WHILST thou, Mohassan, (happy thou!) Dost daily bend thy loyal brow Before our King -- our Asia's treasure! Nutmeg of Comfort! Rose of Pleasure! -- And bear'st as many kicks and bruises As the said Rose and Nutmeg chooses; -- Thy head still near the bowstring's borders, And but left on till further orders! -- Through London streets, with turban fair, And caftan, floating to the air, I saunter on -- the admiration Of this short-coated population -- This sew'd-up race -- this button'd nation -- Who, while they boast their laws so free, Leave not one limb at liberty, But live, with all their lordly speeches, The slaves of buttons and tight breeches! Yet, though they thus their knee-pans fetter (They're Christians, and they know no better), In @3some@1 things they're a thinking nation -- And, on Religious Toleration, I own I like their notions @3quite@1, They are so Persian and so right! You know our Sunnites, hateful dogs! Whom every pious Shiite flogs Or longs to flog -- 'tis true, they pray To God, but in an ill-bred way; With neither arms, nor legs, nor faces Stuck in their right, canonic places! 'Tis true they worship Ali's name -- @3Their@1 heaven and @3ours@1 are just the same -- (A Persian's heaven is easily made, 'Tis but -- black eyes and lemonade). Yet -- though we've tried for centuries back -- We can't persuade the stubborn pack, By bastinadoes, screws, or nippers, To wear th' establish'd pea-green slippers! Then -- only think -- the libertines! They wash their toes -- they comb their chins -- With many more such deadly sins! And (what's the worst, though last I rank it) Believe the Chapter of the Blanket! Yet, spite of tenets so flagitious, (Which @3must@1, at bottom, be seditious; As no man living would refuse Green slippers, but from treasonous views; Nor wash his toes, but with intent To overturn the Government!) Such is our mild and tolerant way, We only curse them twice a day (According to a form that's set), And, far from torturing, only let All orthodox believers beat 'em, And twitch their beards, where'er they meet'em. As to the rest, they're free to do Whate'er their fancy prompts them to, Provided they make nothing of it Towards rank or honour, power or profit; Which things, we naturally expect, Belong to us, the Establish'd sect, Who disbelieve (the Lord be thanked!) Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket. The same mild views of Toleration Inspire, I find, this button'd nation, Whose Papists (full as given to rogue, And only Sunnites with a brogue) Fare just as well, with all their fuss, As rascal Sunnites do with us. The tender Gazel I enclose Is for my love, my Syrian Rose -- Take it when night begins to fall, And throw it o'er her mother's wall. GAZEL. Rememberest thou the hour we pass'd, That hour, the happiest and the last! -- Oh! not so sweet the Siha thorn To summer bees, at break of morn, Not half so sweet, through dale and dell, To camels' ears the tinkling bell, As is the soothing memory Of that one precious hour to me! How can we live, so far apart? Oh! why not rather, heart to heart, United live and die -- Like those sweet birds, that fly together, With feather always touching feather, Link'd by a hook and eye! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BALINESE WITCH DOCTOR by KAREN SWENSON THE FALCONER OF GOD by WILLIAM ROSE BENET TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ. by JOHN KEATS THE PRETTY MILKMAID by MOTHER GOOSE TO SAN FRANCISCO by S. J. ALEXANDER |