The Three Kings Of Chickeraboo

THERE were three niggers of Chickeraboo— PACIFICO, BANG-BANG, POPCHOP—who Exclaimed, one terribly sultry day, “Oh, let’s be kings in a humble way.”

The first was a highly-accomplished “bones,” The next elicited banjo tones, The third was a quiet, retiring chap, Who danced an excellent break-down “flap.”

“We niggers,” said they, “have formed a plan By which, whenever we like, we can Extemporise kingdoms near the beach, And then we’ll collar a kingdom each.

“Three casks, from somebody else’s stores, Shall represent our island shores, Their sides the ocean wide shall lave, Their heads just topping the briny wave.

“Great Britain’s navy scours the sea, And everywhere her ships they be; She’ll recognise our rank, perhaps, When she discovers we’re Royal Chaps.

“If to her skirts you want to cling, It’s quite sufficient that you’re a king; She does not push inquiry far To learn what sort of king you are.”

A ship of several thousand tons, And mounting seventy-something guns, Ploughed, every year, the ocean blue, Discovering kings and countries new.

The brave REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP, Commanding that magnificent ship, Perceived one day, his glasses through, The kings that came from Chickeraboo.

“Dear eyes!” said ADMIRAL PIP, “I see Three flourishing islands on our lee. And, bless me! most remarkable thing! On every island stands a king!

“Come, lower the Admiral’s gig,” he cried, “And over the dancing waves I’ll glide; That low obeisance I may do To those three kings of Chickeraboo!”

The Admiral pulled to the islands three; The kings saluted him gracious_lee_. The Admiral, pleased at his welcome warm, Unrolled a printed Alliance form.

“Your Majesty, sign me this, I pray— I come in a friendly kind of way— I come, if you please, with the best intents, And QUEEN VICTORIA’S compliments.”

The kings were pleased as they well could be; The most retiring of the three, In a “cellar-flap” to his joy gave vent With a banjo-bones accompaniment.

The great REAR-ADMIRAL BAILEY PIP Embarked on board his jolly big ship, Blue Peter flew from his lofty fore, And off he sailed to his native shore.

ADMIRAL PIP directly went To the Lord at the head of the Government, Who made him, by a stroke of a quill, BARON DE PIPPE, OF PIPPETONNEVILLE.

The College of Heralds permission yield That he should quarter upon his shield Three islands, _vert_, on a field of blue, With the pregnant motto “Chickeraboo.”

Ambassadors, yes, and attachés, too, Are going to sail for Chickeraboo. And, see, on the good ship’s crowded deck, A bishop, who’s going out there on spec.

And let us all hope that blissful things May come of alliance with darky kings, And, may we never, whatever we do, Declare a war with Chickeraboo!

JOE GOLIGHTLY OR, THE FIRST LORD’S DAUGHTER

A tar, but poorly prized, Long, shambling, and unsightly, Thrashed, bullied, and despised, Was wretched JOE GOLIGHTLY.

He bore a workhouse brand; No Pa or Ma had claimed him, The Beadle found him, and The Board of Guardians named him.

P’r’aps some Princess’s son— A beggar p’r’aps his mother. _He_ rather thought the one, I rather think the other.

He liked his ship at sea, He loved the salt sea-water, He worshipped junk, and he Adored the First Lord’s daughter.

The First Lord’s daughter, proud, Snubbed Earls and Viscounts nightly; She sneered at Barts. aloud, And spurned poor Joe Golightly.

Whene’er he sailed afar Upon a Channel cruise, he Unpacked his light guitar And sang this ballad (Boosey):

Ballad

The moon is on the sea, Willow! The wind blows towards the lee, Willow! But though I sigh and sob and cry, No Lady Jane for me, Willow!

She says, “’Twere folly quite, Willow! For me to wed a wight, Willow! Whose lot is cast before the mast”; And possibly she’s right, Willow!

His skipper (CAPTAIN JOYCE), He gave him many a rating, And almost lost his voice From thus expostulating:

“Lay aft, you lubber, do! What’s come to that young man, JOE? Belay!—’vast heaving! you! Do kindly stop that banjo!

“I wish, I do—O lor’!— You’d shipped aboard a trader: _Are_ you a sailor or A negro serenader?”

But still the stricken lad, Aloft or on his pillow, Howled forth in accents sad His aggravating “Willow!”

Stern love of duty had Been JOYCE’S chiefest beauty; Says he, “I love that lad, But duty, damme! duty!

“Twelve months’ black-hole, I say, Where daylight never flashes; And always twice a day A good six dozen lashes!”

But JOSEPH had a mate, A sailor stout and lusty, A man of low estate, But singularly trusty.

Says he, “Cheer hup, young JOE! I’ll tell you what I’m arter— To that Fust Lord I’ll go And ax him for his darter.

“To that Fust Lord I’ll go And say you love her dearly.” And JOE said (weeping low), “I wish you would, sincerely!”

That sailor to that Lord Went, soon as he had landed, And of his own accord An interview demanded.

Says he, with seaman’s roll, “My Captain (wot’s a Tartar) Guv JOE twelve months’ black-hole, For lovering your darter.

“He loves MISS LADY JANE (I own she is his betters), But if you’ll jine them twain, They’ll free him from his fetters.

“And if so be as how You’ll let her come aboard ship, I’ll take her with me now.” “Get out!” remarked his Lordship.

That honest tar repaired To JOE upon the billow, And told him how he’d fared. JOE only whispered, “Willow!”

And for that dreadful crime (Young sailors, learn to shun it) He’s working out his time; In six months he’ll have done it.

TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE. BY A MISERABLE WRETCH

ROLL on, thou ball, roll on! Through pathless realms of Space Roll on! What though I’m in a sorry case? What though I cannot meet my bills? What though I suffer toothache’s ills? What though I swallow countless pills? Never _you_ mind! Roll on!

Roll on, thou ball, roll on! Through seas of inky air Roll on! It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear; It’s true my butcher’s bill is due; It’s true my prospects all look blue— But don’t let that unsettle you! Never _you_ mind! Roll on!

[_It rolls on_.