abdulla bey—a pasha—had
a turn for joy and merriment:
you never caught him looking sad,
nor glowering in discontent.
his normal attitude was one
of calm, serene placidity;
his nature gay, and full of fun,
and free from all acidity.
a trifling instance i'll relate
of pasha bey's urbanity,
the which will clearly indicate
his marvellous humanity.
he had a dozen wives or so
(in him no immorality;
for eastern custom, as you know,
permits, of wives, plurality).
yes; quite a dozen wives—or more—
abdulla had, and for a while
no sound was heard of strife or war
within abdulla's domicile.
but, oh! how rare it is to find
a dozen ladies who'll consent
to think as with a single mind,
and live together in content.
abdulla's wives—altho', no doubt,
if taken individually,
would never think of falling out,—
collectively, could not agree.
at first, in quite a playful way,
they quarrelled—rather prettily;
then cutting things contrived to say
about each other wittily;
then petty jealousies and sneers
began,—just feeble flickerings—
which grew, alas! to bitter tears,
and fierce domestic bickerings.
you never had a dozen wives—
of course not—so you cannot know
the grave discomfort in their lives
these pashas sometimes undergo.
abdulla bey, however, he
was not the one to be dismayed,
and doubtless you'll astounded be
to hear what wisdom he displayed.
he did not—as some would have done—
seek angry ladies to coerce;
he did not use to any one
expressions impolite—or worse.
no, what he did was simply this:
he stood those ladies in a row,
and said, "my dears, don't take amiss
what i'm about to say, you know.
"i find you cannot, like the birds,
within your little nest agree,
so i'll unfold, in briefest words,
a plan which has occurred to me.
"these quarrellings, these manners lax,
in comfort means a loss for us,
so i must tie you up in sacks
and throw you in the bosphorus."
he tied them up; he threw them in;
then pasha bey, i beg to state,
did not seek sympathy to win
by posing as disconsolate.
he mourned a week; and then, they say
(a pasha is, of course, a catch),
our friend, the good abdulla bey,
got married to another batch.
