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When she had finished, I said to her, “O my cousin, let thy mourning suffice thee: for weeping profiteth nothing.” She replied, “Thwart me not, or I will kill myself.” So I held my peace and let her go her way: and she ceased not to mourn and weep for the space of another year. At the end of the third year, I came into the mausoleum one day, vexed at something that had crossed me and weary of this excessive affliction, and found her by the tomb under the dome, saying, “O my lord, I never hear thee speak to me, no, not one word. Why dost thou not answer me, O my lord?” And she recited the following verses:
O tomb, O tomb, have his beauties ceased, or does thy light indeed, The sheen of the radiant countenance, no more in thee abound?
O tomb, O tomb, thou art neither earth nor heaven unto me: How comes it then that sun and moon at once in thee are found?
When I heard this, it added wrath to my wrath, and I said, “Alas! how much more of this mourning?” and I repeated the following [parody of her] verses:
O tomb, O tomb, has his blackness ceased, or does thy light indeed, The sheen of the filthy countenance, no more in thee abound?
O tomb, thou art neither kitchen-stove nor sewer-pool for me! How comes it then that mire and coal at once in thee are found?
When she heard this, she sprang to her feet and said, “Out on thee, thou dog! it was thou that didst thus with me and woundedst the beloved of my heart and hast afflicted me and wasted his youth, so that these three years he hath lain, neither dead nor alive!” “O foulest of harlots and filthiest of whorish doxies of hired slaves,” answered I, “it was indeed I who did this!” And I drew my sword and made at her to kill her; but she laughed and said, “Avaunt, thou dog! Thinkst thou that what is past can recur or the dead come back to life? Verily, God has given into my hand him who did this to me and against whom there was in my heart fire that might not be quenched
