Polly Higginbottom67
In Chester’s town a man there dwelt,
Not rich as Crœsus, but a buck;
The pangs of love he clearly felt—
His name was Thomas Clutterbuck.
The lady he did most approve
Most guineas gold had got ’em;
And Clutterbuck fell deep in love
With Polly Higginbottom.
O Thomas Clutterbuck!
And O Polly Higginbottom!
I sing the loves—the smiling lives—
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.
A little trip he did propose:—
Upon the Dee they got ’em;
The wind blew high—he blew his nose,
And sung to Polly Higginbottom.
The strain was sweet—the stream was deep—
He thought his notes had caught her;
But she, alas! first fell—asleep;
And then fell—in the water.
O Polly Higginbottom!
She went to the bottom—
I sing the death—the doleful death!—
Of pretty Polly Higginbottom!
Yet still he strain’d his little throat;
To love he did invite her;
And never miss’d her—till his boat,
He thought, went rather lighter.
But when he found that she was lost,
The summum of his wishes—
He boldly paid the waterman,
And jump’d among the fishes.
O Polly Higginbottom,
He comes to the bottom!
I sing the death—the double death—
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.
Round Chester stalk the river ghosts
Of this young man and fair maid:
His head looks like a salmon-trout;
Her tail is like a mermaid.
Moral.
Learn this, ye constant lovers all,
Who live on England’s island—
The way to shun a watery death
Is making love on dry land!
O Polly Higginbottom,
Who lies at the bottom!
So sing the ghosts—the water-ghosts—
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom.