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. _VILIKINS AND HIS DINAH._ 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-ant 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. MORAL. 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. _THE EXCISEMAN OUTWITTED._ TO a village that skirted the sea, An Exciseman, one midsummer, came, But prudence, between you and me, Forbids me to mention his name. Soon Michael he chanced to espy, A cask on his shoulder he wore, With six gallons of brandy, or nigh, And where is the man can bear more?