to be a guest of his guests; whilst in like manner these two made much of me, taking me for a friend of their friend the house-master. Thus I was the object of politest attentions till we had drunk several cups of wine and there came into us a damsel as she were a willow wand of the utmost beauty and elegance, who took a lute and playing a lively measure, sang these couplets,
'Is it not strange one house us two contain * And still thou
draw'st not near, or talk we twain?
Only our eyes tell secrets of our souls, * And broken hearts by
lovers' fiery pain;
Winks with the eyelids, signs the eyebrow knows; * Languishing
looks and hand saluting fain.'
When I heard these words my vitals were stirred, O Commander of the Faithful, and I was moved to delight, for her excessive loveliness and the beauty of the verses she sang; and I envied her her skill and said, 'There lacketh somewhat to thee, O damsel!' Whereupon she threw the lute from her hand in anger, and cried, 'Since when are ye wont to bring ill-mannered louts into your assemblies?' Then I repented of what I had done, seeing the company vexed with me, and I said in my mind, 'My hopes are lost by me'; and I weeted no way of escaping blame but to call for a lute, saying, 'I will show you what escaped her in the air she played.' Quoth the folk, 'We hear and obey'; so they brought me a lute and I tuned the strings and sang these verses,
'This is thy friend perplexed for pain and pine, * Th' enamoured,
down whose breast course drops of brine:
He hath this hand to the Compassionate raised * For winning wish,
and that on hearts is lien:
O thou who seest one love-perishing, * His death is caused by
those hands and eyne!'[1]
Whereupon the damsel sprang up and throwing herself at my feet, kissed them and said, 'It is thine to excuse, O my Master! By Allah, I knew not thy quality nor heard I ever the like of this performance!' And all began extolling me and making much of me, being beyond measure delighted' and at last they besought me to
- ↑ Lit. "by his (i.e. her) hand," etc. Hence Lane (ii. 507) makes nonsense of the line.
