He says: "No one could vanquish me
Were I not just a trifle ill to-day."
Qaddour, the little cock, the drummer-boy,
Who hangs on walls and colors houses here
Or tars roofs with his mates, exclaims: "I took
This voyage just to get a bit of air."
Koutchouk stayed here, he did not go away.
Fresh apricots he sells down in the square.
"Repose," he murmurs, "is the best of foods,
And here my little heart shall stay in peace."
When Abd-el-Quader, undertaker's son.
Falls in his fits of folly, he binds round
His figure with a cord and does not lie
Inert and stiff. But still they scorpions see
In Altai's hand, Chaouch of Aissaoua.
Faradjy--fop--eats fire and fig-leaves now;
The while Hasan the Rat excites him on
To doughty deeds with his loud tambourine.
Playing with all his might and all his soul.
They dragged the hedge-rows green of El Qettar
To pay this tribute to the Emperor.
That fop, Ben Zerfa, who chopped hashish seeds
Among us here, said: "We have had good luck
This summer, and I'm going to pay my debts.
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