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 Doctor Brown,
"So this is Turkish coyness, is it?
You must contrive to fight it down--
Come, come, sir, please to be explicit."

The Turk he shyly bit his thumb,
And coyly blushed like one half-witted,
"The pain is in my little tum,"
He, whispering, at length admitted.

"Then take you this, and take you that--
Your blood flows sluggish in its channel--
You must get rid of all this fat,
And wear my medicated flannel.

"You'll send for me, when you're in need--
My name is Brown--your life I've saved it!"
"My rival!" shrieked the invalid,
And drew a mighty sword and waved it.

"This to thy weazand, Christian pest!"
Aloud the Turk in frenzy yelled it,
And drove right through the Doctor's chest
The sabre and the hand that held it.

The blow was a decisive one,