Lost Bab ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

Young Jopkins was a waiter,
A waiter good was he!
One greater—or sedater
You never sure did see.
He wore a suit of sable—
From Berlin came his glove;
But he was quite unable
To overcome his love.

He loved a maid called Betty—
A pleasing damsel too!
So pretty—but coquette-y!
He knew not what to do!
But she to be his love
Declared she would not stoop,
So he dropt a tear—and a Berlin glove—
In the Mulligatawny soup.

He pined and grew so thin, he
Was scarce fit for his post;
Like a ninny, he got skinny,
And as pale as any ghost.

124

His reckoning death was summing,
And that reckoning was his last;
For though he still said, “Coming,”
He was going very fast.

Till one day on the table,
Dead suddenly he drops!
They were able from a label
To identify his copse;
For observing he was growing
Much too thin for folks to see
He affixed a label, showing—
(Twasn't grammar)—“This is me!”

But soon there was a talking
That his ghost was seen at night,
A-walking and a-stalking,
An attenuated sprite!
But when the cock doth crow,
It answers, “Coming—coming!”
Adding, “Youths, be warned, and know
The inconstancy of Wumming!”