The Sultan of the Purple East Is quite a cynic, in his way, And really doesn't mind the least His nickname of 'Abdul the -- -- ' (Nay! I might perhaps come in for blame If I divulged this monarch's name.)
The Turk is such a kindly man, But his ideas of sport are crude; He to the poor Armenian Is not intentionally rude, But still it is his heartless habit To treat him as _we_ treat the rabbit.
If he wants bracing up a bit, His pleasing little custom is To take a hatchet and commit A series of atrocities. I should not fancy, after dark, To meet him, say, in Regent's Park.
A deeply married man is he, 'Early and often' is his rule; He practises polygamy Directly after leaving school, And so arranges that his wives Live happy but secluded lives.
If they attend a public place, They have to do so in disguise, And so conceal one-half their face That nothing but a pair of eyes Suggests the hidden charm that lurks Beneath the veils of lady Turks.
Then too in Turkey all the men Smoke water-pipes and cross their legs; They watch their harem as a hen That guards her first attempt at eggs. (If you don't know what harems are, Just run and ask your dear papa.)
_MORAL_
Wives of great men oft remind us We should make our wives sublime, But the years advancing find us Vainly working over-time. We could minimise our work By the methods of the Turk.
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