M^^m^M-
 
 ORIENTAL TALES 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. HOPPNER, ESQ. R.A. 
 
 At vos exiguo pecori furesque lupique 
 Parcite ; de magno est praeda petenda grege. 
 
 Tibullus. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY W. BULMER AND CO. CLEVELAND-ROW ; 
 OR J. HATCHARDj BOOKSELLER TO HER MAJESTY, 
 
 OPPOSITE ALBANY PLACE, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1805.
 
 i V- 
 
 rrT'/V 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 It would be affectation, on so slight an 
 occasion as the present, were I even qua- 
 lified for the task, to enter into an elabo- 
 rate enquiry concerning the origin and 
 progress of Tale writing. It may be suffi- 
 cient to hint, what I presume is pretty 
 generally allowed, that it took its rise in 
 the East, from whence, through the me- 
 dium of Persia, it spread, in the times of 
 the Caliphs, over the western world, 
 where it was eagerly received, and sedu- 
 louslv cultivated. 
 
 a
 
 11 PREFACE. 
 
 It will readily be supposed that my 
 acquaintance with the tales and apologues 
 of France and Italy is not very extensive ; 
 I cannot however refrain from observing, 
 that my surprise has been more than 
 once excited, during the perusal of the 
 few which have fallen under my hand, at 
 the little claim they have to originality. 
 In useful inventions Europe must un- 
 doubtedly take the lead, but in the pro- 
 ductions of fancy Asia has always been 
 pre-eminent. Pilpay, and other Oriental- 
 ists, have furnished Boccaccio and his 
 followers with their most amusing fables ; 
 and from the tenth to the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, the literature (if it may be so called) 
 of the south of Europe was confined to 
 little else but imitating and embellishing 
 them. 
 
 Enough of these discussions, to which 
 I am as little accustomed as equal ; — 1 feel
 
 PREFACE. HI 
 
 a more becoming solicitude to offer some 
 apology for laying these trifles before the 
 public, as they seem to draw my gravity 
 under suspicion ; and may probably be 
 thought too light even for the amusement 
 of a father who has five children, more 
 than one of whom is nearly arrived at 
 man's estate. But this circumstance, which 
 might have, been objected against me by 
 the more scrupulous, has indeed been 
 the accidental cause of my engaging in a 
 pursuit so remote from the regular course 
 of my studies. My eldest son having the 
 prospect of an appointment in India, the 
 attainment of the Persian language be- 
 came an essential point in his education ; 
 and among other books laid before him, 
 was the Tooti Nameh, or Tales of the 
 Parrot. It was in a translation of this 
 work that I first read the tale of " the 
 Ass and the Stag," the genuine merit of
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 which struck me so forcibly, as to engage 
 me in an attempt at putting it into verse, 
 where I conceived the humour and whim- 
 sical gravity of the dialogue would be 
 seen to more advantage. Whether I was 
 right in this conjecture will be ascertained 
 by those less partial than the most diffi- 
 dent author ever was supposed to be : and 
 to their decision I shall readily submit : 
 satisfied that what I may lose on the side 
 of vanity, I shall gain in a more just esti- 
 mation of my own powers, and in the 
 subsequent management of them accord 
 ingly. 
 
 Let it not however be inferred from 
 this, that I have the slightest intention of 
 ever making my appearance before the 
 public again as a Poet. I have too great 
 a reverence for this art, to suppose that 
 I may attain, at my leisure, what men with 
 pa-eater advantages have not been able to
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 acquire after the most diligent study. 
 My object in publishing these trifles was 
 rather to prove my love than display my 
 skill : and when I am called upon to shew 
 " some vanity of mine art," it shall be in 
 a mode in which I have a more legitimate 
 claim to attention and public favour. If 
 it be ursed that this demonstration of 
 attachment to excellence out of my pecu- 
 liar line of study was unnecessary, I reply 
 — that I cannot think so. Every thing 
 that artists may hope to achieve with the 
 view of raising themselves in the just 
 estimation of a public so little disposed in 
 their favour, should be attempted. The 
 general opinion entertained of the extent 
 of our acquisitions, is sufficiently indicated 
 in the judgment passed upon Sir Joshua 
 Reynold's Lectures: for, since they cannot 
 be styled clumsy performances, the honour 
 of bavins; written them has been awarded
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 to others, not only against the evidence of 
 commo i sense, but of men of the highest 
 respectability, who had ample means of 
 better information. 
 
 On what this hostility to English artists 
 is founded, it would perhaps be difficult to 
 guess. Few men act more discreetly, or 
 labour with greater diligence to obtain 
 that to which, in the present state of art 
 in Europe, they have decidedly the best 
 claim. The income arising from any libe- 
 ral profession, however <rreat it may be, 
 is not a sufficient stimulus to noble exer- 
 tions ; and those, therefore, cut off the 
 incitements to a virtuous ambition, who 
 withhold their praise. He who is con- 
 demned to pursue his studies with ideas 
 of loss and gain, will stop at that point 
 where exertion ceases to be profitable, 
 and labour to live now, instead of hereafter. 
 
 It is from this adverse spirit in the
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 Public, that our annual exhibitions are 
 received with an approbation so studi- 
 ously cold, while the affectation of dis- 
 appointed taste is marked with every 
 expression of contemptuous endurance. 
 This, if just, would be equally humiliating 
 and depressing : but it is impossible to 
 refrain from observing, that, if we are 
 disappointed in our hopes, our pride can 
 suffer but little from the fastidiousness of 
 those who only turn from us to glote 
 upon a species of painting as little regu- 
 lated by the feelings of art, as the country 
 from which it comes is by any sense of 
 morality and justice. It is not that the 
 French are behind us in the principles of 
 painting : neither are they behind Raf- 
 faelle or Titian — they are, to use a homely 
 phrase, out of the course ; they have not 
 even the merit of being vicious, as they 
 cannot so properly be said to labour in
 
 VIII PREFACE. 
 
 a bad taste, as to have no taste at all ! 
 Their school formerly provoked, at least, 
 a severity of criticism ; it now only ex- 
 cites contempt. 
 
 It may, I think, be maintained, that on 
 the taste of the artists depends at all 
 times that of the public — but the world 
 is ever more ready to receive bad im- 
 pressions than good. " How ill must he 
 be playing (said an Athenian, who heard 
 at a distance a performer on the flute) 
 since he receives such loud applauses from 
 the multitude !" 
 
 Johnson observes, in his Preface to 
 Shakspeare, " that it very often happens 
 that a wrong reading has affinity to the 
 right ;" this is applicable also to painting. 
 There are very indifferent pictures (and 
 if the public insist on it, they may class 
 all of the English school under this head) 
 that still bear relation to good art ; but
 
 PREFACE. IX 
 
 I have no difficulty in affirming that the 
 works of the present French school do not ; 
 and that, whether they be painted by David 
 or Madame Le Brim, in the eye oi' true 
 taste they are things of no value. In 
 the Preface I have just mentioned, the 
 learned critic, by way of illustration, 
 draws a comparison from what he sup- 
 poses to be the common practice of artists, 
 which it may also be useful to notice. He 
 says : " A poet overlooks the casual dis- 
 tinction of country and condition, as a 
 painter, satisfied with the figure, neglects the 
 drapery." On this I Avould beg to ob- 
 serve, tbat what is often slightly marked 
 in the works of the best artists, must not 
 always be taken for neglect. In the 
 noble picture of King Charles on Horse- 
 back, that adorns the Queen's House, a 
 part of one of the hind legs is simply an 
 outline on the bare canvas: yet under
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 the circumstances in which it is seen, it 
 is better, and more truly expressed, than 
 if it had been, in the vulgar sense of the 
 term, finished — the labour of the great 
 David might encumber, but certainly 
 would not mend it. 
 
 Smoothness and finishing, whatever the 
 young connoisseur may think, are not con- 
 vertible terms ! A piece of drapery by 
 the pencil of Rembrant, who was certainly 
 not remarkable for the polish of his surface, 
 differs from the piece in the woollen- 
 draper's, or in Madame Le JBrun's shop; 
 as much in appearance as in value : the 
 woollen from the shops has its market 
 price; — the representation of it from the 
 study of Rembrant; in the language of 
 painters and critics, is inestimable. 
 
 Few things have tended to produce 
 more error in the judgment passed on 
 pictures, than the imposing quality of
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 smoothness, which is generally conceived 
 to be the effect of successful labour, and 
 close attention to finishing; and appears 
 to have been spread over the works of 
 the insipid, as a kind of snare to catch 
 the ignorant. On the art of spreading 
 these toils, and on a feeble, vulgar, and 
 detailed imitation of articles of furniture 
 and dress, rests the whole of Madame Le 
 Brun's reputation. Respecting smooth- 
 ness, could her admirers see by what 
 simple means, and in how short a time, 
 this appearance may be produced — that 
 the roughest picture, while wet, may, with 
 a soft brush, in live minutes be polished 
 to the surface of marble, I am persuaded 
 that it would lose all its charms, and that 
 they would view with contempt a quality 
 which neither requires the patience of 
 labour, nor the happy exertions of skill, 
 to effect.
 
 XII PREFACE. 
 
 To enter into the detail of furniture 
 and dress requires indeed both time and 
 labour ; but time and labour are surely 
 misapplied, if they do not enable us to 
 express objects with as much truth as 
 may be effected by a more facile and 
 happy mode of execution. I speak of 
 dexterity, which is the result of science 
 and experience, and which discovers a 
 sure and ready way to express its purpose. 
 On the misunderstanding of this prin- 
 ciple rest most of the judicial errors of 
 vulvar criticism ; we cannot too often, 
 therefore, remind the public of the sen- 
 timents of a man on this subject, as dis- 
 tinguished for his deep knowledge of the 
 theory, as he was eminently skilful in 
 the most refined practice of his art. " If 
 we examine," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
 " with a critical view, the manner of those 
 painters whom we consider as patterns,
 
 PREFACE. X11I 
 
 we shall find that their oreat fame does 
 not proceed from their works being more 
 highly finished than those of other ar- 
 tists, or from a more minute attention to 
 details, but from that enlarged compre- 
 hension which sees the whole object at 
 once, and that energy of art which gives 
 its characteristic effect by adequate ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Raffaelle and Titian are two names 
 which stand the highest in our art ; one 
 for drawing, the other for painting. The 
 most considerable and the most esteemed 
 works of Raffaelle are the Cartoons, 
 and his fresco works in the Vatican ; 
 those, as we all know, are far from being 
 minutely finished: his principal care and 
 attention seems to have been fixed upon 
 the adjustment of the whole, whether it 
 was the general composition of each in- 
 dividual figure ; for every figure may be
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 said to be a lesser whole, though, in regard 
 to the general work to which it belongs, 
 it is but a part : the same may be said of 
 the head, the hands, and feet. Though 
 he possesses this art of seeing and com- 
 prehending the whole, as far as form is 
 concerned, he did not exert the same 
 faculty in regard to the general effect 
 which is presented to the eye by colour, 
 and lio-ht and shade. Of this the defi- 
 ciency of his oil pictures, where this 
 excellence is more expected than in 
 fresco, is a sufficient proof. 
 
