' Said the
Khalif, 'Wilt thou not tell us thy story and acquaint us with thy
case? Peradventure it may bring thee relief, for the help of God
is near at hand.' 'O fisher man,' said Noureddin, 'wilt thou hear
our story in prose or verse?' 'Prose is but words,' replied the
Khalif, 'but verse is strung pearls.' Then Noureddin bowed his
head and spoke the following verses.
O my friend, I have bidden farewell to repose, And the
anguish of exile has doubled my woes
I once had a father, who loved me right dear, But left me,
to dwell in the tombs, where all goes.
There fell on me after him hardship and pain And Fate broke
in pieces my heart with its blows.
He bought me a slave-girl, the fairest of maids; Her shape
shamed the branch and her colour the rose.
I wasted the substance he left me, alas! And lavished it
freely on these and on those,
Till for need I was minded to sell the fair maid, Though
sorely I grudged at the parting, God knows!
But lo! when the crier 'gan call her for sale, A scurvy old
skin-flint to bid for her chose.
At this I was angered beyond all control And snatched her
away ere the crier could close;
Whereupon the old rancorous curmudgeon flamed up With
despite and beset me with insults and blows.
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