The Table and the Chair

(The Dancing Lesson, Dorothea
and Francesca, 1898, by Cecelia
Beaux, 1855-1942, American
portrait painter, often compared
to John Singer Sargent and Mary
Cassatt)

“Don’t tell me of a man’s being able to talk sense. Everyone can talk sense. Can he talk nonsense?”~ William Pitt the Elder (1708-1778), a prime minister of England

THE TABLE AND THE CHAIR

Said the Table to the Chair,
“You can hardly be aware,
How I suffer from the heat,
And from chilblains on my feet!
If we took a little walk,
We might have a little talk!
Pray let us take the air!”
Said the Table to the Chair.

Said the Chair to the Table,
“Now you know we are not able!
How foolishly you talk,
When you know we cannot walk!”
Said the Table with a sigh,
“It can do no harm to try,
I've as many legs as you,
Why can't we walk on two?”

So they both went slowly down,
And walked about the town
With a cheerful bumpy sound,
As they toddled round and round.
And everybody cried,
As they hastened to their side,
“See! the Table and the Chair
Have come out to take the air!”

But in going down an alley,
To a castle in a valley,
They completely lost their way,
And wandered all the day,
Till, to see them safely back,
They paid a Ducky-quack,
And a Beetle, and a Mouse,
Who took them to their house.

Then they whispered to each other,
“O delightful little brother!
What a lovely walk we've taken!
Let us dine on Beans and Bacon!”
So the Ducky and the leetle
Browny-Mousy and the Beetle
Dined and danced upon their heads
Till they toddled to their beds.

~ Edward Lear (1812-1888), English artist, poet, and writer of limericks and other nonsense

The Courtship of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò

(The Garden by Joan Miró, 1893-1983,
Spanish painter, ceramist and sculptor)

Sometimes true love, for the very best of reasons, does not end in Happily Ever After.

THE COURTSHIP OF THE YONGHY-BONGHY-BÒ

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, ─
These were all his worldly goods:
In the middle of the woods,
These were all the worldly goods,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

Once, among the Bong-trees walking
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To a little heap of stones
Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
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-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

“Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly!
Sitting where the pumpkins blow,
Will you come and be my wife?”
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
“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-Bonghy-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

“On this Coast of Coromandel,
Shrimps and watercresses grow,
Prawns are plentiful and cheap,”
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
“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-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

Lady Jingly answered sadly,
And her tears began to flow, ─
Your proposal comes too late,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
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-Bò!
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!”

“Mr. Jones ─ (his name is Handel, ─
Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.)
Dorking fowls delights to send,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
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-Bò!
“Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!”

“Though you've such a tiny body,
And your head so large doth grow, ─
Though your hat may blow away,
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!
Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy ─
Yet a 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-Bò!
Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò!”

Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle,
Where the early pumpkins blow,
To the calm and silent sea
Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
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-Bò,
Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

Through the silent-roaring ocean
Did the Turtle swiftly go;
Holding fast upon his shell
Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
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-Bò,
Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

From the Coast of Coromandel,
Did that Lady never go;
On that heap of stones she mourns
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.
On that Coast of Coromandel,
In his jug without a handle,
Still she weeps, and daily moans;
On that little hep of stones
To her Dorking Hens she moans,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò,
For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò.

~ Edward Lear (1812-1888), English artist, poet and writer of limericks and other nonsense

William Shakespeare

How should we bring to a close our month-long celebration of April as National Poetry Month? We can’t go wrong if we turn to William Shakespeare, who is, in the opinion of many, the finest writer of the English language.

The lines below are from King Lear, the greatest of his tragedies. Reflecting Shakespeare’s keen understanding of human nature and his poetic mastery, they are the final words spoken by Lear at the death of his beloved daughter Cordelia.

A legendary monarch of England, King Lear is an old man now. He foolishly decides to bequeath his kingdom to the daughters who love him the most. The elder two are fulsome in their expressions of affection. But Cordelia, his youngest, will not follow their example of insincere flattery. She tells him, in all honesty, that “Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave my heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty according to my bond, no more no less.”

Enraged, the king banishes her from his sight.

He soon sees that he has made a fatal choice. Having won their inheritance, his two elder daughters abandon him in a storm and leave him to his enemies.

He does reconcile with Cordelia, only to see his enemies first capture and then execute her. Holding her dead body, Lear weeps in heartrending anguish:

Howl, howl, howl, howl! O, you are men of stones:
Had I your tongues and eyes, I'ld use them so
That heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!
I know when one is dead, and when one lives;
She's dead as earth. Lend me a looking-glass;
If that her breath will mist or stain the stone,
Why, then she lives.

But she is truly dead.

A plague upon you, murderers, traitors all!
I might have saved her; now she's gone for ever!
Cordelia, Cordelia! stay a little. Ha!
What is't thou say'st? Her voice was ever soft,
Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman.
I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee.

He cries out:

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life,
And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more,
Never, never, never, never, never!
Pray you, undo this button: thank you, sir.
Do you see this? Look on her, look, her lips,
Look there, look there!

Lear dies of his grief.

No one understood the power of poetry better than William Shakespeare.

Tomorrow, we begin to look at poems that celebrate the merry month of May, to use a popular phrase from Shakespeare’s time.