In a fair village on the English coast There dwelt a lad--they called him Hunky Sam. He was but young--three years, or may be four, But manly for his age; his appetite For bulls'-eyes, "coker"-nuts, and such light fare Was something awful, even for a boy; But better far than even coker-nuts, He loved a maiden of surpassing grace-- Of humble parentage, but very fair, Whose name euphonious was Susan Ann. The parents of these twain were fisher-folk Of low degree, but honest to a fault. They would not steal the veriest pin, unless They were quite certain they would not be caught. Now Hunky's love for peerless Susan Ann Was felt by her, and given back to Hunk; And as the twain upon the yellow sands Would play, young Sam would say, "Now let us be, As grown-up folks, and we'll pretend we are A wedded pair, and I will be a man, And you, dear Susan Ann, my little wife; And you, go sit within yon gloomy cave, Which we will make believe to be our house, And I'll come staggering in like daddy does, And you can belt me on my flaxen head With this small stick, which we will call a broom-- For that's the way my dad and mammy do." And so they played upon the seashore sand Till Susan Ann had got the thing down fine. And time sped on, and Sam and Susan Ann Were married, and the twain became one flesh. PART II. Sam went to sea, and whilst upon a voyage, He read of Enoch Arden and his woes; And so he soon resolved to do the same As in the book he read that Enoch did. To carry out his plan he sent word home, By trusty shipmate, to his Susan Ann, That he was drowned. He really did not care A great deal for his once-loved Susan Ann, Who, when the knot had but been tied a year, Had clearly showed that she could be the boss. So time sped on, and artful Hunky Sam In foreign climates had a jolly time For several years. "I think I'll homeward sail," One day he said, "and see how Susan Ann Gets on; like Enoch, I will softly glide Towards the cottage there upon the cliff, And see how she makes out with her new man, For she is doubtless wedded once again, Just like that Mrs. Arden in the book." Away he sailed across the sounding surge (A good expression that, but not my own), And soon he reached his village on the coast. 'Twas night. He crept towards the little cot Where once he'd dwelt. A light was burning clear; He peered in through the window. Susan Ann Was there, but t'other fellow was away. His wife glanced up: she saw the faithless Sam; She sprang towards him--grabbed him by the hair And held him there, whilst with her other arm She dealt him myriad thwacks with broomstick stout. "You would," she cried--"you would say you were dead, And with your foreign gals go cuttin' up;