Classic Poem

Three queer little brothers lived once at Bagdad;
Their tempers were sorry, their persons were bad;
For each on his back had a notable hump;
And each of them looked like a pollarded stump.

These Humpies were cutlers and clever ones too:
Through steel they obtained gold and silver anew;
For many a stout swordsman or noble would stop
To purchase the armour that brightened their shop.

One morning, as two of this beautiful three
Were wending together a neighbour to see,
They met, by ill fortune, a nobleman's son,
A youth much addicted to frolic and fun.

— Fair creatures — , cried he, — with what joy should I jump,
If one of you would but lend me his hump! —
— Take that! — cried the foremost, and gave him a poke:
To jeer at a cutler he found was no joke.

The wounded man's Father was vastly concerned;
Against both the brothers he blustered and burned:
To hold them he soon made the city too hot;
And so they made off to a far-away spot.

While they roamed about in regret and vexation,
The butt of ill luck and a prey to starvation,
Their brother at home was increasing his store,
And hoping they'd never come back any more.

Not seeing his person reflected in theirs,
He fancied it handsome and gave himself airs,
And thought it no very bad change in his life
To part with two brothers and take to a wife.

The wand'rers at last, having heard of his wealth,
Resolved they would creep to his mansion by stealth;
Both felt a desire, which they scarce could repress,
To render his over-grown wealth somewhat less.

— He'll hearken — , said they, — to our pitful moan,
He's flesh of our flesh, and he's bone of our bone;
He's fashioned, 'tis plain, on the very same block:
And surely he'll open his door when we knock — .

By night they stole forth to his house at Bagdad,
And there an unbrotherly greeting they had;
— Hence wretches! — he cried, with a voice loud as thunder
— Your weapons of blood cut our union asunder — .

A brother devoid of affections fraternal
Is much like a nut that has never a kernel;
The wife, who had taken the brute for his money,
Compared to her husband, was sweeter than honey.

To her, in his absence, one day they applied;
They coaxed and entreated, and blubbered and sighed;
And she, being told that her charms were divine,
Would charm them still more with her bread, meat and wine.

But now the snug party are caught in a trap;
They hear an imperative ratta-tap-tap;
— There! stow yourselves down, 'mid the casks in the vault! —
The housewife exclaims, and they run without halt.

While they in the cellar squat down in the dark,
The dame at the door is admitting her spark,
Who snapped, snuffed and snarled like an ill-natured hound;
But ne'er smelt the rats which were lodged underground.

Again he goes forth to his spouse's delight;
She hies to the cellar and sees a strange sight:
For there lie the Humpies apparently dead,
And each near a hogshead reclining his head.

I've heard about rats, that grew tipsily frisky
By dipping their tails into bottles of whisky:
Invention is sharpened good liquor to win,
But senses steal out as the nectar flows in.

No mourning had they from their sister-in-law;
She carefully shrowded them under some straw;
And then with posthaste a stout Porter she fetches,
And shows number one of the two little wretches.

Says she, my good fellow, just lend me your back;
And shut up your mouth, though you open your sack:
Convey to the river what there you behold,
And when you return you shall carry off gold.

The Porter obeyed without hint or remark;
The way to the Tigris he knew in the dark;
He heard, he was certain, a pop and a splash,
And fully expected to handle the cash.

But when he got back, just conceive his affright! —
He seems to behold by the Camp's gloomy light
The very same man with a hump on his back,
Whom lately he carried away in a sack!

The lady exclaimed, — How you stare like a dunce!
Why don't you go off with the body at once? —
This Porter's broad back, if the truth must be said,
Was harder and stronger by far than his head.

— I own Ma'am — , said he, — I'd have readily sworn,
That this here odd fellow these shoulders had borne,
That down to the brink of the river he went,
And into the depth of the current was sent:

— But since there he lies, all my words to confute,
This business I'll do without further dispute — .
So thinking his heretofore journey a dream,
The second poor tippler he lodged in the stream.

Again he returns and draws nigh to the door,
And looks all around him, behind and before;
He lifts up his hand and is going to knock;
And now lets it fall and stands still as a stock.

And why does his vigour thus suddenly fail?
Has he spied a ghost by the moonlight pale?
He thinks he espies, and his flesh doth quiver,
The very same man he has flung in the river.

For sturdily strutting, as who but he,
Home comes the third of the hump-backed three:
How little he thinks, as he draws to the door,
That he never shall enter that house any more!

Whatever we secretly do that is wrong
Will rise to waylay and torment us ere long;
So thought the stout Porter, whose conscience was sold;
And yet he determined to pocket the gold.

— For shame! — bellowed he, — is it thus ye conspire
To cheat a poor hard-working man of his hire?
This time I'll take care you shall play me no tricks,
The next ground you tread is the border of Styx — .

Next moment he's hoisting him over his back,
Along with a stone tightly tied in his sack;
He bears to the river this ponderous lump,
And overboard shoves it and down it goes plump.

Then back he repairs to the house of the dame,
Advance of his wages intending to claim:
And tells her the trouble and plague he has had,
And whom he had met in the streets of Bagdad:

And how, without waiting to dawdle and talk,
He stopped him at once in the midst of his walk;
And how he would never more walk upon earth;
And how much hard cash such a service was worth.

The widow has heard his long tale to an end;
And now she begins her long tresses to rend;
And now she begins to lament and to rave,
And calls the stout Porter a blundering slave.

— You've murdered my husband! — 'tis really too bad! —
The sweetest and handsomest man in Bagdad;
This guerdon from me you may certainly hope,
A stout bastinado and lastly a rope — .

The Porter perceived that she said what she meant,
By steps which she took to fulfil her intent;
This truth in his mem'ry she chose to refresh,
That no one should come 'twixt the nail and the flesh,

And now she is publicly making her wail,
And telling the justice a pitiful tale;
When two of the Hunchbacks astonish her sight,
Both much better able to tell it aright.

For they had swum out of their terrible scrape;
And, not being bagged, had the power to escape;
On touching the water revived from their swoon,
And struggled to land by the light of the Moon.

Their brother his life was unable to save;
He did not lie under the sod but the wave;
But though he had ne'er shed a tear in his life,
Those waters were swelled by the tears of his wife.

A suitor at length this young widow consoled,
Well-made and good-natured and not without gold;
His brothers came in for two thirds of the money,
And married fair maids though their persons were funny.

By presents they managed their foes to appease,
And softened the hearts of the wrathful grandees;
To cutlery each of them gave up his mind,
But cutting and maiming for ever declined.

'Tis wrong to give thrusts or hard thumps in a passion,
To drink in a cellar's a very bad fashion;
But hard'ning the heart and denying the purse
To poor starving brothers I reckon much worse.