 " It is to Titian we must turn our eyes 
 to find excellence, with regard to colour, 
 and light and shade, in the highest de- 
 2;rec. He was both the first and the 
 s;reatest master of this art. Bv a few 
 strokes he knew how to mark the ge- 
 neral imase and character of whatever 
 object he attempted ; and produced, by
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 this alone, a truer representation than 
 his master Giovanni Bellino, or any of 
 his predecessors, who finished every hair. 
 His great care was to express the general 
 colour, to preserve the masses of light 
 and shade, and to give by opposition the 
 idea of that solidity which is inseparable 
 from natural objects. When these are 
 observed, though the work should possess 
 no other merit, it will have, in a proper 
 place, its complete effect ; but where any 
 of these are wanting, however minutely 
 laboured the picture may be in the detail, 
 the whole will have a false and even an 
 unfinished appearance, at whatever dis- 
 tance, or in whatever light, it can be 
 shewn." Lectures, Vol. I. page 226. 
 
 I have, as the reader sees, availed my- 
 self of the present occasion to express my 
 sentiments on this subject, not as it may 
 affect me, but public taste, so intimately
 
 XVI PREFACE. 
 
 connected with morals, and, indeed, with 
 every thins; that distinguishes a great 
 from a barbarous nation. All private 
 considerations in matters of this moment 
 must give way to a more imperious duty ; 
 and whenever a spurious art appears 
 among us, powerful enough in its patron- 
 age, not in its inherent strength, to do 
 mischief, I trust I shall neither want pa- 
 triotism nor courage openly to meet, and 
 cordially to assist in its defeat and ex- 
 termination. 
 
 Although the age of chivalry is past, 
 it may still he thought that the common 
 laws of gallantry required me to spare 
 the artist, in honour of her sex. But, in 
 her overweening presumption, Madame 
 Le Brun has destroyed distinction, and 
 ostentatiously waved her privilege. She 
 has challenged hostility, when she might 
 have escaped with impunity by falling
 
 PREFACE. XV11 
 
 into that rank whicli the mediocrity of 
 her talents, and the state of the arts in 
 this country, rendered it decent for her 
 to take. To expose successful imposition 
 is, at all times, a hazardous enterprise, 
 and, unfortunately, personal considera- 
 tions, in the present case, add a degree 
 of unpopularity to the danger, — but 
 silence might have been mistaken for ac- 
 quiesence ; and the world has nothing 
 more painful to inflict than the imputation 
 of inferiority to such miserable produc- 
 tions. That these are not merely the 
 fretful and interested wailings of personal 
 disappointment, every one the least ac- 
 quainted with my intercourse in society 
 will, I am persuaded, do me the justice to 
 believe. Were this a fit occasion to en- 
 large on matters of private concern, or 
 to unbosom myself on such a subject, I 
 could display instances of benefits con- 
 b
 
 XV111 PREFACE. 
 
 ferred upon me, in consideration of my 
 professional character, which in the few 
 boastful events of my life, stand as emi- 
 nently distinguished as do the personages 
 who, in addition to the high respect and 
 veneration due to their rank and talents, 
 have bound me to them by indissoluble 
 ties of the warmest gratitude. 
 
 It is no trifling consolation to me, that 
 the few strictures which I have advanced 
 on the expensive trash of this lady,* can- 
 not, by the most prejudiced of her parti- 
 sans, be attributed to any suggestions of 
 jealousy, which always implies a common 
 aim ; which has in view the same excel- 
 lence to excite ambition — the same powers 
 
 * The world will scarcely believe that Madam Le 
 Brun demands thrice the sum for her labours that Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds received for works, which are a 
 lasting credit to the country, at the latest period of his 
 honourable life !
 
 PREFACE. XIX 
 
 to invigorate contention. Enthusiasm is 
 sufficiently contagious, but who has ever 
 heard of the attractions of inanity ; or 
 what English artist could be warmed with 
 the frigid productions of French art ? 
 
 ; ' Where burnish'd beads, silk, satin, laces vie, 
 
 In leaden lustre with the goosberry eye; 
 
 Where broadcloth breathes, to talk where cushions 
 
 strive, 
 And all, but Sir, or Madam, looks alive 1" 
 
 But it is time to resume the subject of my 
 Publication, and give some little account 
 of my plan and resources. Four of the 
 following Tales are selected from the 
 Tooti Nameh, or Tales of the Parrot, viz. 
 the 1st, lid, IVth, and Vlth. The Hid 
 is founded on one of a set published in 
 a small volume by the Rev. W. Beloe. 
 The Vth from the Heetopades of Veesh- 
 noo-Jarma; and the Vllth and Vlllth 
 are from the fables of the 12 th and 13th
 
 XX PREFACE. 
 
 centuries, published by Mons. Le Grand. 
 On these, as they have all the air of an 
 Eastern origin, with the exception of 
 changing sheiks and imams, into monks, 
 8cc. I conceived that I had a legitimate 
 cause of making reprisals, and have there- 
 fore converted them into imams and sheiks 
 again, with a view of preserving uni- 
 formity. 
 
 Should some of these Tales appear to 
 bear a little hard upon the female cha- 
 racter, I would request the fair reader to 
 consider that they represent Eastern man- 
 ners and morals ; and that they are the 
 actions of a people whose gods were mon- 
 sters, or whose prophet was Mahomet. In a 
 Christian country, I presume, these things 
 could not happen ; and yet if our theatres 
 are places to which ladies resort to view 
 themselves " as in a glass," there is not 
 then much to choose between the man-
 
 PREFACE. XXI 
 
 ners of the East and of the West. But vice 
 upon the stage is so cheerfully lit up, and 
 so agreeably set to music, that it may pos- 
 sibly pass for virtue ; which will readily 
 account for our ladies sitting with so 
 much complacency at the representation 
 of modern comedies, the most admired of 
 which do not exhibit a single immaculate 
 character to hang our hopes upon ; or to 
 shew that virtue may at once appear amia- 
 ble and o-enteel. 
 
 o 
 
 I hope I have been more prudent, in a 
 worldly view (having neither the aid of 
 light nor music), in giving to these Tales, 
 as far as they would admit of it, a moral 
 tendency ; for my bookseller, good man, 
 has taken them upon trust. Yet I have 
 formed a secret resolution that he shall 
 not lose either by the vitiated taste of the 
 town, or the absence of all taste in the 
 author. The critics will give me leave
 
 XX11 PREFACE. 
 
 to say, the circumstance of having been 
 subject to popular criticism for upwards 
 of twenty years, is alone sufficient to ren- 
 der a man less sensible either to censure or 
 applause ; after all, this is but my sum- 
 mer tenement ; and I may exclaim with 
 the honest Hibernian, who was warned 
 to quit a house that was on fire — " It is 
 nothing to me, I am only a lodger !" 
 
 The little embellishment prefixed to 
 this volume I entrust to the world with 
 some degree of anxiety. It is the first 
 production of ray third son, Lascelles 
 Hoppner ; a boy, whose talents, how 
 highly soever they may be rated by the 
 fond partiality of a parent, constitute the 
 smallest part of his claim to my affection.
 
 TALE I. 
 
 THE ASS AND THE STAG
 
 THE ASS AND THE STAG. 
 
 Once on a time, no matter when, 
 But 'twas some ages since; say ten — 
 (For asses now more wise appear, 
 And deer affect to herd with deer) 
 Once on a time then, it is said, 
 An Ass and Stag together fed ; 
 In bonds of love so closely bound, 
 That seldom were they separate found. 
 The upland lawns when summer dried, 
 They ranged the meadows side by side: 
 a
 
 '2 THE ASS AN I) THE STAG. 
 
 And when gaunt famine chased them thence, 
 They overleap'd the garden fence, 
 Dividing without strife or coil, 
 Like ministers of state, the spoil. 
 
 In that gay season when the Hours, 
 Spring's handmaids, strew the earth with flowers, 
 Our pair walk'd forth, and frisk'd and play'd, 
 And cropt the herbage as they stray 'd. 
 'Twas evening — stillness reign'd around, 
 And dews refresh'd the thirsty ground ; 
 When, homeward browsing, both inhale 
 Unusual fragrance from the <za.\e. 
 It was a garden, coinpass'd round 
 With thorns, (a perfect Indian mound,) 
 Through which they saw enough within, 
 To make a drove of asses sin. 
 No watchdog — gard'ner — all was hush'd; 
 They bless'd their stars, and in they push'd ; 
 Fell to with eager haste, and wasted 
 Ten cabbages, for one they tasted.
 
 THE ASS AND THE STAG. 
 
 And now the Ass (to fullness fed) 
 Cherish'd strange fancies in his head; 
 On nature's carpet idly roll'd, 
 By care or prudence uncontroli'd ; 
 His pride frotli'd up, his self-conceit, 
 And thus it bubbled forth: — " How sweet, 
 Prince of the branching antlers wide, 
 The mirth-inspiring moments glide ! 
 How grateful are the hours of spring, 
 What odours sweet the breezes bring ! 
 The musky air to joy invites, 
 And drowns the senses in delights. 
 Deep 'mid the waving cypress boughs, 
 Turtles exchange their amorous vows ; 
 While, from his rose's fragrant lips, 
 The bird of eve love's nectar sips. 
 Where'er 1 throw my eyes around, 
 All seems to me enchanted ground ; 
 And night, while Cynthia's silvery gleam 
 Sleeps on the lawn, the grove, the stream,
 
 4 THE ASS AND THE STAG. 
 
 Heart-soothing night, for nothing longs, 
 
 But one of my melodious songs, 
 
 To lap the world in bliss, and show 
 
 A perfect paradise below J 
 
 When youth's warm blood shall cease to flow, 
 
 And beauty's cheek no longer glow ; 
 
 "W hen these soft graceful limbs, grown old, 
 
 Shall feel Time's fingers, icy cold ; 
 
 Close in his chilling arms embraced, 
 
 What pleasures can I hope to taster 
 
 What sweet delight in Age's train ? 
 
 Spring will return, but ah ! in vain." 
 
 The Slag, half pitying, half amazed, 
 Upon his old associate gazed; 
 " What ! hast thou lost thy wits?" he cried, 
 " Or art thou dreaming, open eyed r 
 Sing, quotha ! was there ever bred 
 In any mortal ass's head 
 So strange a thought ! But, no offence — 
 What if we first remove from hence ;
 
 THE ASS AND THE STAG. 
 
 And talk, as erst, of straw and oats, 
 
 Of scurvy fare, and mangy coats, 
 
 Of heavy loads, or worse than those, 
 
 Of cruel drivers, and hard blows ? 
 
 For recollect, my gentle friend, 
 
 We're thieves, and plunder is our end. 
 
 See! through what parsley we've been toiling, 
 
 And what fine spinage we are spoiling ! 
 
 ( He most of all doth outrage reason, 
 
 ' Who fondly singeth out of season.' 
 
 A proverb that, in sense, surpasses 
 
 The brains combined of stasjs and asses : 
 
 Yet, for I must thy perils trace, 
 
 Sweet bulbul* of the long-ear'd race ! 
 
 Soft soul of harmony ! yet hear ; 
 
 If thou wilt rashly charm our ear, 
 
 And with thy warblings, loud and deep, 
 
 Unseal the leaden eye of sleep ; 
 
 Roused by thy song, and arm'd with staves, 
 
 The gard'ner, and a host of slaves, 
 
 » The Persian word for Nightingale.
 
