The College of Heralds permission yield
That he should quarter upon his shield
Three islands, _vert_, on a field of blue,
With the pregnant motto "Chickeraboo."
Ambassadors, yes, and attaches, too,
Are going to sail for Chickeraboo,
And, see, on the good ship's crowded deck,
A bishop, who's going out there on spec.
And let us all hope that blissful things
May come of alliance with darkey kings.
Oh, may we never, whatever we do,
Declare a war with Chickeraboo!
[Illustration]
THE BISHOP OF RUM-TI-FOO.
From east and south the holy clan
Of bishops gathered, to a man;
To synod, called Pan-Anglican;
In flocking crowds they came.
Among them was a Bishop, who
Had lately been appointed to
The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo,
And Peter was his name.
His people--twenty-three in sum--
They played the eloquent tum-tum
And lived on scalps served up in rum--
The only sauce they knew,
When, first good Bishop Peter came
(For Peter was that Bishop's name),
To humor them, he did the same
As they of Rum-ti-Foo.
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