A Fiddler and a Castrato

  July 4, 2005

(By Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin, 1835.
Translated from the Russian by A. Baylin.)


A poor fiddler called upon
A rich castrato in his salon.
The singer dickless said: “Behold
My precious gems, my priceless gold.
When I grow bored, I count my treasure.
And you, my friend, for your own pleasure
What do you do?  What thing enthralls,
Diverts and keeps you occupied?”
The poor man to him replied:
“Me?  I just sit and scratch my balls.”


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