 THE ASS AND THE STAG, 
 
 To mourning will convert thy strains, 
 
 And make their pastime of thy pains." 
 II is nose in scorn the songster rears, 
 Pricks up his twinkling length of ears, 
 And proudly thus he »hot his bolt: — 
 " Thou soulless, senseless, tasteless dolt! 
 If, when in vulgar prose I try 
 My voice, the soul in extacy 
 Will to the pale lip trembling flee, 
 And pant and struggle to get free, 
 
 Must not my song " 
 
 " O, past pretence! 
 The ear must be deprived of sense," 
 Ilejoin'd the Stag, — " form'd of dull clay, 
 The heart that melts not at thy lay ! 
 But hold, my ardent prayer attend, 
 Nor yet with songs the welkin rend; 
 Still the sweet murmur in thy throat, 
 Prelusive of the thrilling note! 
 Nor shrink not up thy nostrils, friend, 
 Nor thy fair ample jaws extend :
 
 THE ASS AND THE STAG. 
 
 Lest thou repent thee, when too late, 
 
 And moan thy pains, and we!l-earn'd fate." 
 
 Impatience stung the warbler's soul, 
 Greatly he spurn'd the mean control ; 
 And from the verdant turf uprear'd, 
 He on his friend contemptuous leer'd ; 
 Stretch'd his lean neck, and wildly stared, 
 His dulcet pitch-pipe then prepared, 
 His flaky ears prick'd up withal, 
 And stood in posture musical. 
 " Ah !" thought the Stag, " I greatly fear, 
 Since he his throat begins to clear, 
 And strains and stares, he will not long 
 Deprive us of his promised song. 
 Friendship to safety well may yield." 
 He said, and nimbly fled the field. 
 
 Alone at length, the warbler Ass 
 Would every former strain surpass ; 
 So right he aim'd, so loud he brav'd, 
 The forest shook, night secm'd afraid,
 
 8 THE ASS AND THE STAG. 
 
 And starting at the well-known sound, 
 The gard'ners from their pallets bound ; 
 The scared musician this pursues, 
 That stops him with insidious noose ; 
 Now to a tree behold him tied, 
 Whilst both prepare to take his hide. 
 But first his cudgel either rears, 
 And plies his ribs, his nose, his ears ; 
 His head converted to a jelly, 
 His back confounded with his belly; 
 All bruised without, all broke within, 
 To leaves they now convert his skin ; 
 Whereon, in characters of gold, -\ 
 
 For all good asses, young and old, V 
 This short instructive tale is told. ^
 
 TALE II. 
 
 THE FAGGOT-MAKER AND THE 
 FAIRIES.
 
 C 11 1 
 
 THE FAGGOT-MAKER AND THE 
 FAIRIES. 
 
 Deep in the windings of a wood, 
 As breathing from his toil lie stood, 
 A labourer, in the break, espies 
 The twinkling of some fairy eyes. 
 Curious, yet not devoid of fear, 
 lie drew, with wary footstep, near; 
 And, wond'ring, heard them sweetly trowl 
 Around a bright, enchanted bowl ; 
 \\ Inch, as he view'd it thus by stealth, 
 Seem'd a vast magazine of wealth,
 
 12 THE FAGGOT-MAKER 
 
 That ev'ry want, nor those a few, 
 
 (For 'twas a female fairy crew,) 
 
 And every wish — and those, beside, 
 
 Not over-diffident, — supplied. 
 
 All viands grateful to the taste, 
 
 Are, with a thought, before them placed ; 
 
 All drinks ; the clustering grape distils, 
 
 In golden cups, its purple rills, 
 
 That take, as fancy gives the sign, 
 
 The flavour of the Houri's wine. 
 
 Robes, spangled in etherial looms, 
 
 Gay lustre fling, and shed perfumes, 
 
 Such as exhale in dewy showers, 
 
 At orient morn, from jasmine bowers. 
 
 All, all that sickly fancy fires 
 
 When glowing slill with new desires, 
 
 Within the magic rim is found ; 
 
 They dip, and every wish is crown'd. 
 
 Next morn (his wonted toil renew'd) 
 The fairies at their bowl he view'd.
 
 AND THE FAIRIES. 13 
 
 And while he mark'd the roundels pass, 
 And lick'd his lips at every glass, 
 The fairies, who his pranks had seen, 
 Stcpt from their bower of living green, 
 And smiling, call'd him forth; — you guess 
 He was not slow to join their mess ; 
 And ere he well had ta'en his place, 
 Had thrust his fingers in the vase. 
 Ye Powers ! — thus lifted in a trice 
 To all the joys of Paradise, 
 His bosom wife — O foul dishonour ! 
 \\ as lost, as if he ne'er had known her : 
 And, in oblivious draughts profound, 
 His lovely babes as quickly drown'd. 
 Whole days and nights in joy he past — 
 Why will not pleasure ever last ? 
 Ah, why will fancy still diffuse 
 Her gayest tints o'er distant views r 
 For now affection took its turn, 
 His heart lor home began to yearn .
 
 14 
 
 THE FAGGOT-MAKER 
 
 T' enjoy, without his babes, a feast, 
 Seem'd scarce example for a beast: 
 Could lie but share it with his wife, 
 
 Alia, what a happy life ! 
 
 But thus, alone, — slow dragg'd the hour, 
 And pleasure lost her wonted power. 
 Resolved to seek his home again, 
 He thus address'd the elfin train : 
 " A faggot-maker poor, behold, 
 Who many a year of care hath told : 
 A wife and offspring share my gains, 
 My pleasures, and, more oft, my pains. 
 To silence Hunger's piercing screams, 
 (Discoid, that ever haunts my dreams !) 
 
 1 here at early dawn repair, 
 Enjoy hard labour— and the air; 
 And, with the earnings of the day, 
 Plod back at night my weary way. 
 But all my cares — and cares abound, 
 In Plenty's cup have late been drown'd.
 
 AND THE FAIRIES. 15 
 
 Now, if a mortal's humble prayer 
 Might find admission to your ear, 
 Your slave his anxious wife may greet, 
 His children clasp with kisses sweet ; 
 Their fears allay, their wants relieve : — 
 For me as dead e'en now they grieve, 
 
 While I " with that, sure sign of grace, 
 
 A tear ran trickling down his face. 
 
 Moved at the sight, they nod assent: — 
 " Jf pleasure cannot bring content ; 
 If unmix'd sweets the senses cloy, 
 That sicken with excess of joy ; 
 Return: — yet something we'll bestow ; 
 Be thy desires or high, or low, 
 'Tis ours to grant: fear no offence, 
 Pronounce thy wish, and hie thee hence." 
 
 Grown more assured, he, in reply, 
 Had but one wish to gratify, 
 That made him almost die with shame, — 
 A wish, in short, he scarce could name,
 
 lG THE FAGGOT-MAKER 
 
 Since nothing but the mystic bowl 
 Would satisfy his ardent soul. 
 Shrill laughter shook their tiny sides, 
 And each his idle fear derides : 
 " And is this all/' they cry, " is this 
 The mighty boon you dread to miss? 
 The loss, forsooth, would make us poor ! — 
 O, little skill'd in fairy lore ! 
 A twinkling would before us set 
 Ten thousand bowls more precious yet. 
 Yet treat not lightly, gentle friend, 
 What fate, propitious, deigns to lend ; 
 But guard it with thy tend'rest care — 
 'Tis precious, yet 'tis brittle ware ! 
 One caution more — take special heed 
 To use it only in thy need." 
 
 The man with joy was nearly dumb — 
 " 'Twixt him and bliss no chance should come ; 
 So rare a treasure 'twere but ri"ht 
 To keep for ever in his sight.
 
 AND THE FAIRIES. 
 
 17 
 
 Each thought, each motion of his soul, 
 Was hent to guard that sacred how]." 
 Thus saying, he received the gift, 
 And, though all rapture, made a shift 
 To reach his home ; nor sign hetrav'd 
 Of loss of wit, or fortune made. 
 Caress'd his wife, his children fed, 
 And went, when some folks dine, to bed 
 Paid all his debts without debate, 
 JSot aiming yet to ape the great ; 
 Gave alms on Pity's tender hint, 
 Nor look'd to see his name in print : 
 In short, discretion, bless the while! 
 On all his actions seem'd to smile. 
 
 \\ isdotn and want we often pair; 
 But wise and fortunate, how rare ! 
 Chance had on our poor friend bestow'd 
 Par more than he to wisdom owed ; 
 For he was one, in life's past scenes, 
 Whose wishes still outran his means.
 
 JO THE FAGGOT-MAKER 
 
 Vet care his heart had little pain'd, 
 
 And light the traces that remain'd. 
 
 Y\ here misery once usurps control 
 
 She ever reigns. — Still, still, my soul 
 
 (Though fortune long her brow hath smooth'd, 
 
 And cheering hope my sorrows sooth'd) 
 
 Looks from her secret chamber out, 
 
 And views mankind with fear and doubt. 
 
 Should pleasure in my path be found, 
 
 Awed, 1 approach the enchanted ground; 
 
 Suspect, beneath each flower, a snare, 
 
 And tread, with trembling caution, there. 
 
 Not so our friend ; he'd rarely miss 
 
 To quaff the full-crown'd cup of bliss. — • 
 
 His money burnt, and now he found 
 
 His hut scarce peep'd above the ground. 
 
 Grown rich, so many friends he told, 
 
 A palace only would them hold : 
 
 He builds, the city entertains, 
 
 With wonder every eyeball strains;
 
 AND THE FAIRIES. 19 
 
 The talismanic bowl displays, 
 And pours its wealth a thousand ways. 
 Though various passions fill'd each breast, 
 Contentment smiled in every guest; 
 The pamper'd here refine their taste, — 
 Rich wines of Shiraz crown'd the feast, 
 That from a thousand fountains flow'd, 
 And dreams of happiness bestow'd. 
 On rosy beds recline the fair, 
 Sweet musky odours scent the air, 
 Soft music in each bosom trill'd, 
 And every pain, save love, was still'd. 
 
 This idle show, this vain parade 
 Of wealth, most ill bestow'd, display 'd ; 
 Elate with pride, inflamed with wine, 
 Our host himself resolved to shine : 
 In points and angles set each limb, 
 Prepared in mazy dance to swim. 
 Vain of his skill, poor silly soul ! 
 He balanced on his arm the bowl,
 
 CO THE FAGGOT MAKER 
 
 Which, as he turn'd him round and round, 
 He struck; and, to the vibrant sound, 
 " O, soul-delighting bowl !" he cried, 
 " Source of my wealth, my joy, my pride ; 
 Spring of my state, my envy'd show, 
 And every blessing known below; 
 This dazzling pomp proceeds from thee, 
 Thou author of my jubilee ! 
 'Tis thou hast raised me from the dust, 
 O glorious goblet ! sacred trust ! 
 O light that leads to every joy ! 
 Fountain of sweets, that never cloy !" 
 Thus, as his praise redundant flows, 
 His flaming eves he upward throws ; 
 And like a fakeer most devout, 
 Rolls them with pious zeal about; 
 Capers like one to reason lost, 
 His body writh'd, his members tost, 
 Till, by one slip, ah, woe the day ! 
 The bowl in glittering fragments lay.
 
