THE AHKOND OF SWAT

by: Edward Lear (1812-1888)

      HO, or why, or which, or what,
      Is the Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
      Does he sit on a stool or sofa or chair,
      Or squat,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
      Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
      Or Hot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
      And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk,
      Or Trot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he wear a turban, a fez or a hat?
      Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed or a mat,
      Or a Cot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
      Does he cross his t's and finish his i's
      With a Dot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Can he write a letter concisely clear,
      Without a speck or a smudge or smear
      Or Blot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Do his people like him extremely well?
      Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
      Or Plot,
      At the Ahkond of Swat?
       
      If he catches them then, either old or young,
      Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
      Or Shot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Do his people prig in the lanes or park?
      Or even at times, when days are dark,
      Garotte?
      Oh, the Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
      Or doesn't he care for public opinion,
      A Jot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      To amuse his mind do his people show him
      Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
      Or What,
      For the Ahkond of Swat?
       
      At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
      Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
      Or a Lot,
      For the Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he live on turnips, tea or tripe,
      Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
      Or a Dot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
      Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
      Shalott,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
      Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or a Russ,
      Or a Scot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he like to sit by the calm blue wave?
      Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
      Or a Grott,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
      Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
      Or a Pot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
      When she lets the gooseberries grow too ripe,
      Or Rot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he wear a white tie when he dines with his friends,
      And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
      Or a Knot,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
      When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
      Or Not,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
      Does he sail about on an inland lake,
      In a Yacht,
      The Ahkond of Swat?
       
      Some one, or nobody knows I wot
      Who or which or why or what
      Is the Ahkond of Swat!

"The Ahkond of Swat" is reprinted from A Nonsense Anthology. Ed. Carolyn Wells. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1915.

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