ker-flop.

Oh there was joy in Wapping when the news flew through the land;
At Maidenhead and Henley there was dancing on the strand.
Rats were roasted whole at Brentford, and at Victoria Dock,
And a day of celebration was commanded in Bangkok.

Milton‘s Musings Presents Old Possum‘s Book of Practical Cats - The Old Gumbie Cat by TS Eliot

THE OLD GUMBIE CAT

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

        But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
        Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
        And when all the family's in bed and asleep,
        She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
        She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice—
        Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;
        So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
        She teaches them music, crocheting and tatting.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

        But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
        Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
        As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
        She is sure it is due to irregular diet
        And believing that nothing is done without trying,
        She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
        She makes them a mouse-cake of bread and dried peas,
        And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

        But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
        Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
        She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
        To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
        So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
        A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
        With a purpose in life and a good deed to do—
        And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers—
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

        But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
        Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
        And when all the family's in bed and asleep,
        She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
        She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice—
        Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;
        So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
        She teaches them music, crocheting and tatting.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

        But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
        Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
        As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
        She is sure it is due to irregular diet
        And believing that nothing is done without trying,
        She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
        She makes them a mouse-cake of bread and dried peas,
        And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits—and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

        But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
        Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
        She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
        To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
        So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
        A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
        With a purpose in life and a good deed to do—
        And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers—
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.

Old Possum‘s Book of Practical Cats - The Naming of Cats by TS Eliot

Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - The Naming of Cats by TS Eliot

THE NAMING OF CATS

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
    It isn't just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily,
    Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey—
    All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
    Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter—
    But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
    A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
    Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
    Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum—
    Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
    And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover—
    But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
    The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
    Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
        His ineffable effable
        Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

Alphabet Poem by Edward Lear

Alphabet Poem by Edward Lear
A     tumbled down, and hurt his Arm, against a bit of wood.
B     said, "My Boy, O! do not cry' it cannot do you good!"
C     said, "A Cup of Coffee hot can't do you any harm."
D     said, "A Doctor should be fetched, and he would cure the arm."
E     said, "An Egg beat up in milk would quickly make him well."
F     said, "A Fish, if broiled, might cure, if only by the smell."
G     said, "Green Gooseberry fool, the best of cures I hold."
H     said, "His Hat should be kept on, keep him from the cold."
I     said, "Some Ice upon his head will make him better soon."
J     said, "Some Jam, if spread on bread, or given in a spoon."
K     said, "A Kangaroo is here,—this picture let him see."
L     said, "A Lamp pray keep alight, to make some barley tea."
M     said, "A Mulberry or two might give him satisfaction."
N     said, "Some Nuts, if rolled about, might be a slight attraction."
O     said, "An Owl might make him laugh, if only it would wink."
P     said, "Some Poetry might be read aloud, to make him think."
Q     said, "A Quince I recommend,—A Quince, or else a Quail."
R     said, "Some Rats might make him move, if fastened by their tail."
S     said, "A Song should now be sung, in hopes to make him laugh!"
T     said, "A Turnip might avail, if sliced or cut in half."
U     said, "An Urn, with water hot, place underneath his chin!"
V     said, "I'll stand upon a chair, and play a Violin!"
W    said, "Some Whiskey-Whizzgigs fetch, some marbles and a ball!"
X     said, "Some double XX ale would be the best of all!"
Y     said, "Some Yeast mised up with salt would make a perfect plaster!"
Z     said, "Here is a box of Zinc! Get in my little master!
       We'll shut you up! We'll nail you down!
       We will, my little master!
       We think we've all heard quite enough of this sad disaster!"

The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo

The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo

Edward Lear 

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.