LITMIR.BIZ

      The royal trumpets sound. Hark, don't you hear 'em.

      I'll run t'escort my Princess from her hareem.

      Be off! and guard the palace portals,

      Let none pass thro' but Mandarin-born mortals.

      Good folk, behold your monarch much perplexed,

      I must confess I'm seriously vexed.

      My daughter's obstinacy quite unnerves me,

      Such unforeseen and jadish tricks she serves me.

      One charming prince was killed this morn, at six;

      Another's just arrived, – I'm in a fix,

      And worritted to death by constant butch'ry,

      Of lovers caught by my fair daughter's witch'ry;

      But yet I cannot break my oath. Fo-hi

      Has heard my vow; his wrath I dar'n't defy.

      Prime Minister, can't you some project form

      And be your monarch's rudder thro' this storm?

      Celestial Majesty —

      What do you say?

      The loudest bawling's all time thrown away!

      He's deaf as any post – a perfect dummy —

      It's no use preaching wisdom to a mummy.

      I wish I were in Venice back again!

      I had to fly her happy shores, on pain

      Of being hanged, or losing liberty,

      Because the bigwigs thought my tongue too free.

      I hoped, as minister, I was secure

      To fatten in an easy sinecure;

      Instead of which, I've not one moment's leisure;

      No carnival, nor any Christian pleasure.

      But constant squabbles, tears, and imprecations,

      Divans, beheadings, sphinxes, – I've lost patience!

      I'll quit this land of pigtails, gongs, and teas;

      Return to Italy, and live at ease.

      I see you're talking; speak a little louder.

      He wouldn't hear the bursting of gunpowder.

      Tartaglia, have you seen this poor young fellow?

      Y-y-your h-hi-high-ness, y-y-es, a-and f-f-found h-hi-him —molto bello.