 AND THE FAIRIES. 
 
 That instant vanish'd all his state, 
 His costly robes, his massy plate, 
 His gilded rooms, his palace fair, 
 All, like a dream, dissolved in air. 
 The splendid banquet of delight 
 To mourning turn'd that luckless night: 
 And he, who gaily danced and sung. 
 His bosom beat, his fingers wrung ; 
 Even he, so late all noise and mirth, 
 Now cursed the hour of his sad birth. 
 
 Thus oft is wealth, too lightly earn'd, 
 By lolly to destruction turn'd. 
 Heedless of all the blessings given, 
 To make on earth a present heaven, 
 He in a brawl, or midnight revel, 
 Reels brainless, hopeless, to the devil.
 
 TALE III. 
 
 THE MAN AND THE GENIE.
 
 [. 25 ] 
 
 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 
 
 Since marriages are made above, 
 
 And little owe lo choice, or love, 
 
 The man is, surely, to be pitied, 
 
 That will) a cross-giain'd toad is fitted 
 
 You cannot blame his taste, but he 
 
 May curse his cruel destiny : 
 
 Even so against his stars would rail 
 
 The hero of my present tale, 
 
 W hose wife — without, as plain as sin, 
 
 Was yet far more deform'd within.
 
 26 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 
 
 Her blood-shot eyes, with fury drunk, 
 
 Her dugs, with withering malice shrunk. 
 
 The frighted Loves a bosom fled 
 
 To every soft emotion dead. 
 
 Passions she had both fierce and strong, 
 
 But, warin'd with rage, they ran to tongue : 
 
 Abusive, wicked, unrelenting — 
 
 Your own is hardly more tormenting. 
 
 He often wished, as many do, 
 
 Who put a smiling face on't too, 
 
 Wish'd her — what? where? do you enquire ?— 
 
 Even dead, and with the devil her sire! 
 
 Who thought the ffood man's kind concern 
 
 Deserved of him as kind return; 
 
 And therefore help'd him to the notion 
 
 Of drowning Dearest in the ocean. 
 
 " Come, love," said he, one day, " come, spousy, 
 
 Our linen looks a little frowzy; 
 
 WV11 amble where the stream, my sweet, 
 
 And ocean's waves so loving meet;
 
 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 27 
 
 There, side by side, our garments lave, 
 Cool'd by the breeze, and rippling wave." 
 So up he takes his filthy pack, 
 .And trudges with it on his back : 
 Arrived — their dirty toil began ; 
 He seeks a blessing on his plan ; 
 For mortals do not nicely weigh 
 The odd events for which they pray; 
 Encouraged by success, no doubt, 
 As in this instance it fell out. 
 His wife, poor soul — for of the fair 
 Still may I speak with tenderest care — 
 Stooping, a truant rag to gain, 
 He tumbled headlong in the main. 
 The business done, the man was bound 
 Safety to seek on other ground. 
 
 As light of heart he tripp'd along, 
 Drowning the nightingale's sweet song; 
 One morn there rose before his eyes 
 A Genie of enormous size ;
 
 C8 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 
 
 Whose head, while (inn on earth he stood, 
 
 The clouds encorapass'd like a hood. 
 
 With fearful grasp he seiz'd our friend, 
 
 And swore his wicked life to end : 
 
 Yet mercy temper'd still his breath — 
 
 The wretch mi^ht choose the kind of death, 
 
 " Say, shall I tear thy entrails out? 
 
 Or strew thy mangled limbs about r 
 
 Here batter on the rocks thy brain ? 
 
 Or hurl thee headlong in the main r" 
 
 " And will my lord/' the man replied, 
 
 " His errors from his servant hide i — 
 
 For into errors, doom'd to all, 
 
 Thy slave, most frail, must doubtless fall — 
 
 But suffer me, dread sir, to swear, 
 
 To me unknown, as yet, they are." 
 
 " Unknown !" the Genie cried, " unknown ! 
 
 Was not that hag, that shrivell'd crone, 
 
 That with her carcass curs'd the sea, 
 
 Speak ! was she not flung there by thee ;
 
 THE MAN AND THE GKNIE. 2Q 
 
 Wretch ! did she not from our loved waves, 
 
 Our coral groves, and pearly caves, 
 
 Me and my tribe to flight constrain, 
 
 By clamour that outroar'd the main ?" 
 
 Hah ! thought the man, upon my life 
 
 He means that wrinkled witch, my wife. 
 
 " What ! you have fled r — and is it just 
 
 To punish my poor mortal dust, 
 
 For quitting that infernal fair, 
 
 Whose tongue not you, even you, could bear?" 
 
 The Genie answer'd " Right in sooth," 
 
 (For man alone is deaf to truth,) 
 
 (t Thou'rt right: I'll henceforth be thy friend, 
 
 Thy fortune and thy steps attend." 
 
 On evils past now either smiled, 
 And social chat the way beguiled. 
 At length a city they descry, 
 \\ hose turrets proudly pierce the sky ; 
 O'er which, so bounteous Heaven ordain'd, 
 A prince in peace and wisdom reign'cl.
 
 30 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 
 
 Enter'd the gates — a busy crew 
 
 Their anxious daily toil pursue: 
 
 A different pang each bosom rends, 
 
 A faithless wife, insidious friends, 
 
 Disease, and meagre want, and strife — 
 
 Yet each still fondly clings to life : 
 
 On the new day their hopes they cast, 
 
 More big with sorrow than the last. — 
 
 So hope to me delight hath grown, 
 
 Who little else but care have known. 
 
 Of thee', my first-born joy, bereft, 
 
 Hope fills the void thy absence left ; 
 
 Hope breathes the gale must waft thee home, 
 
 And boasts a bliss — that ne'er may come ! 
 
 But soft, my heart, affection rein ; 
 
 My tale demands a gayer strain. 
 
 " Now rest awhile, and lend an ear — 
 
 Suppose 1 make thee vizier here," 
 
 The Genie said. — " A vizier ? me !" 
 
 Replied the man, " it cannot be!'"
 
 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 31 
 
 " What, doubt my power ! — Ere gloomy night 
 
 The sun shall ravish from our sight, 
 
 Thou shalt be vizier : I have said, 
 
 So listen to the plan I've laid. 
 
 A serpent, fearful to behold, 
 
 The royal maiden I'll enfold; 
 
 With double head, spout baleful breath, 
 
 A double sting shall threaten death, 
 
 Four eyes in lightning glare around, 
 
 The weak appal, the strong confound ; 
 
 And should the nation join'd, assav 
 
 To tear from me my trembling prey, 
 
 Twere vain : — when now, with terror chill, 
 
 The Sultan shall proclaim his will, 
 
 f Who wrests her from the spiral snare, 
 
 1 In wedlock shall enjoy the fair.' 
 
 The palace then, my friend, draw near, 
 
 And, robed, a reverend sheik appear: 
 
 Engage the monster thence to chase, 
 
 And snatch her from the loath'd embrace.
 
 32 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 
 
 At thy approach, with feign 'd dismay, 
 Like melted snow, I'll glide away." 
 
 Each strange event in order past, 
 Just as the Genie had forecast. 
 The crier proclaims : — " The princess' life 
 Who saves, shall press a royal wife." 
 The man, disguised, a sheik appears, 
 The Haram enters:— bathed in tears 
 A beauteous maiden he beholds, 
 Within a serpent's deadly folds ; 
 Who seeing him, pretends dismay, 
 And glides, like melted snow, away. 
 O blest, such beauty born to save ! 
 As from the bosom of the grave, 
 The Princess, pale and trembling rose. 
 And mutter'd prayers her terrors close. 
 At night the festive torches glare, 
 And Hymen's couch receives the fair. 
 
 JScxt morn, behold, before him stands 
 1 T is giant friend — he kiss'd his hand*.
 
 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. S3 
 
 " A favour now 'tis mine to sue" — 
 
 " Good," said the Man, "and were it two !" — 
 
 " Know then, within this passing hour, 
 
 By Love impell'd, almighty power ! 
 
 Who racks a Genie's heart with pains, 
 
 Or rages in a mortal's veins; 
 
 Know, 'tis my purpose to entwine 
 
 The vizier's daughter — maid divine ! 
 
 Presume not thou relief to lend, 
 
 Or forfeit both thy life and friend." 
 
 " I lend relief!" the Man replied — 
 
 " Go, and good fortune be your guide !" 
 
 Loud tumult rose ; fear fills each breast, 
 And shrieks announce the serpent blest. 
 The tidings reach the Sultan's ear — 
 " Patience," he cried, " and nothing fear; 
 My son, the sheik, hath power, we know, 
 To chase from hence this hateful foe. 
 Seek him in haste:" — in haste they ran, 
 And quickly found the gifted man ; 
 
 L>
 
 34 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 
 
 The Sultan's will declare, who pray'd 
 He'd straight release the snake-bound maid. 
 " Release ! you sure might understand 
 I've other matters now in hand — 
 I dare not, cannot, will not go ; 
 This is my wedding-morn, you know : 
 Besides, good folks, I've lost the skill, 
 And with it, somehow, lost the will. 
 Must I serve ever at a pinch ? 
 No, hang me, if I stir an inch !" 
 
 Again the royal suitor prest ; 
 The Man still waved the high behest. 
 The Sultan now, with anger fired, 
 In terms less mild, his aid required : 
 " This instant go, my son," he said, 
 " Or hold thy will, and lose thy head. 
 Can nought beneath a princess prove 
 Thou hast a heart distress may move :" 
 " Good, very good, and aptly done ! 
 This 'tis to be a Sultan's son !
 
 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 35 
 
 More curst (with reverence to my state) 
 I was not in my former mate. 
 Yet something must be done, and pat — 
 But what, my friend, ah, Selim, what \ 
 If to the maiden aid I lend, 
 I perish by my monster friend : 
 No better fortune waits my stay, 
 For then I fall the Sultan's prey." 
 Some moments still in thought he spent, 
 Then to the vizier's palace went; 
 The maid's apartments enter'd, where, 
 On each pale face, sat mute despair. 
 That slender waste a serpent wound, 
 Which princely arms with joy had bound. 
 The Genie, when the Man he vievv'd, 
 Thus mutter' d in a voice subdued : 
 " Ah, wretch ! retract thy base design, 
 Hold sacred, friendship such as mine." 
 " Hist !" said the Man, in voice as low, 
 " Think not I enter here a foe;
 
 36 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 
 
 'Tis with the kindest views in life — 
 
 Hark yon — that Termagant, my wife, 
 
 Whom, for her clamorous rage, T drown'd, 
 
 And you, sir, fled the abyss profound, 
 
 Has left her haunts ; our wandering traced, 
 
 And hither tends with frantic haste. 
 
 Adieu ! your supernatural might, 
 
 Her claws, nay more, her tongue may slight ; 
 
 To me, her fury is no jest ; — ■ 
 
 Let my lord do as seemeth best." 
 
 The serpent's skin, on this, was seen 
 
 To turn from bright to sickly green; 
 
 When, in a voice that weaker grew, 
 
 He whisper'd — " 'Sdeath ! and is it true f 
 
 Where is she ?" — " Close at hand : I fear 
 
 Another moment brings her here." 
 
