IV.

Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction-
This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction—
(A sort of stimulant which hath its uses,
To raise the spirits and reform the juices,
-Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures
In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours,)
The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter,
Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter-
Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes
Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft,

I wot not-but the Sultaun never laugh'd,
Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy
That scorn'd all remedy profane or holy;
In his long list of melancholies, mad,

Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad.1

V.

Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried,

As e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd room; With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue they eyed,

Peep'd in his bath, and God knows where beside,
And then in solemn accent spoke their doom,

"His majesty is very far from well."
Then each to work with his specific fell:
The Hakim Ibrahim instanter brought
His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut,

1[See Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy.]

While Roompot, a practitioner more wily,
Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily.'

More and yet more in deep array appear,
And some the front assail, and some the rear

Their remedies to reinforce and vary,

Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary;

Till the tired Monarch, though of words grown chary,

Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labour,
Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre.
There lack'd, I promise you, no longer speeches,
To rid the palace of those learned leeches.

VI.

Then was the council call'd-by their advice, (They deem'd the matter ticklish all, and nice, And sought to shift it off from their own

shoulders,)

Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent,
To call a sort of Eastern Parliament

Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders—
Such have the Persians at this very day,
My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai ;-
I'm not prepared to show in this slight song
That to Serendib the same forms belong,—
F'en let the learn'd go search, and tell me if I'm
wrong.

1 [For these hard words see D'Herbelot, or the learned editor of the Recipes of Avicenna.]

2 See Sir John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia.

VII.

1

The Omrahs, each with hand on scymitar, Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for war"The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath

Too long has slept, nor own'd the work of death; Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle,

Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of battle! This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's day, Shall from his kindled bosom flit away,

When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round, And the arm'd elephant shall shake the ground. Each noble pants to own the glorious snmmonsAnd for the charges-Lo! your faithful Commons!"

The Riots who attended in their places

(Serendib language calls a farmer Riot) Look'd ruefully in one another's faces,

From this oration auguring much disquiet, Double assessment, forage, and free quarters; And fearing these as China-men the Tartars, Or as the whisker'd vermin fear the mousers, Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers.

VIII.

And next came forth the reverend Convocation, Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban

green,

Imaum and Mollah there of every station,

Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. 1 Nobility.

Their votes were various-some advised a Mosque
With fitting revenues should be erected,
With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque,
To recreate a band of priests selected;
Others opined that through the realms a dole
Be made to holy men, whose prayers might
profit

The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul.

But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul-Sofit, More closely touch'd the point;—" Thy studious mood,"

Quoth he, "O Prince! hath thicken'd all thy blood,

And dull'd thy brain with labour beyond measure; Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasure; And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure; From all the cares of state, my Liege, enlarge thee,

And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy."

IX.

These counsels sage availed not a whit,

And so the patient (as is not uncommon
Where grave physicians lose their time and wit)
Resolved to take advice of an old woman;
His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous,
And still was call'd so by each subject duteous.
Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest,

Or only made believe, I cannot say—
But she profess'd to cure disease the sternest,

By dint of magic amulet or lay;

And, when all other skill in vain was shown,
She deem'd it fitting time to use her own.

X.

"Sympathia magica hath wonders done,"
(Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son,)
"It works upon the fibres and the pores,
And thus, insensibly, our health restores,
And it must help us here.-Thou must endure
The ill, my son, or travel for the cure.

Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can,
The inmost vesture of a happy man,

I mean his SHIRT, my son; which, taken warm And fresh from off his back, shall chase your harm,

Bid every current of your veins rejoice,

;

And your dull heart leap light as shepherd-boy's." Such was the counsel from his mother came ;I know not if she had some under-game, As Doctors have, who bid their patients roam And live abroad, when sure to die at home; Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen-Mother; . But, says the Chronicle, (who will go look it,) That such was her advice-the Sultaun took it.

XI.

All are on board-the Sultaun and his train,
In gilded galley prompt to plough the main.