Analysis of Ben Allah Achmet, or, the Fatal Tum
I once did know a Turkish man
Whom I upon a two-pair-back met,
His name it was EFFENDI KHAN
BACKSHEESH PASHA BEN ALLAH ACHMET.
A DOCTOR BROWN I also knew -
I've often eaten of his bounty;
The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,
In Sussex, that delightful county!
I knew a nice young lady there,
Her name was EMILY MACPHERSON,
And though she wore another's hair,
She was an interesting person.
The Turk adored the maid of Hooe
(Although his harem would have shocked her).
But BROWN adored that maiden too:
He was a most seductive doctor.
They'd follow her where'er she'd go -
A course of action most improper;
She neither knew by sight, and so
For neither of them cared a copper.
BROWN did not know that Turkish male,
He might have been his sainted mother:
The people in this simple tale
Are total strangers to each other.
One day that Turk he sickened sore,
And suffered agonies oppressive;
He threw himself upon the floor
And rolled about in pain excessive.
It made him moan, it made him groan,
And almost wore him to a mummy.
Why should I hesitate to own
That pain was in his little tummy?
At length a doctor came, and rung
(As ALLAH ACHMET had desired),
Who felt his pulse, looked up his tongue,
And hemmed and hawed, and then inquired:
"Where is the pain that long has preyed
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,
And DOCTOR BROWN grew deadly pasty,
"Now see the mischief that you've done -
You Turks are so extremely hasty.
"There are two DOCTOR BROWNS in Hooe -
HE'S short and stout, I'M tall and wizen;
You've been and run the wrong one through,
That's how the error has arisen."
The accident was thus explained,
Apologies were only heard now:
"At my mistake I'm really pained -
I am, indeed - upon my word now.
"With me, sir, you shall be interred,
A mausoleum grand awaits me."
"Oh, pray don't say another word,
I'm sure that more than compensates me.
"But p'r'aps, kind Turk, you're full inside?"
"There's room," said he, "for any number."
And so they laid them down and died.
In proud Stamboul they sleep their slumber.
Scheme | XAXA BCDC EFEF DGBG HGHG IGIG JKJK LCLC MNMN XGXG OPOX QXQR STST XPRP UPUP FAFC DFBF VWVW NCNC XGXG |
---|---|
Poetic Form | Quatrain (90%) Etheree (29%) Tetractys (20%) |
Metre | 11110101 110101111 111111 1011101 01011101 110101110 01011111 010101010 11011101 011100010 01110101 11110010 01010111 11101110 11011101 110101010 11001011 011101010 11011101 110111010 11111101 111111010 01001101 110101110 11111101 010100010 11010101 010101010 11111111 01111010 1111011 111011010 11010101 11011010 11111111 010101010 11011111 011011011 01110101 110101111 11011101 11110111 11011111 111111010 01110111 010111110 01101101 110011010 11110111 111100110 11111111 01110010 11111101 111111111 11010100 010101011 1111101 010101011 01110101 010001111 01100101 01011101 11010111 111101010 11110101 110111010 11010111 110101010 01001101 010001011 11011101 110101111 1111111 00101011 11110101 11111101 11111101 111111010 01111101 01111110 |
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 2,813 |
Words | 553 |
Sentences | 32 |
Stanzas | 20 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
Lines Amount | 80 |
Letters per line (avg) | 27 |
Words per line (avg) | 7 |
Letters per stanza (avg) | 109 |
Words per stanza (avg) | 27 |
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 2:48 min read
- 65 Views
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"Ben Allah Achmet, or, the Fatal Tum" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem-analysis/41210/ben-allah-achmet%2C-or%2C-the-fatal-tum>.
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