By various means they vainly tried The testament to set aside, Each ready with his empty purse To take upon himself the curse; For they had powers of invective Enough to make it ineffective. The ingrates mustered, every man, And marched in force to Ispahan (Which had not quite accommodation) And held a camp of indignation. The man, this while, who never spoke— On whom had fallen this thunder-stroke Of fortune, gave no feeling vent Nor dropped a clue to his intent. Whereas no power to him came His benefactor to defame, Some (such a length had slander gone to) Even whispered that he didn't want to! But none his secret could divine; If suffering he made no sign, Until one night as winter neared From all his haunts he disappeared— Evanished in a doubtful blank Like little crayfish in a bank, Their heads retracting for a spell, And pulling in their holes as well. All through the land of Gul, the stout Young Spring is kicking Winter out. The grass sneaks in upon the scene, Defacing it with bottle-green. The stumbling lamb arrives to ply His restless tail in every eye, Eats nasty mint to spoil his meat And make himself unfit to eat. Madly his throat the bulbul tears— In every grove blasphemes and swears As the immodest rose displays Her shameless charms a dozen ways. Lo! now, throughout the utmost span Of Ispahan—of Gulistan— A big new book's displayed in all The shops and cumbers every stall. The price is low—the dealers say 'tis— And the rich are treated to it gratis. Engraven on its foremost page These title-words the eye engage: 'The Life of Muley Ben Maroon, Of Astrabad—Rogue, Thief, Buffoon And Miser—Liver by the Sweat Of Better Men: A Lamponette Composed in Rhyme and Written all By Meerza Solyman Zingall!'
CORRECTED NEWS.
'T was a maiden lady (the newspapers say) Pious and prim and a bit gone-gray. She slept like an angel, holy and white, Till ten o' the clock in the shank o' the night (When men and other wild animals prey) And then she cried in the viewless gloom: 'There's a man in the room, a man in the room!' And this maiden lady (they make it appear) Leapt out of the window, five fathom sheer! Alas, that lying is such a sin When newspaper men need bread and gin And none can be had for less than a lie! For the maiden lady a bit gone-gray Saw the man in the room from across the way, And leapt, not out of the window but in—Ten fathom sheer, as I hope to die!
AN EXPLANATION.
'I never yet exactly could determine Just how it is that the judicial ermine Is kept so safely from predacious vermin.' 'It is not so, my friend: though in a garret 'Tis kept in camphor, and you often air it, The vermin will get into it and wear it.'
