In London's fair city a merchant did dwell, He had but one daughter, an unkimmon nice young gal; Her name it were Dinah, just sixteen years old, With a very large portion of silver and gold. As Dinah was a-valking in the gardin one day, Her papa he came to her and thus he did say:— "Go, dress yourself, Dinah, in gorgeous array, For I've got you a 'usband, both galliant and gay." "Oh, papa, oh, papa! I've not made up my mind, And to marry just yet I am not quite inclined: And all my large fortin I'll gladly give o'er, If you'll let me be single just one year or more." "Go, go, boldest daughter," the parient replied, "If you won't consent for to be this man's bride, I'll give all your fortin to the nearest of kin And you shan't reap the benefit of one single pin." As Vilikins vas a-valkin in the gardin one day, He spied his dear Dinah lying dead on the clay— And a cup of cold pison was a-lying by her side, And a billet-dux to say that for Vilikins she died! He kiss'd her cold corpus a thousand time o'er, He called her his Dinah, though she were no more, And swallowed the pison, like a lover so brave, And Vilikins and his Dinah lie buried in one grave. |