Chapter I: Story of Mamun and his Slave

When the turn of Mamun to be Caliph arrived,To purchase a beautiful maid he contrived—In body a rosebush, in visage a sun,With the wisdom of sages, a frolicsome one.On the blood of beloved ones, her fingers impinged;Her nails with the juice of the jujube were tinged.There appeared on her saint-luring eyebrows a dye,Like a rainbow arched over the sun in the sky.In the night-time, that idol, celestial in race,Would not yield herself up to Mamun's fond embrace.Within him, the burning of rage mighty grew ;Her head, like the twins, he would fain cut in two.She exclaimed, "Lo! my head, with the sword strike it free !But indulge not in sleeping and rising with me !"He asked her, " By whom has your mind been distressed ?What habit have I, that you seem to detest ?"She replied, "If you kill me or split up my head,From the smell of your mouth I am sick and in dread ;The arrow of war, and oppression's sword hitIn a moment, a foul breath destroys bit by bit."The fortunate chief heard this honest address :He was greatly afflicted and writhed, in distress.Though his heart, for the time, at her speaking was pained,He took drugs and a breath sweet as rose-blossoms gained.He made comrade and friend of the fairy-faced maid ;"For my faults she has told and a friend's part has played."To me, it appears that the man is your friend,Who points out the thorns on the way you must wend.You succeed very well by declaring what's wrong;Oppression is perfect and tyranny strong !Whenever they tell not your faults to your face,You in ignorance reckon your fault as a grace!Do not say that sweet honey's a drug, that will suitAny person, requiring some scammony root.How well spoke the man, who had medicines to sell—"You must drink bitter draughts if you wish to get well,Well strained through the sieve of the knowledge divine,With the honey of Piety blended up fine."