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?