Lo, Duhl the son of Sheybán comes riding to Hóseyn's tent, And he casts his saddle down, and enters and "Peace!" bids he. "You are poor, I know the cause: my plenty shall mend the wrong. 'Tis said of your Pearl--the price of a hundred camels spent In her purchase were scarce ill paid: such prudence is far from me Who proffer a thousand. Speak! Long parley may last too long."
Said Hóseyn "You feed young beasts a many, of famous breed, Slit-eared, unblemished, fat, true offspring of Múzennem: There stumbles no weak-eyed she in the line as it climbs the hill. But I love Muléykeh's face: her forefront whitens indeed Like a yellowish wave's cream-crest. Your camels--go gaze on them! Her fetlock is foam-splashed too. Myself am the richer still."
A year goes by: lo, back to the tent again rides Duhl. "You are open-hearted, ay--moist-handed, a very prince. Why should I speak of sale? Be the mare your simple gift! My son is pined to death for her beauty: my wife prompts 'Fool, Beg for his sake the Pearl! Be God the rewarder, since God pays debts seven for one: who squanders on Him shows thrift.'"
Said Hóseyn "God gives each man one life, like a lamp, then gives That lamp due measure of oil: lamp lighted--hold high, wave wide Its comfort for others to share! once quench it, what help is left? The oil of your lamp is your son: I shine while Muléykeh lives. Would I beg your son to cheer my dark if Muléykeh died? It is life against life: what good avails to the life-bereft?"
Another year, and--hist! What craft is it Duhl designs? He alights not at the door of the tent as he did last time, But, creeping behind, he gropes his stealthy way by the trench Half-round till he finds the flap in the folding, for night combines With the robber--and such is he: Duhl, covetous up to crime, Must wring from Hóseyn's grasp the Pearl, by whatever the wrench.
"He was hunger-bitten, I heard: I tempted with half my store, And a gibe was all my thanks. Is he generous like Spring dew? Account the fault to me who chaffered with such an one! He has killed, to feast chance comers, the creature he rode: nay, more-- For a couple of singing-girls his robe has he torn in two: I will beg! Yet I nowise gained by the tale of my wife and son.