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Posts Tagged ‘parried and thrust’

The sons of the prophet are brave men and bold,
And quite unaccustomed to fear, –
But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah
Was Abdul A-bul-bul A-Mir. 

If you wanted a man to encourage the van
Or harass the foe from the rear,
Storm fort or redoubt, you had only to shout
For Abdul A-bul-bul A-Mir. 

Now the heroes were plenty and well known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Czar,
And the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. 

He could imitate Irving, play poker and pool,
And strum on the Spanish guitar,
In fact quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. 

One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun,
And donned his most truculent sneer,
Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul A-bul-bul A-Mir. 

“Young man,” quoth Abdul, “has life grown so dull
That you wish to end your career?
Vile infidel, know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul A-bul-bul A-Mir. 

“So take your last look at sunshine and brook,
And send your regrets to the Czar –
For by this I imply, you are going to die,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar!” 

Then this bold Mameluke drew his trusty skibouk,
With a cry of “Allah Akbar,”
And with murderous intent he ferociously went
For Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. 

They parried and thrust, they sidestepped and cussed,
Of blood they spilled a great part;
The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,
Say that hash was first made on that spot. 

They fought all that night, ‘neath the pale yellow moon,
The din, it was heard from afar,
And huge multitudes came, so great was the fame,
Of Abdul and Ivan Skavar. 

As Abdul’s long knife was extracting the life,
In fact he was shouting, “Huzzah,”
He felt himself struck by that wily Calmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. 

The Sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly,
Expecting the victor to cheer,
But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh
Of Abdul A-bul-bul A-Mir. 

Czar Petrovitch too, in his spectacles blue,
Rode up in his new-crested car.
He arrived just in time to exchange a last line,
With Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. 

There’s a tomb rises up where the Blue Danube rolls,
And ‘graved there in characters clear,
Are, “Stranger, when passing, oh pray for the soul
Of Abdul A-bul-bul A-Mir.

A splash in the Black Sea one dark moonless night,
Caused ripples to spread wide and far,
It was made by a sack fitting close to the back
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. 

A Muscovite maiden her love vigil keeps,
‘Neath the light of the pale polar star,
And the name that she murmurs so oft as she weeps
Is Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.

 

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