Ali was cruel--a most cruel one! ’Tis rumour’d he had strangled his own mother-- Howbeit such deeds of darkness he had done, ’Tis thought he would have slain his elder brother And sister too--but happily that none Did live within _harm’s_ length of one another, Else he had sent the Sun in all its blaze To endless night, and shorten’d the Moon’s days. Despotic power, that mars a weak man’s wit, And makes a bad man--absolutely bad, Made Ali wicked--to a fault:--’tis fit Monarchs should have some check-strings; but he had No curb upon his will--no not a _bit_-- Wherefore he did not reign well--and full glad His slaves had been to hang him--but they falter’d, And let him live unhang’d--and still unalter’d, Until he got a sage-bush of a beard, Wherein an Attic owl might roost--a trail Of bristly hair--that, honour’d and unshear’d, Grew downward like old women and cow’s tail: Being a sign of age--some gray appear’d, Mingling with duskier brown its warnings pale; But yet not so poetic as when Time Comes like Jack Frost, and whitens it in rime. Ben Ali took the hint, and much did vex His royal bosom that he had no son, No living child of the more noble sex, To stand in his Morocco shoes--not one To make a negro-pollard--or tread necks When he was gone--doom’d, when his days were done, To leave the very city of his fame Without an Ali to keep up his name. Therefore he chose a lady for his love, Singling from out the herd one stag-eyed dear So call’d, because her lustrous eyes, above All eyes, were dark, and timorous, and clear; Then, through his Muftis piously he strove, And drumm’d with proxy-prayers Mohammed’s ear, Knowing a boy for certain must come of it, Or else he was not praying to his _Profit_. Beer will grow _mothery_, and ladies fair Will grow like beer; so did that stag-eyed dame: Ben Ali, hoping for a son and heir, Boy’d up his hopes, and even chose a name Of mighty hero that his child should bear; He made so certain ere his chicken came: But oh! all worldly wit is little worth, Nor knoweth what to-morrow will bring forth. To-morrow came, and with to-morrow’s sun A little daughter to this world of sins;-- _Miss_-fortunes never come alone--so one Brought on another, like a pair of twins: Twins! female twins!--it was enough to stun Their little wits and scare them from their skins To hear their father stamp, and curse and swear, Pulling his beard because he had no heir.