Good Robber Brown he muffled up his anger
He said “I have a notion, and that notion I will tell;
I will nab this gay young sorter, terrify him into fits,
And get my gentle wife to chop him into little bits.
“I’ve studied human nature,
and I know a thing or two,
Though a girl may fondly love a living gent, as many do—
A feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall
When she looks upon his body chopped particularly small.”
He traced that gallant sorter to a still
He watched his opportunity and seized him unaware;
He took a life-preserver and he hit him on the head,
And Mrs. Brown dissected him before she went to bed.
And pretty little Alice grew more settled
in her mind,
She never more was guilty of a weakness of the kind,
Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her pretty hand
On the promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band.
BEN ALLAH ACHMET;
OR, THE FATAL TUM.
I once did know a Turkish man
Whom I upon a two-pair-back met,
His name it was Effendi Khan
Backsheesh Pasha Ben Allah Achmet.
A Doctor Brown I also knew—
I’ve often eaten of his bounty—
The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,
In Sussex, that delightful county.
I knew a nice young lady there,
Her name was Isabella Sherson,
And though she wore another’s hair,
She was an interesting person.
The Turk adored the maid of Hooe
(Although his harem would have shocked her);
But Brown adored that maiden, too:
He was a most seductive doctor.
They’d follow her where’er
A course of action most improper;
She neither knew by sight, and so
For neither of them cared a copper.
Brown did not know that Turkish male,
He might have been his sainted mother:
The people in this simple tale
Are total strangers to each other.
One day that Turk he sickened sore
Which threw him straight into a sharp pet;
He threw himself upon the floor
And rolled about upon his—carpet.
It made him moan—it made him
And almost wore him to a mummy:
Why should I hesitate to own
That pain was in his little tummy?
At length a Doctor came and rung
(As Allah Achmet had desired)
Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,
And hummed and hawed, and then inquired:
“Where is the pain, that long has
Upon you in so sad a way, sir?”
The Turk he giggled, blushed, and said,
“I don’t exactly like to say, sir.”
“Come, nonsense!” said good
“So this is Turkish coyness, is it?
You must contrive to fight it down—
Come, come, sir, please to be explicit.”