Classic Poem

“I am that famous, shameless libertine
Whose days and nights were passed twixt sleep and wine!
Although my belly daily larger grows,
My strength is waning like the melting snows.
Could I to Tihrán once an entrance gain
Its people butcher-like I'd cleave in twain,
And its inhabitants, both great and small,
With shot and shrapnel I would dose them all!
As for the Regent, off his head should go,
Who caused my projects to miscarry so;
And with my pen-knife out the eyes I'd bring
Of Sultán Ahmad Sháh, the reigning king;
Out the Sardár-i-As'ad's heart I'd take,
And the Sipahdár into mince-meat make;
The Parliament with cannons I would shake,
For freedom's balm to me's a poisoned snake;
And, by my worthless Northern Friend's advice,
I'd crush the folk, as though they were but lice;
The Deputies to one long rope I'd tie,
And topsy-turvy turn the Ministry
Now in the dust my head is bowed, and I
Glide like a serpent from the Nation's eye.
A hundred thousand guineas in a year
I wrung as ‘road-tax’ from the people's fear.
The ‘Sea of Light,’ gold, rubies beyond price
I squandered on my drinking bouts and dice.
To please my Russian mistress when she's glum
I play the tambourine and beat the drum.
How in Odessa, when my funds ran low,
To Belgium sped my agents, all men know
Only to change my name I did decide—
‘Muhammad Husayn, rascal double-dyed’
Although the vulgar call me ‘ Mamdalí ’
I'm not ‘ dalí ’; in wits few equal me!
The people's blood in streams I'll cause to pour
From Astarábád unto Sabzawár!
To Ardabíl Mujallal swift doth hie;
Alas! Ill-fortune bears him company!
Arshadu'd-Dawla , like a tortoise slow,
At Urmiya about my work doth go.
My flag at Gyumush-tepé I display,
Hoping in ruins town and land to lay
Thought of three foes my heart with hate doth freeze—
The Bakhtiyárís, Gílán and Tabríz.
But most of all Tabríz—that ruined land
Where Sattár Khán this conflagration planned.
I weep to think that one escaped alive
Of those my foes who in the Park did strive.
Should Tihrán once again become my share
Not one of all its people will I spare
Of grocer, baker and of caterer,
Of druggist, butcher and of fruiterer,
Townsman and peasant, toilers without rest,
Of aged men and children at the breast,
Of blacksmith, joiner, carpenter therewith,
Of draper and of pedlar and goldsmith,
The blood in such wise on the earth I'll shed
That it shall form a sea with waves of red!
But cruel fate has tied my hands, alack!
And fortune sinister doth break my back!
I'm poor, I'm poor, I'm poor, I'm poor indeed;
I have not, have not, have not, aught I need!
O belly, belly, belly, belly mine,
'Tis you who cause me thus to grieve and pine!
To thee, Bahádur, greetings do I send;
Where art thou? Help me, O my trusty friend!
Sardár Muhiyy, I hear, hath marched from Ray,
And wends towards Mázandarán his way
This time, for all my bulging paunch, I feel
That on the gibbet I shall dance a reel!
With empty purse and brains of sense bereft,
I've neither foot to fly nor refuge left!”