 " Another moment! friend, I yield, 
 
 Willi Furies I contest no held: 
 
 'Tis true, this fair one I adore. 
 
 But, oh ! I hate thy monster more."
 
 THE MAN AND THE GENIE. 37 
 
 Then, with unfeign'd alarm and dread, 
 He from the maiden slipp'd, and fled. — 
 While glorying in the sleight, his friend 
 Saw all to his advancement tend; 
 In peace enjoy'd a royal bride, 
 And lived a prince, a prophet died !
 
 TALE IV. 
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS.
 
 L 4i 3 
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 fouR friends, good Musselmen, 'tis said, 
 As e'er to Alia bow'd the head, 
 For sins not lightly to be told, 
 But doubtless great and manifold, 
 To Mecca steer'd their pious course, 
 Ere matters should become yet worse. 
 The first, a Carver skill'd; the second, 
 Of Jewellers the prime was reckon'd ; 
 The third, a Derwish ; and the last, 
 A Tailor — of no common cast.
 
 42 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 The story adds, they were, beside. 
 In friendship still so close allied, 
 That whether at the fountain sweet 
 They slaked their thirst, or sat at meat, 
 At rest, or on adventure bound, 
 Together they were ever found. 
 Was one alarm'd r each swelling breast 
 Alike a stranger seem'd to rest ; 
 One soul inspired them, and yet more, 
 One purse eontain'd their worldly store. 
 
 'Twas evening, in a desart wild, 
 Where never nature bounteous smiled, 
 Where monsters, foes to human kind, 
 At midnight glared astride the wind. — 
 Around them stretch'd a heathy sod, 
 By foot of mortal seldom trod, 
 Save some lone wanderer, fall'n astray, 
 Or robber, prowling wide for prey : 
 When Prudence, ever at their side, 
 By night their shield, by day their guide,
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS- 43 
 
 Thus pour'd her dictates in each ear : 
 
 " Keep watch by turns, and nothing fear." 
 
 'Twas first the Carver's lot, we find, 
 
 To guard his friends, to sleep resign'd ; 
 
 Who, lest the same seductive god 
 
 Should stretch o'er him his opiate rod, 
 
 Drew forth his implements of art, 
 
 And, from the remnant of a cart, 
 
 Axle, or beam, no matter which, 
 
 What cannot taste with skill enrich ! 
 
 A female carved, of form so rare, — 
 
 Such graces wanton'd in her air, 
 
 Such undulating beauty flow'd 
 
 Through every limb that lived, that glow'd ! 
 
 So soft her bosom seem'd to rise, 
 
 All parfting to the ravish 'd eyes, 
 
 That art had here, it might be thought, 
 
 Far more than ever nature wrought, 
 
 Had ■ ne'er to man been given, 
 
 To shew what beauty brightens heaven.
 
 4* THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 The Jeweller, fast lock'd in sleep, 
 Was roused, the second watch to keep. 
 His cautious eye he glanced around, 
 And, unadorn'd, upon the ground, 
 Saw all that naked charms could boast : 
 But naked charms are — charms at most. 
 Much he admired the Carver's art ; 
 And, emulous to bear a part, 
 " Since," he observed, " my dexterous friend 
 Can to a log such beauty lend, 
 'Tis fitting I ray comrades treat, 
 And render what is fair, complete." 
 So saying, from his precious store 
 He drew his bulse, his glittering ore ; 
 And to each arm's enchanting round 
 A sparkling band of rubies bound : 
 Her neck with gems of various size 
 Illumin'd, like the starry skies, 
 Exhausted every precious stone, 
 Till one bright blaze of light she shone !
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 45 
 
 Of dreary night two portions spent. 
 The Derwish his protection lent; 
 But first to prayer himself address'd, 
 A pious duty after rest. 
 His eyes to heaven about to raise, 
 Were charm'd to earth — compelled to gaze, 
 With chasten'd rapture, on a form 
 That one e'en more devout might warm. 
 With zeal now burning to prepare 
 For paradise a thing so fair, 
 In supplication low he pray'd, 
 It then might breathe a living maid, 
 Endow'd with every winning grace 
 Befitting such a shape and face. 
 His fervent prayer was heard above — 
 And first, her tongue began to move, 
 Her eyes then roll'd, her warm heart beat, 
 And, lastly, reason took its seat. 
 
 At the fourth watch, reluctant rose 
 The Tailor, from his loved repose;
 
 46 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 And seeing one divinely fair 
 
 Before him stand, all gold and glare, 
 
 " O heavens !" he cried, " with solemn sneer, 
 
 What incongruities are here ! — 
 
 A maiden, as an Houri fair, 
 
 Hung round with gems — yet bare, quite bare ! 
 
 Ah ! why do thus the human race, 
 
 Reason, that gift of heaven, debase, 
 
 And still prefer, with strange abuse, 
 
 Vain ornaments, to things of use ? 
 
 Shall I, with power to save, sit by, 
 
 And see her draw the vulgar eye 
 
 With what (I speak with honest pride) 
 
 My art, and mine alone, can hide ? 
 
 Forbid it, heaven !" — and forth he drew 
 
 His needle, thimble, silk to sew, 
 
 And form'd a robe of woof most rare, 
 
 That lightly wanton'd in the air; 
 
 Each flowing fold an ambuscade-, 
 
 Where little laughing Cupids play'd.
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 47 
 
 Now in the east resplendent shone, 
 Chasing night's lingering mists, the sun ; 
 And every blade its gilded crest 
 In homage raised, and morn confess'd. 
 But friendship, that, till this mad hour, 
 Had strew'd the way with many a flower, 
 To sharp contention quickly turn'd ; 
 And each swoll'n breast with anger burn'd. 
 Beauty had wove the cruel snare 
 With ringlets of hei flowing hair, 
 With nods and glances, potent wiles, 
 Dissembled frowns, and dimpled smiles ! 
 
 Ardent for conquest and a wife, 
 All four unbar the gates of strife. 
 " Behold," the Carver cries, " behold, 
 A prize above the reach of gold ! 
 A worthless log it lately lay, 
 Bare to the sun's all-scorching ray, 
 Wither'd by every wind that blows— 
 *\ lure for dogs, a perch for crows,
 
 48 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 Till wrought to this by skill divine ; 
 And need I boast, that skill was mine !" 
 
 " This/' cried the Jeweller, " thy claim ? — 
 Undeek her, and behold the dame ! 
 Without the stars, the desart skies 
 Attract no gazers, charm no eyes ; 
 Without the casket's slvning train, 
 A log, in worth, she might remain." 
 
 " Thus," cried the Derwish, " men ingrate 
 The choicest gifts of heaven still rate ! 
 Set wealth and skill, dreams of an hour, 
 In balance with almighty power ! 
 What is her form, her precious store, 
 The rakings of Golconda's shore, 
 Compared with life, and thought more rare, 
 Blessings I humbly sought in prayer?" 
 
 The Tailor fiercely cock'd his chin, 
 And with shrill treble join'd the din : 
 " And shall a carver's paltry taste, 
 Or thy more tawdry, paltry paste —
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 49 
 
 " Shall Superstition's whining cant, 
 A crazy Derwish' idle rant, 
 Absurdly rank with art sublime, 
 Derived to me from earliest time ? 
 Art, without which the fairest maid 
 May waste her sweetness in the shade, 
 While bones, and parchment, well attired, 
 Stream haughty by, to be admired !" 
 
 Much time in fruitless wrangle spent, 
 They one and all at length consent, 
 That he who first, perchance, pass'd by, 
 The merits of their claims should try. 
 Not long in wild suspense they stay, 
 A sturdy Ethiop cross'd their way; 
 To whom each told his tale, each sure 
 A partial verdict to procure. 
 The crisp-hair'd judge beheld the prize 
 With beating heart, and ravish'd eyes ; 
 And, stretching forth the arm of lust, 
 " O blessed Alia ! Heaven is just!" 
 
 E
 
 50 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 He cried, and seized the trembling fair; 
 " Behold my wife ! — By what dark snare, 
 What foul deception ye possess 
 My best beloved, ye'll soon confess ! 
 Full many a tedious moon hath waned, 
 Since tidings of my love I °;ain'd : 
 Full many an anxious hour I stray 'd: — 
 How wert thou, dearest, thus betray 'd r 
 But to the \ izier quick, away — 
 Their crimes with torments he'll repay ; 
 Torments proportion'd to the wrong 
 I've born so heavily, so long !" 
 To the tribunal driven amain, 
 The Ethiop told his tale again. 
 
 There are, O grief to think ! who find 
 Justice not always quite so blind : 
 For truth and falsehood poised may seem. 
 When passion mounts, and turns the beam. 
 Beauty unveil'd, the Vizier views 
 That his weak virtue soon subdues ;
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 51 
 
 Her living bloom, and mingled white, 
 Promised sweet draughts of rich delight ; 
 W bile his fond seul suspended hung 
 Her flowing tresses dark among, 
 The voice of woe he artful raised : — 
 " O, wonder not I seem amazed, 
 A brother's widow who behold, 
 He slain, his jewels gone, his gold ; 
 And she, who worship might inspire, 
 A prey to lawless, rank desire ! — 
 But for the loss I sadly moan, 
 Your forfeit lives shall soon atone." 
 This said, lie quits the judgment seat ; 
 The wretched culprits, threaten'd, beat, 
 Are to the Sultan hurried, pale, 
 Who hears the accuser's monstrous tale. 
 
 The monarch, proof to wily art, 
 Unguarded left his easy heart, 
 Which, through his eyes, soon felt a wound 
 Whose balm in love is only found.
 
 o'i. THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 Love, ever fertile in device, 
 
 And, so he gain his end, not nice. 
 
 The thought conceived, he sternly cried, 
 
 " Ye fiends of fraud, in guilt allied ! 
 
 Base lurking slaves, with mischief fraught ! 
 
 Long your dark haunts I've vainly sought. 
 
 This fair one, whom amazed I view, 
 
 Her life's-breath in the palace drew ; 
 
 By sacred ties together bound, 
 
 A paradise in her I found ; 
 
 But jealous, as I then believed, 
 
 She fled my haram, unperceived ; 
 
 And with her took a countless store 
 
 Of sparkling gems, and golden ore. 
 
 Yet fortune hath my slave restored : — 
 
 Ungrateful, still, alas ! adored : 
 
 But ye, who bore my wealth away, 
 
 With bondage shall the loss repay." 
 
 Fame soon proclaim'd aloud the event, 
 And forth the long-ear'd rabble went:
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 53 
 
 Both eyes and mouths now open wide 
 
 Their floodgates, to receive the tide. 
 
 The tale was strange, and new the strife; — 
 
 Seven candidates for one poor wife ! — 
 
 Nor were they less amazed to find 
 
 The claimants of such different kind. 
 
 Yet each a plausive story framed, 
 
 That seeming equal credit claim'd, 
 
 And left the curious idle rout, 
 
 Just at the point they first sat out. 
 
 At length a Pir,* all hoar with age, 
 And deeply read in wisdom's page, 
 First bowing to the royal will, 
 His saore advice did thus instil : 
 " The contests which our minds divide, 
 Man, all too weak, can ne'er decide ; 
 Tor having appetites that bend 
 Our judgments to their partial end, 
 Wild fancy mounts to urge the steeds, 
 And drives where lust, or rapine leads. 
 * A magician, a prophet, one endowed with supernatural powers.
 
