Now the heart of the Caliph was touched at these cruel doings. His chest straitened and he lost all patience in his desire to know why the two bitches were so beaten. He threw a wink at Ja'afar, wishing him to ask, but the Minister, turning toward him, said by signs, "Be silent!" Then quoth the portress to the mistress of the house, "O my lady, arise and go to thy place, that I in turn may do my devoir." She answered, "Even so," and, taking her seat upon the couch of juniper wood, pargetted with gold and silver, said to the portress and cateress, "Now do ye what ye have to do." Thereupon the portress sat upon a low seat by the couch side, but the procuratrix, entering a closet, brought out of it a bag of satin with green fringes and two tassels of gold. She stood up before the lady of the house and, shaking the bag, drew out from it a lute which she tuned by tightening its pegs; and when it was in perfect order, she began to sing these quatrains:



"Ye are the wish, the aim of me,

And when, O love, thy sight I see,

The heavenlymansion openeth,

But Hell I see when lost thy sight.

From thee comes madness, nor the less

Comes highest joy, comes ecstasy.

Nor in my love for thee I fear

Or shame and blame, or hate and spite.

When Love was throned within my heart

I rent the veil of modesty,

And stints not Love to rend that veil,

Garring disgrace on grace to alight.

The robe of sickness then I donned,

But rent to rags was secrecy.

Wherefore my love and longing heart

Proclaim your high supremest might.

The teardrop railing adown my cheek

Telleth my tale of ignomy.

And all the hid was seen by all

And all my riddle ree'd aright.

Heal then my malady, for thou

Art malady and remedy!

But she whose cure is in thy hand

Shall ne'er be free of bane and blight.

Burn me those eyne that radiance rain,

Slay me the swords of phantasy.

How many hath the sword of Love

Laid low, their high degree despite?

Yet will I never cease to pine,

Nor to oblivion will I flee.

Love is my health, my faith, my joy,

Public and private, wrong or right.

O happy eyes that sight thy charms,

That gaze upon thee at their gree!

Yea, of my purest wish and will

The slave of Love I'll aye be hight."





When the damsel heard this elegy in quatrains, she cried out "Alas! Alas!" and rent her raiment, and fell to the ground fainting. And the Caliph saw scars of the palm rod on her back and welts of the whip, and marveled with exceeding wonder. Then the portress arose and sprinkled water on her and brought her a fresh and very fine dress and put it on her. But when the company beheld these doings, their minds were troubled, for they had no inkling of the case nor knew the story thereof. So the Caliph said to Ja'afar: "Didst thou not see the scars upon the damsel's body? I cannot keep silence or be at rest till I learn the truth of her condition and the story of this other maiden and the secret of the two black bitches." But Ja'afar answered: "O our lord, they made it a condition with us that we speak not of what concerneth us not, lest we come to hear what pleaseth us not."



Then said the portress, "By Allah, O my sister, come to me and complete this service for me." Replied the procuratrix, "With joy and goodly gree." So she took the lute and leaned it against her breasts and swept the strings with her finger tips, and began singing:



"Give back mine eyes their sleep long ravished,

And say me whither be my reason fled.

I learnt that lending to thy love a place,

Sleep to mine eyelids mortal foe was made.

They said, `We held thee righteous. Who waylaid

Thy soul?' 'Go ask his glorious eyes,' I said.

I pardon all my blood he pleased to shed.

Owning his troubles drove him blood to shed.

On my mind's mirror sunlike sheen he cast,

Whose keen reflection fire in vitals bred.

Waters of Life let Allah waste at will,

Suffice my wage those lips of dewy red.

And thou address my love thou'lt find a cause

For plaint and tears or ruth or lustilied.

In water pure his form shall greet your eyne,

When fails the bowl nor need ye drink of wine."



Then she quoted from the same ode:



"I drank, but the draught of his glance, not wine,

And his swaying gait swayed to sleep these eyne.

'Twas not grape juice gript me but grasp of Past,

'Twas not bowl o'erbowled me but gifts divine.

His coiling curllets my soul ennetted

And his cruel will all my wits outwitted."



After a pause she resumed:



"If we 'plain of absence, what shall we say?

Or if pain afflict us, where wend our way?

An I hire a truchman to tell my tale,

The lovers' plaint is not told for pay.

If I put on patience, a lover's life

After loss of love will not last a day.

Naught is left me now but regret, repine,

And tears flooding cheeks forever and aye.

O thou who the babes of these eyes hast fled,

Thou art homed in heart that shall never stray.

Would Heaven I wot hast thou kept our pact

Long as stream shall flow, to have firmest fay?

Or hast forgotten the weeping slave,

Whom groans afflict and whom griefs waylay?

Ah, when severance ends and we side by side

Couch, I'll blame thy rigors and chide thy pride!"
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