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A maiden from the Bosporus,
     with eyes as bright as phosphorus,
Once wed the mighty bailiff
     of the caliph of Kelat.
Though diligent and zealous,
     he was somewhat prone to jealousy,
(Considering her beauty,
     'twas his duty to be that!)

cho: Yuazuram,

oh yuazuram,
     Glory hallelujah,


It might be mentioned, casually,
     that blue as lapuz lazuli,
He dyed his lips, his lashes,
     his mustaches and his beard.
And, just because he did it, he
     aroused his wife's timidity;
Her terror she dissembled,
     yet she trembled when he neared.

This feeling insalubrious
     soon made her most lugubrious,
And bitterly she missed her
     elder sister, Marie Anne;
She asked if she might write her to
     come down and spend a night or two,
And Bluebeard answered rightly
     and politely, "yes, you can!"

When business would necessitate
     a journey, he would hesitate,
But, fearing to mistrust her,
     he would trust her with the keys,
Bidding her most prayerfully,
     "I beg you'll use them carefully.
Don't look what I deposit
     in the closet, if you please."

Bluebeard, the Monday following,
     his jealous feeling swallowing,
Packed all his clothes together
     in a leather-bound valise,
And, feigning business, sensibly,
     he started out, ostensibly
By traveling to learn a
     bit of Smyrna and of Greece.

His wife made but a cursory
     inspection of the nursery,
The kitchen and the airy
     little dairy were a bore,
Likewise the large and scanty rooms,
     the billiard, bath, and ante-rooms,
But not that interdicted
     and restricted little door!

At last, her curiosity
     awakened by the closet he
So carefully had hidden,
     and forbidden her to see,
This damsel disobedient
     did something inexpedient,
And in the keyhole tiny
     turned the shiny little key.

She shrieked aloud convulsively
     and started back repulsively
Ten heads of girls he'd wedded
     and beheaded met her eye!
And turning 'round, most terrified,
     her darkest fears were verified,
For Bluebeard stood behind her,
     come to find her on the sly!

Perceiving she was fated to
     be soon decapitated, too,
She telegraphed her brothers
     and some others what she feared.
And Sister Anne looked out for them,
     in readiness to shout for them
Whenever in the distance
     with assistance they appeared.

But only from the battlement
     she saw some dust that cattle meant.
The ordinary story
     isn't gory, it's a jest!
For here's the truth unqualified,
     her husband wasn't mollified
Her head is in his bloody
     little study with the rest !

Note: I don't know who wrote this, but it sounds like Newman
     Levy. Anybody know? RG