ious painters daily vie
To limn her rosy cheek, her flashing eye,
Her perfect form, and noble, easy grace,
Her flowing ebon locks and radiant face.
Her charms defy all portraiture: no hand
Can reproduce her air of sweet command.
Yet e'en such counterfeits, from foreign parts
Attract fresh suitors,--win all hearts.
But she, whose outward semblance thus appears
To be Love's temple, such fierce hatred bears
To all marital sway, or marriage tie,
That rather than submit to man, she'd die.
Great kings and princes, all have sued in vain,
One glance of love or pity to obtain.

KALAF.

In Keicobad I heard this oft-told tale,
But thought it paradoxical--and stale.

BARAK.

'Tis true. Her poor old father's in despair,
For China's throne is now without an heir;
He longs for her to wed some prince or other,
And not perplex him with continual bother.
He's of an age to live in peace and quiet,
And not be plagued with wars and civil riot;
He's tried all means his daughter's mind to soften,
Has often sternly threatened--coaxed as often;
Used prayers for such a monarch _infra dig_--
But all in vain; she's headstrong as a pig.
At length she said she'd make a compromise,
The Khan consented--(he's not over-wise!)
His artful daughter wheedled him to swear,
By great Fo-hi, that she should never wear
The hateful Hymeneal yoke, unless
Some suitor for her hand should rightly guess
Three difficult conundrums by herself composed:
But if the man who for her hand proposed
Should fail to solve her problems--then his pate
Should be struck off, and grace the city-gate.

KALAF.

Why, what a tigress must this Princess be!
I never heard such cruelty--Bless me!

BARAK.

Already kings and princes by the dozen
She's managed by her subtlety to cozen;
For she's so clever that she always diddles
The keenest wits by her confounding riddles.

KALAF.

As wife, decidedly I should decline her,
She's made of dragon-pattern stony China.
What fools her suitors are, their hearts to fix on
So termagant and bloodthirsty a vixen!

BARAK.

So fascinating is she, none withstand her,
All men for her do nothing but philander.
Behold on yonder gate the ghastly row
Of livid heads set up in dismal show.
All these belonged to men who dared to hope
With Turandot in subtlety to cope.
To-day a prince is led to execution,
Who failed to give her riddles due solution.
That is the reason of the noise you hear,
Pray go not to the town.