 54 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 
 
 A short day's journey east, there grows 
 A tree, whose oid and mystic boughs, 
 Far in the clouds of Heaven conceal'd, 
 To mortal eye are ne'er reveal'd ; 
 Its seed-root strikes the depths profound ; 
 Its fibres clasp this mighty round : 
 What wisdom baffles, power defies, 
 There truth shall solve before your eyes. 
 
 Thus saying, instant all assent; — 
 Towards the tree their steps they bent ; 
 Attended by the passive dame, 
 Whose beauty fann'd their raging flame. 
 There each his story artful weaves, 
 And prints it on the listening leaves ; 
 Each bows his forehead in the dust, 
 And supplicates a sentence just. 
 That instant waken'd all their fears — 
 Terrific sounds assail their ears ; 
 Through the thick gloom quick lightnings dart, 
 The trembling earth appals each heart ;
 
 THE SEVEN LOVERS. 55 
 
 When, from the inmost pith, the trunk 
 (A sight from which scared nature shrunk) 
 With dreadful rent now yawning wide, 
 Received, then closed upon, the bride ! 
 While, from the mouths of million leaves, 
 A voice of sense the throng bereaves ; 
 A fearful voice, as thunder loud 
 That issues from the bursting cloud: 
 " In crooked paths no longer tread, 
 By truth eternal be ye led; 
 And, O, this awful lesson learn, 
 
 To THEIR FIRST STATE ALL THINGS RETURN !" 
 
 With anguish and with shame oppress'd, 
 Each claimant smote his guilty breast; 
 In silent sorrow homeward trod, 
 Confess'd Heaven just, and kiss'd the rod.
 
 TALE V. 
 
 THE COWKEEPER AND THE 
 BARBER'S WIFE.
 
 [ 59 ] 
 
 THE COWKEEPER AND THE 
 BARBER'S WIFE. 
 
 The wit of man scarce knows a bound : 
 
 It penetrates the depths profound ; 
 
 Now ranges through the starry sky, 
 
 And contemplates the Deity. 
 
 'Gainst Satan's wiles he stands prepared, 
 
 Escaping oft, though oft ensnared ; 
 
 But set a woman on him loose, 
 
 Sir Wisdom is an arrant goose. 
 
 You doubt it, friend i O hard of faith ! 
 
 List, then, to what my story saith.
 
 60 THE COWKEEPKR AND 
 
 The sun declined in ocean's bed, 
 All shorn his beams,, his shadows fled ; 
 Sad twilight o'er the silent dale, 
 Now slowly drew her misty veil ; 
 When he, of whom my tale relates, 
 By prudence moved, or by the Fates, 
 (A man who from the profits few 
 Of six lean cows his comforts drew,) 
 With strange misgivings homeward stole 
 From his associates of the bowl. 
 The hour drew near when all that lurks 
 In night's dark shrowd, securely works ; 
 When Lewdness, and her restless crew, 
 Eager their various schemes pursue, — 
 His spouse was young, and fair withal, 
 And flesh and blood, he knew, might fall ; 
 Yet stoutly she'd defend her honour, 
 While he could keep — an eye upon her : 
 And though one to a saint were tied, 
 Suspicion was the safer side.
 
 THE BARBER'S WIFE. 6\ 
 
 The way beguiled with dreams like these, 
 His curling smoke he dimly sees; 
 Now hears the matrons scolding round, 
 And now the anvil's fainter sound : 
 Arrived, he finds his loving wife 
 (New food for matrimonial strife) 
 In secret plotting with a shrew, 
 Whose virtuous calling well he knew; 
 So giving his fierce passions rein, 
 And curbing those that cried — refrain ! 
 He —not with words, for at that sport, 
 Experience whispcr'd, he fell short, 
 But with such toys as came to hand, 
 Laid on amain, while he could stand : 
 Then bound her fast, and sought in bed 
 A solace for his aching head. 
 
 The Bawd repell'd, but not dismay 'd, 
 Resents the insult on her trade, 
 At midnight, silent, she returns, 
 And whispers of a youth that burns
 
 62 THE COWKEEPER AND 
 
 With fiercest passion for the dame : — 
 
 " If cruel; O, how much to blame ! 
 
 'Tis perilous, you'll say : why, true, 
 
 But he would hazard all for you, 
 
 Go, soothe his sorrows. — Ods my life ! 
 
 Now shame upon so fond a wife ! 
 
 Is'o more, but hence ; return with speed — 
 
 I'll take your station in this need, 
 
 And wile away the passing hour 
 
 In dreams of friendship, and its power. 
 
 Yet, ere you go, that piece of gold, 
 
 Of which so often you have told ; 
 
 Some token I would fain possess — 
 
 A gift I to my lips may press, 
 
 And think on you. — Enough, away — 
 
 Thus for your pleasures ever pay, 
 
 Be fickle as yon moon, and range, 
 
 I'll food provide for every change. 
 
 But softly — should the cuckold wake ! 
 
 Now, heaven forbid ! — with fear I quake:
 
 the barber's wife. 63 
 
 In a fine noose I've thrust my head — 
 
 Would I were with my brute abed, 
 
 Or set, the crows and choughs to scare, 
 
 Or any where, alas, but here ! 
 
 He stirs ! O guard me from mishap !" — 
 
 Even so — the man had ta'en his nap, 
 
 And now would fain enjoy his jest : — 
 
 " In a fond wife, Vm surely blest; 
 
 While other cuckold's snoring dream 
 
 Of constancy, an idle theme, 
 
 Their truant datnes securely stray, 
 
 And make, by moonshine, pretty hay. 
 
 Thou wouldst not for the world do so, 
 
 Wouldst thou, my dearest ? — Dumb there ? ho ! 
 
 Oons ! has she then given up the ghost, 
 
 Or is she sleeping on her post, 
 
 And dreaming of those kisses sweet? — 
 
 Ah, beast ! to spoil so rare a treat." 
 
 With that, no answer being made, 
 
 He changed his note: — " You sullen jade !
 
 04 THE COWKEEPER AND 
 
 Why, what has tied that flippant tongue, 
 
 With which, this morn, the village rung ? 
 
 That dog, and rogue, dealt out so loud, 
 
 As deafen'd all the gaping crowd ? 
 
 Still silent !" — Here he made a show 
 
 To wave his knife, and feign 'd a blow, 
 
 That fell, (such ill from feigning grows,) 
 
 As fate would have it, on her nose. 
 
 He fear'd the worst, but then 'twas dark, 
 
 " Take that," he said, " the strumpet's mark ! 
 
 Howl on, nor spare your cries, my dear, 
 
 'Tis music that delights my ear ; 
 
 A plaintive note that lulls to rest, 
 
 And woos me sweetlv to mv nest." 
 
 His tongue here failing, loud and deep 
 
 He snored, and settled fast to sleep. 
 
 The wife returning, ask'd the news. — 
 " Henceforth your fortune ne'er accuse," 
 The Bawd replied; " read here a tale, 
 That well, indeed, may turn you pale."
 
 THE BARBER S WIFE. 
 
 'Twas done — regrets could ne'er replace 
 
 The luckless gristle on the face : 
 
 So setting compliments aside, 
 
 The dame resumed her post, fast tied; 
 
 Her friend pick'd up her nose, and stole 
 
 In anguish to her filthy hole. 
 
 This virtuous thing a barber bless'd, 
 (Now scratched, and now, worse fate, caress'd,) 
 Who in each feature claim'd a share, 
 That graced, or ought to grace, his fair : 
 She lack'd a nose, and he had eyes — 
 Some monstrous tale she must devise. 
 Would but the devil now stand her friend, 
 Things might not vet so crossly end ! 
 He did not fail her: — Roused from sleep, 
 Ere yet the dawn began to peep, 
 Those instruments the artist sought, 
 Without whose aid his skill was nought. 
 " Here," said his turtle, " how you stand !" 
 And slipt a razor in his hand; 
 v
 
 G6 THE COWKEEPER AND 
 
 He tried it, curs'd it, threw it by — 
 Another — worse ! his rage grew high : 
 A third, yet worse ! — away it flew — 
 The fair-one now had got her cue, 
 And bellowed " Murder, ho !" so loud, 
 The frighted village round her crowd : 
 " O, bloody, unprovoked assault ! 
 O, wanton rage ! — without a fault, 
 Without a motive to disclose, 
 The rogue hath reft me of my nose !" 
 What could the staring Shaver say 
 Against a fact as clear as day ? 
 To judgment hurried, sentenced, beat — 
 Thus pass'd, on one poor dupe, the cheat ! 
 
 Meantime the Covvkeeper runs o'er 
 The business of the night once more : 
 Views seriously his barbarous joke ; 
 A face despoil'd at one fell stroke ; 
 That face he gazed on with delight, 
 A desert now, a beastly sight !
 
 the barber's wife. 67 
 
 Sure nothing but his own disgrace, 
 
 Plain as the nose once on her face, 
 
 Could justify such frantic ire, 
 
 Or such dread punishment require. 
 
 Kind words were an emollient plaster, 
 
 Might heal, he thought, the worst disaster ; 
 
 So quick a honied store he plies, 
 
 .And pumps with pain his garlic sighs; 
 
 When, much to his amazement, lo ! 
 
 He hears, instead of plaints of woe, 
 
 A voice exulting in a pitch 
 
 That oft had made his fingers itch. 
 
 " Is it not said, that heaven and earth, 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars, even from our birth, 
 
 And morn, and eve, all rightly read 
 
 Our secret thought, our darkest deed r 
 
 Then bring my innocence to trial, 
 
 That rests not on a mere denial. 
 
 Ye hovering angels, O, descend ! 
 
 Your aid to suffering virtue lend,
 
 6'8 THE COWKEEPER AND THE BARBER'S WIVE. 
 
 Nor longer chastity expose, 
 Without her ensign fair — the nose!" 
 Then wriggling round the post, she cried, 
 " Thy guilty head, in shame, O, hide ! 
 The jealous fool, with scorn, man eyes, 
 And woe awaits him when he dies. 
 My prayers are heard— who heaven adores, 
 Not vainly present help implores : 
 See thy chaste wife, in virtue bright !" — 
 The cozen'd cuckold brought a light, 
 And soon beheld all fair and sound, 
 A wanton face, pert, plump, and round. 
 O, how shall I his wonder paint ? 
 He bless'd himself in such a saint; 
 With deep contrition hung his head, 
 And took his virtuous spouse to bed !
 
 TALE VI. 
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE 
 MUSICIAN.
 
 [71] 
 
 THE PRINCESS AND THE 
 MUSICIAN. 
 
 In fam'd Benares lived, renown'd 
 For wealth, for wisdom, too, profound, 
 A Raja, who a son deplored. 
 Mis-shapen, rude, and little stored 
 With learnings ever-shining light, 
 From which he, wilful, turn'd his sight : 
 Yet had he aptness to admit 
 The voice of sense, or light of wit; 
 For nature, not with step-dame thrift, 
 His mind had form'd ; each lib'ral gift
 
 72 THE PRTNCESS AND 
 
 Was his, with unripe seeds of skill, 
 That to mature but wanted will. — 
 To sickness we relief afford, 
 To sight the blind are oft restored ; 
 The clay-cold dead to life may rise, 
 But who e'er made the stubborn wise ? 
 
