Modern Street Ballads

This ballad was, during its run, as popular as any street song I remember. It had been forgotten, when Robson, that prince of genuine comic actors, introduced it into the farce of “The Wandering Minstrel,” and it fairly took the town by storm.


Oh! ’tis of a rich merchant,
In London did dwell,
He had but one daughter,
An uncommon nice young gal!
Her name it was Dinah,
Scarce sixteen years old,
She had a large fortune
In silver and gold.
      Singing Too-ral-loo, etc.

As Dinah was valking
In the garden vun day,

Spoken—(It was the front garden, not the back garden.)
Her papa came up to her,
And thus he did say,
Go, dress yourself, Dinah,
In gor-ge-ous array
And I’ll get you a husband,
Both val-ly-and and gay,
      Singing Too-ral-loo, etc.

Spoken—This is what the infant progeny said to the author of her being.
Oh, papa! oh, papa!
I’ve not made up my mind,
To marry just yet
I do not feel inclined,
And all my large fortune,
I’ll freely give o’er,
If you’ll let me stay single
A year or two more.
      Singing Too-ral-loo, etc.

This is what the indignant parient replied—I represent the father.
Then go, boldest daughter,
The parient replied,
If you don’t consent to be
This here young man’s bride,
I’ll leave your large fortune
To the nearest of kin,
And you shan’t have the benefit
Of one single pin.
      Singing Too-ral-loo, etc.

Now comes the epiflabbergastrinum of the lovier.
As Vilikins vas valking
The garden around—
(The aforesaid front garden,)
He spied his dear Dinah
Lying dead on the ground,
A cup of cold pison
It laid by her side,
And a billy dux stating
By pison she died.
Taken inwardly, Singing Too-ral-loo, etc.

This is what the lovier did.
Then he kissed her cold corpus
A thousand times o’er,
He called her his Dinah—
Though she was no more!
He swallowed the pison
Like a true lovier brave,
And Vilikins and his Dinah
Lie a-buried in one grave.
Both on ’em Singing Too-ral-loo, etc.

Now all you young vimmen,
Take a warning by her,
And never by any means
Disobey the guv’ner:
And all you young fellers,
Mind who you clap eyes on,
Think on Vilikins and Dinah
And the cup of cold pison.
Else you’ll be singing Too-ral-loo, etc.

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