LITMIR.BIZ

      Why, what a tigress must this Princess be!

      I never heard such cruelty – Bless me!

      Already kings and princes by the dozen

      She's managed by her subtlety to cozen;

      For she's so clever that she always diddles

      The keenest wits by her confounding riddles.

      As wife, decidedly I should decline her,

      She's made of dragon-pattern stony China.

      What fools her suitors are, their hearts to fix on

      So termagant and bloodthirsty a vixen!

      So fascinating is she, none withstand her,

      All men for her do nothing but philander.

      Behold on yonder gate the ghastly row

      Of livid heads set up in dismal show.

      All these belonged to men who dared to hope

      With Turandot in subtlety to cope.

      To-day a prince is led to execution,

      Who failed to give her riddles due solution.

      That is the reason of the noise you hear,

      Pray go not to the town.

      What should I fear?

      The bloody spectacle your nerves might shake;

      The severed head is fastened to a stake.

      But hark! yon tantan's loud infernal dinning,

      Tells that the tragedy is now beginning.

      A monster like this princess should be strangled,

      Her body by wild horses torn and mangled.

      To all she is not cruelly inclined,

      'Tis Man she hates; to women she's most kind.

      Within her royal hareem serves my wife,

      And with her mistress leads a happy life.

      The only fault of Turandot is pride, —

      Her many virtues cannot be denied.

      Who comes this way?

      'Tis Ishmael, the friend

      Of him who just has met his tragic end.

      His life is o'er! Ah, would the cruel knife

      Had struck my worthless self, and spared his life.

      Bear up, good friend, I pity you sincerely,

      Your master for his love has paid too dearly.

      Why did you not dissuade him from the trial —

      My prayers he met with kind, but firm denial.

      His dying words still echo in mine ear —

      "Good friend," he said, "to die I do not fear;

      My life's a blank if without her I live.

      Speed to my father, – beg him to forgive

      His hapless son, who staked his life on one

      Whose face is fair, whose heart is cold as stone.

      Shew him this portrait: (takes a miniature from hisbreast) when its charms he views,

      My frenzied love, my rashness he'll excuse."

      This said, he clasped the portrait to his breast,

      Fond kisses on its icy beauty pressed;

      Then bent his head, and closed his eyes,

      The death blow fell, and sent him to the skies.

      Away, thou false deceit! thou cause of woe,

      Th' original I'd trample even so.

      To dust I'd grind her tiger heart; – her soul,

      I'd send to Eblis' region dark and foul! (Exit.)

      Are you convinced?

      I'm perfectly amazed.

      How can a painted semblance thus have crazed

      So sensible a prince? (Stoops to pick it up.)

      For heaven's sake,

      Avoid that picture as you would a snake.

      No harm will happen, dear old tutor, sure

      From picking up a picture from the floor.

      No woman yet has caused my heart to throb, —

      Shall painted lines my soul of freedom rob?

      Ye gods! an angel's face. Oh ecstacy!

      Now, there; he's caught. I knew how it would be!

      Beneath this beaming smile, these lustrous eyes,

      There cannot lurk a cruel heart of ice.

      I tell you she's the wickedest of creatures;

      Oh, gaze not on the Syren's fatal features,

      More baneful than the Gorgon head, Medusa.

      Hush, hush, I will not hear you thus abuse her,

      I never saw a face and form diviner;

      Her's is not mortal clay, but porcelain China,

      Some magic power, some demon, I know not,

      Enchains my soul to beauteous Turandot.

      These eyes to meet, these rosy lips to kiss,

      Who would not hazard all to win such bliss?

      My senses reel, my veins are

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