 One method still remain'd untried — 
 He might be moulded by a bride. 
 A princess soon was found, content 
 To wed what wayward fortune sent ; 
 And seldom is the maiden found 
 Averse, where riches most abound. 
 Grant her but wealth — all earthly bliss, 
 Pride, pomp, and power 's contained in this ! 
 All pleasures here must taste of vice — 
 The pure are bless'd in paradise. 
 
 \et fate might sure have found a prize 
 Less precious for a sacrifice. 
 Her beauty, wit, her winning grace, 
 Shed lustre on her royal race;
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 73 
 
 In all that could the heart engage, 
 She shone the phoenix of the age ; 
 And Philomel, with envy stung, 
 Sat mute and sad, whene'er she sung. 
 Touch'd by her ringers fair, the lyre 
 Now seem'd to breathe, now soft expire, 
 While the fond chords the heart around, 
 All sweetly vibrate to the sound. 
 
 Gray evening came in modest suit : 
 All, save the nightingale, was mute; 
 The winds in hollow grottos crept, 
 In their cool bowers the zephyrs slept ; 
 Slow rose the moon in radiance bright, 
 And shed her soft, her silver light : 
 One milder beam stole on the fair, 
 Whose sighs with fragrance fed the air; 
 Sighs, to her breast, till late, unknown, 
 Nursed by despair, in hatred sown ; 
 For wealth had fail'd the bliss to shower 
 She vaunted in an idle hour.
 
 74 THE PRINCESS AND 
 
 As lost in thought, her eyes she threw 
 Wide o'er the expanse of heavenly blue, 
 And, pensive, gazed on every star 
 That studded Cynthia's pearly car, 
 Sudden such notes arrest her ear 
 As spirits bless'd might stoop to hear : 
 Tuneful and sweet the measure flows, 
 Like southern breezes o'er the rose, 
 Lending a charm to things around ; 
 And all the air, and all the ground, 
 A sacred silence still maintains, 
 As if enamour'd of the strains. 
 Unbounded rapture swells her heart : — 
 Waked to new life the senses start ; 
 Tumultuous in her bosom throng, 
 And eager drink the witching song. 
 " O, had my prince," she said, (< what bliss 
 Been blest with such a voice as this! — 
 Could he celestial sounds control, 
 And thus imparadise the soul,
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 75 
 
 The sum of joy I had attain'd — 
 Not so, alas ! hath Heaven ordain'd ; 
 The poppy's drowsy lulling grain 
 Sheds deadly poison o'er his brain, 
 And lurking vice and folly sway 
 A mind fast verging to decay. 
 
 " But, hist ! yes, yes, Love's wanton wings 
 Now flutter on the yielding strings. 
 How quicker would my pulses beat, 
 How ardent glow this kindling heat, 
 Were he within these trembling arms, 
 Who thus my soul to rapture charms ! 
 Sure all the beauty Heaven could lend 
 On one, so favour'd, would descend ; 
 For, ah ! where dwells a voice so sweet, 
 The Graces, dress'd in smiles, must meet. 
 What lustre in his eye will shine, 
 What freshness in his face divine; 
 And, O ! what melting grace pervade 
 A form for love and pleasure made !
 
 70 THE 1 RINCESS AND 
 
 If it be doom'd I once shall lose 
 Bright honour's gem — fair faith abuse — 
 The cause is here — Love hails the choice, 
 And woos me with no earthly voice. 
 I loath the life which now I share, 
 Must I then languish in despair, 
 Still tamely yield to adverse fate, 
 When Love lends wings to fly from hate ?" 
 
 \\ hat Reason will not stoop to hear, 
 Passion devours with greedy ear. 
 Her casket stored — a precious stealth — 
 And blind to all but love and wealth, 
 She, trembling, by a cord descends — 
 On her new choice her eye she bends, 
 Sees (hear and pity, ye who range 
 From bad to worse, and weep the change) 
 Sees one, far more deform'd and low 
 Than him, the cause of all her woe. 
 With wonder either each survey 'd, 
 To him she seem'd some heaven-born maid
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 77 
 
 The fair more marvell'd that a strain 
 
 So sweet should rise from such a swain ; 
 
 Yet she essay 'd his breast to calm, 
 
 And in it pour'd affection's balm : 
 
 " Dear youth ! — and dost thou tremble still ?' ? 
 
 " Speak, fair one, for I hear but ill." 
 
 " O, Alia ! and that other sun, 
 
 Why closed r"— " Alas, I have but one !" 
 
 No matter, 'twas forbidden fare, 
 
 And stolen pleasures sweetest are; 
 
 Besides, she had resolved on flight, 
 
 And, once resolved, to thought good night ! 
 
 " O, chorister of heaven !" she cried, 
 
 " How dearly are our souls allied ! 
 
 How blest if thou delight in me, 
 
 As I, loved youth, now joy in thee ! 
 
 Yet I the pains of wedlock prove 
 
 With one not melody can move ; 
 
 In Sorrow's haram, captive chain'd, 
 
 Bound e'en to him my soul disdain'd.
 
 78 THE PRINCESS AND 
 
 The art he wants, O youth, supply, 
 And teach me how the base to fly ; 
 For that I pant, he cannot give : — 
 With thee 'twere bliss in wilds to live, 
 With thee, rough rocks were beds of down. 
 Fearless — too gentle thou to frown." 
 
 Why need I all the sighs rehearse, 
 The plighted vow, th' avenging curse r 
 The wanton dame, and melting maid. 
 This hour betraying, next betray 'd, 
 In every guileful art grown old, 
 Would deem the sacred pledges cold : 
 Enough, eternal faith tliey swear, 
 And onward bend, a loving pair. 
 
 Alas ! that in so fair a breast 
 Foul thoughts should ever find a nest ! 
 And is there no perfection found : 
 Ah ! no — with thorns the rose can wound. 
 The serpent lurks where flowrets spring, 
 The toad pollutes the crystal spring ;
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 79 
 
 In beauteous buds the worm finds rest, 
 And poisonous weeds the balm infest. 
 
 In dalliance time they may not waste : — 
 A rapid river stays their haste. 
 Th' enchanting minstrel here observed, 
 " Nature with strength my arm hath nerved, 
 Hath bless'd me too with skill to brave 
 The mighty waters' whelming wave. 
 I'll first the trackless way explore, 
 Then swift return to bear you o'er." 
 His upper garment thrown aside, 
 The precious casket — safely tied, 
 The fair-one left on love to dream, 
 He plunges in the yielding stream, 
 
 Midway, his passion 'gan to cool. 
 And thus he reason'd : — " Be no fool ! 
 Am I not poor, and lowly born ? — 
 Soon shall I prove, alas! her scorn, 
 Soon passion sated, yield to pride, 
 And she resume the royal bride.
 
 80 THE PRINCESS AND 
 
 Why should I madly ruin meet, 
 When fortune points a safe retreat ? 
 Fair Virtue's path now left to tread, 
 She'll seek again her slighted bed ; 
 If not, can I in one find truth, 
 Who flies the partner of her youth V 
 He thought these reasons safe and strong, 
 'Twas folly to debate them long : 
 'Gainst virtue he had nought to say, 
 If interest look'd not t'other way; 
 Nay, could upon a pinch be just, 
 When honour led — to wealth and trust ! 
 
 Now to her Abyssinian bed 
 Night softly stole, and rosy red, 
 The winged Hours through twilight haste, 
 And ope the portals of the east. 
 Day's dazzling sultan rose sublime, 
 Beheld the wanderer wail her crime ; 
 When, hark ! the sound on which she doats, 
 In every gale around her floats ;
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 81 
 
 Inthrals her soul, and puts to flight 
 
 The short repentance of the night. 
 
 With the soft song her love returns, 
 
 (For will no useful lesson learns.) 
 
 Wild, to the minstrel's haunt she makes, 
 
 Through devious paths, through tangled brakes, 
 
 And sees at length — but doubts her eyes 
 
 Have forged the vision for surprise ; — 
 
 Again she looks — too true her sight, 
 
 She listens — farewell all delight ; 
 
 O, curst mischance ! O, bitter treat ! 
 
 It is her lord that sings so sweet; 
 
 Her prince, whom lawless love has fir'd, 
 
 And with celestial song inspir'd. 
 
 Nor wealth, nor state, nor all the stores 
 That Heaven on thankless mortals pours, 
 Can pleasure o'er a mind diffuse, 
 Unskill'd the blessing well to use. 
 Her lawful lord espoused in hate, 
 To one she scorn'd fast link'd by fate, 
 o
 
 82 THE PRINCESS AND 
 
 What wonder if the impious deed 
 Obtain'd of wilful vice the meed ? 
 Ah ! had her eyes, so prompt to find 
 The falls and shallows of his mind, 
 Traced to its source the hidden spring? 
 Through all its wild meandering, 
 Some crystal drops had cheer' d the soil- 
 And recompens'd her virtuous toil ! 
 He mark'd her dark, averted eye, 
 Saw her his love, his converse fly, 
 And while, with injured pride, he burn'd, 
 Her unendear'd embraces spurn'd. 
 His soul depress'd, but not subdued, 
 He nursed a proud, a vengeful mood ;, 
 Yet wisdom's seed (if right I spell) 
 Left not to perish as it fell, 
 But fed with science' kindly dew, 
 The immortal plant, till fair it grew. 
 His mind, in secret, richly died, 
 With arts to indolence denied ;
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 83 
 
 And music, plaintive maid, he woo'd, 
 In her loved haunts, sweet solitude : 
 But scorning pleasure to impart 
 To one who shook him from her heart, 
 He hid from all his wondrous skill, 
 And seem'd the same dull statue stilh 
 
 Ah ! not from all : one tender maid; 
 Sequester'd in the forest's shade, 
 Was conscious of his matchless strains; 
 And well her love repaid his pains. 
 Here frequent, when the queen of night 
 Hung forth in heaven her crescent bright, 
 He from his joyless palace stole, 
 And pour'd in melody his soul ; 
 While she, the fair for whom he sung, 
 Enraptured, on his bosom hung. 
 
 Remorse and jealousy by turns 
 Torment her breast, that throbs, that burns: 
 She cannot chide him, though untrue , 
 And pride forbids her now to sue,
 
 84 THE PRINCESS AND 
 
 To disappointment left a prey, 
 She casts all thoughts of life away; 
 Seeks in the waves her guilt to hide, 
 Those waves so late with terror eyed. 
 A shegal * here the dame beheld, 
 Whose mouth a savoury morsel fill'd. — 
 A fish was, by a playful bound, 
 Left gasping on the sunny ground ; 
 The glutton cast his wealth away, 
 And ran to seize the glittering prey, 
 That, by another spring, was hurl'd 
 Back to its native watery world. 
 Quick to regain, the shegal tried, 
 What late he spurn'd, but fate denied ; 
 A beast more swift beheld the bone, 
 And made the slighted good his own. 
 And now she sees the waves divide, 
 And thickening clouds roll o'er the tide: 
 When, from the midst, uprose in air 
 A Genie, and address'd the fair. 
 * A beast of prey.
 
