enemy, and the eye of the King my master is on him. Now I conceive thy assistance in this matter, O Shibli Bagarag,—thou, a barber.'
When Shibli Bagarag heard mention of Shagpat, and the desire for vengeance in the Vizier, he was as a new man, and he smelt the sweetness of his own revenge as a vulture smelleth the carrion from afar, and he said, 'I am thy servant, thy slave, O Vizier!' Then smiled he as to his own soul, and he exclaimed, 'On my head be it!'
And it was to him as when sudden gusts of perfume from garden roses of the valley meet the traveller's nostril on the hill that overlooketh the valley, filling him with ecstasy and newness of life, delicate visions. And he cried, 'Wullahy! this is fair; this is well! I am he that was appointed to do thy work, O man in office! What says the poet?—
"The destined hand doth strike the fated blow:
Surely the arrow's fitted to the bow!"
And he says:
"The feathered seed for the wind delayeth,
The wind above the garden swayeth,
The garden of its burden knoweth,
The burden falleth, sinketh, soweth."'
So the Vizier chuckled and nodded, saying, 'Right, right! aptly spoken, O youth of favour! 'Tis even so, and there is wisdom in what is written:
"Chance is a poor knave;
Its own sad slave;
Two meet that were to meet:
Life's no cheat."'
Upon that he cried, 'First let us have with us the Eclipser of Reason, and take counsel with her, as is my custom.'
