The curs of the street dog his heels, as he goes, And the
scurviest rascal may rail at the wight.
If he lift up his voice to complain of his case, He finds not a
soul who will pity his plight.
Since such is the life and the lot of the poor, It were better he
lay in the graveyard forthright!
When the Khalif heard this, he said to Jaafer, 'See yonder poor
man and note his verses, for they show his necessity.' Then he
went up to him and said, 'O old man, what is thy trade?' 'O my
lord,' replied he, 'I am a fisherman, with a family to maintain;
and I have been out since mid-day, but God has not vouchsafed me
aught wherewith to feed them, and indeed I abhor myself and wish
for death.' Quoth the Khalif, 'Wilt thou go back with me to the
Tigris and cast thy net yet once more on my account, and I will
buy of thee whatever comes up for a hundred dinars?' 'On my head
be it!' answered the fisherman joyfully. 'I will go back with
you.' So he returned with them to the river-bank and cast his net
and waited awhile, then drew it up and found in it a chest,
locked and heavy. The Khalif lifted it and found it weighty; so
he gave the fisherman a hundred dinars, and he went his way;
whilst Mesrour carried the chest to the palace, where he set it
down before the Khalif and lighted the candles. Then Jaafer and
Mesrour broke open the chest and found in it a basket of
palm-leaves, sewn together with red worsted.
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