A poor little lad was Aladdin!

His mother was wretchedly poor;

A widow, who scarce ever had in

Her cupboard enough of a store

To frighten the wolf from the door.

No doubt he was quite a fine fellow

For the country he lived in—but, ah!

His skin was a dull, dusky yellow,

And his hair was as long as ’twould grow.

(’Tis the fashion in China, you know.)