 THE MUSICIAN. 85 
 
 " Daughter of sorrow, guilt unblest 
 Pollutes each mind, steels every breast; 
 Yet things forgotten, once most dear, 
 Lost even to hope, again appear. 
 What in the shegal calls for blame, 
 Paints the sad story of thy shame. 
 Content with that heaven made thy own, 
 Nor girding thee with pleasure's zone, 
 Thou hadst not fallen from joy's excess, 
 To drink this cup of bitterness. 
 But go, all evil thoughts dismiss, 
 Repentance yet may lead to bliss."
 
 TALE VII. 
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF 
 BAGDAT.
 
 [89] 
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF 
 B A G D A T. 
 
 Thkee beggars, patterns of their kind, 
 Stout, joyous, careless rogues, and blind, 
 Left Bagdat, in a merry mood, 
 To forage in the neighbourhood. 
 With sturdy step they press'd the ground, 
 And prickt their ears at every sound. 
 Each had a cup, and, shut from clay, 
 A stick each held, to shape his way. 
 
 A merchant who the vagrants eyed, 
 Struck with their steady, rapid stride,
 
 00 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 Address'd himself: — " In my poor mind, 
 For men, to all appearance blind, 
 Those fellows handle well their feet, 
 Their blindness may be all a cheat ; 
 But I, thank heaven, can clearly see, 
 And 'twill be hard to cozen me." 
 With this he hastes the men to greet, 
 Who hearing sound of horse's feet, 
 Begin to range themselves arow. 
 " For Alla's sake, a mite bestow; 
 Let not the sun, declining, set 
 Upon our fast, not broken yet, 
 But to the blind some pity lend, 
 So may our prophet be your friend !" 
 
 Distress, in such a moving tone, 
 Might surely melt a heart of stone. 
 The merchant stops, and feigns to grant 
 An alms above their daily want : 
 " This way, your hand, you seem to me 
 Fit objects, friends, for charity;
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 91 
 
 Mere's a bezant ; hold fast — nay hold : 
 
 Good ! — honestly divide the gold ; 
 
 But make of plenty no abuse, 
 
 My bounty then may be of use." 
 
 " May heaven your precious eyesight guard, 
 
 And your munificence reward !" 
 
 None doubt a moment of the prize, 
 
 (Safe in the merchant's purse it lies,) 
 
 For each was sure his friend possess'd 
 
 The .wealth with which they thought them bless'd ; 
 
 They therefore held their wonted chase, 
 
 But slacken'd somewhat in their pace ; 
 
 While the pleased merchant lagg'd behind, 
 
 To mark what whim was in the wind. 
 
 The rogues now lend a listening ear, 
 All's hush'd as death — no stranger near: 
 The leader halts — 'the little band, 
 Attentive to his bidding, stand. 
 " Well comrades," he begins, " to-day 
 We've fallen upon a noble prey !
 
 92 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 Some pilfering knave, some murderous Turk, 
 
 By bribes would his salvation work. 
 
 Ah, rogue ! yet we may reap the sweets 
 
 Of pleasure from his pious cheats. 
 
 To beg, when we may eat and drink, 
 
 Is most heterodox, I think ; 
 
 And clear against our faith, my friends, 
 
 That still to fate devoutly bends. 
 
 What say you, shall we trudge in pain, 
 
 Or seek the city walls again, 
 
 And drink amendment to the sinner, 
 
 Whose qualms have purchased us a dinner :-■ 
 
 'Tis long since we caroused — too long ; 
 
 When did we hear an amorous song f 
 
 We've all forgot a savoury dish, 
 
 And hardly know the taste offish: 
 
 Then to a khan, boys, let us haste, 
 
 Nor longer precious moments waste/' 
 
 The way to pleasure is so broad, 
 That e'en the blind can find the road.
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 Already they're within the gates, 
 
 Where garlic steam desire creates, 
 
 And tempting sounds assail the ear, 
 
 Of " Enter, ye who love good cheer ! 
 
 Here beggars like bashaws may dine ; 
 
 Here's fish, and" (in a whisper) " wine !" 
 
 Such moving calls as these might win 
 
 A fasting anchorite to sin, 
 
 Far more a band who scorn'd pretence, 
 
 With all their means, to abstinence ; 
 
 So following the grateful scent, 
 
 They stopt, struck hands — and in they went. 
 
 Scarce enter'd, they begin to swear, 
 
 Like men accustomed to good fare ; 
 
 Who've wherewithal to pay, besides, 
 
 For e'en the best the house provides. 
 
 Aloud they call with thundering stick, 
 
 Demand to be well served, and quick : 
 
 But with a caution, not to weigh 
 
 Their means against their poor array.
 
 94 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 Magid (for so was nam'd the host) 
 Stood not in idle wonder lost : 
 Such guests oft came, and lavish'd more 
 Than many bless'd with greater store. 
 Officious now he play'd his part, 
 And bow'd from instinct, more than art; 
 His best-appointed room threw wide, 
 And was himself the obsequious guide. 
 " Be seated, sirs ; be seated, pray, 
 The best is yours without delay : 
 Your calling, and your poor dark eyes 
 (With which my feelings sympathise) 
 Have crying claims upon my skill, 
 And I were curst to want the will. 
 You're right good souls when chance decrees. 
 And gives the means your taste to please." 
 At this, wife, master, maid, and man 
 Bestir themselves — for fish one ran, 
 Another draws the wine — a third, 
 Half kills, and singing, plucks the bird.
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 95 
 
 At length five ample, smoaking dishes 
 Crown to the height their eager wishes ; 
 Pleased, they throng round the rich repast, 
 That vanish'd from the board as fast, 
 " As though increase of appetite 
 Had grown from" the defect of sight. 
 Now bumpers to the fair they quaff, 
 And bless their stars, and roar, and laugh. 
 " Is Fortune blind ? why so are we, 
 Then w here's the wonder, friends, that she. 
 An idle, toying jade, should mark 
 For favour, wights who love the dark ! 
 The curious world, e'en let it see, 
 To drink and sing 's enough for me !' 
 With clumsy jokes their mirth increast. 
 Jokes on the dupe that found the feast 
 Who in a corner snugly lay, 
 Impatient for the time to pay; 
 When he might hope to laugh in turn. 
 And they a useful lesson learn.
 
 f)6 THE THltEE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 Their bliss till midnight lengthen'd out, 
 The yawning rogues for couches shout: 
 On these (their limbs so softly lain) 
 They dream their drunken joys again. 
 
 The sun arose all dusky red, 
 A mournful cloud half veil'd his head ; 
 And burning atoms round him swarm, 
 Portentous of the coming storm ; 
 When, lo ! our host impatient still 
 To see their backs, and take his bill, 
 Ascends to drown their deafening snore.. 
 In thunder at the chamber door. 
 Their tatter'd trappings claim'd and tied, 
 Hung loose, in many a window wide ; 
 Yet from their skill received due aid, 
 Sad, drooping ensigns of their trade ! 
 
 Now groping they descend, and hear 
 Their debt — -just fifteen drachmas clear. 
 " Tis well," said one, " a modest charge— 
 Your bill is small, our feeding large ;
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 97 
 
 But we have that will quit the score, 
 
 And leave us something yet in store. 
 
 Take it — when changed, we'll make our way. — 
 
 Magid holds out his hand for pay, 
 
 But neither stirs — he sues again — 
 
 " Who is it that the gift hath ta'en ?" 
 
 " 'Twas honest Culed, without doubt." — 
 
 " Ha ! cunning Hadgi ! — there you're out." — 
 
 u Why, then 'twas Basem." — " Think you so :" — 
 
 " 'Twas Salom, sure."—" By Alia, no !" 
 
 Mine host yet deigns to ask once more, 
 
 <f It is not I !" in turn they roar. 
 
 His choler now began to rise — 
 
 <( So, gentle vagrants ! yet be wise ! 
 
 And make not me your game, your mark 
 
 To shoot your arrows in the dark. — 
 
 Whoe'er, before I'm righted, goes, 
 
 Takes, for each bit, a score of blows. 
 
 Yes, pay the coin, or, by my soul, 
 
 The stoutest heart shall loudest howl ! 
 
 H
 
 98 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 I'll have your ears, your skins, ye scum ! 
 To frighten crows, or vamp a drum : 
 Would nothing serve but fish and wine. 
 Ye kennel-raking, hungry swine !" 
 Trembling, once more they question round — 
 In vain they ask — no money 's round. 
 Suspicion lies with each in turn ; 
 They grudge the fraud, and inward burn ; 
 Revile, accuse, storm, threaten, swear, 
 Their rags demolish, rend their hair, 
 Their greasy beards in turn fast hold, 
 And, fearless, search each jaw for gold ; 
 When Magid calls for sticks, to play 
 His promised part, and join the fray. 
 
 This scene the Merchant, where he hides, 
 W i tli laughter views, and aching sides ; 
 \et fearful what in farce begun, 
 To doleful tragedy may run, 
 W ith feign'd surprise he stays their blows, 
 And asks, whence all this tumult rose.
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 99 
 
 Cries Magid, " Sir, these scurvy knaves, 
 With noisy throats, and thundering staves. 
 Came yesterday, ere Sol went down, 
 And threaten'd famine to the town. 
 The flesh, for which 1 Bagdat scower'd, 
 Like hungry jackal Is they devour'd ; 
 The wine the vagrants sat to swill, 
 Believe me, would have turn'd a mill ; 
 let, now I ask them for my due, 
 The rogues refuse, and mock me too : 
 
 But, by great Alia " — " Hear, my lord," 
 
 The leader cries, " and heaven record 
 This gracious act ; the poor and blind 
 From greatness ever pity find ; 
 In meaner souls — but I'll forbear, 
 And, thus protected, truth declare. 
 For nature's cravings to provide, 
 With providence our steps to guide, 
 We issued forth ; our daily task, 
 An alms, in ehaiitv, to ask.
 
 100 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 But first our sightless eyes we raise, 
 Dark to the sun's meridian blaze, 
 And seek our prophet's aid in prayer — 
 (O let the faithful ne'er despair !) 
 Our suit he heard — and for the rest, 
 Touch'd with remorse a sinner's breast ; 
 A wretch who heaven was loth to miss, 
 If gold might smooth the way to bliss. 
 He gave us a bezant, a dole 
 That argued sure a sinful soul. 
 But not to tire your patient ear, 
 With this bezant we enter'd here, 
 And boasted of our skill to pay — 
 With what discretion I'll not say. 
 A wretched khan's no holy place, 
 Nor have their keepers always grace , 
 And there are rogues who watch will keep, 
 While simple souls are fast asleep ; 
 
 And what is more, sir, " — " Nay, forbear, 
 
 Did I not hear you, caitiffs, swear,
 
 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 101 
 
 In secret where I stood awhile, 
 
 You took no gold, ye cozeners vile ! 
 
 And would you now of theft accuse 
 
 The man you've cheated of his dues ! 
 
 Go, graceless gluttons, hie you hence, 
 
 Ingratitude's your least offence; 
 
 Yet he was, sure, more fool than knave, 
 
 Who to such rogues so largely gave. 
 
 But go " Cries Magid, " No retreat, 
 
 Disburse, or give me back my meat, 
 
 My wine, ye poor, ye " — " Softly, pray," 
 
 The Merchant cries, " I think you say 
 These men are poor ; their regal dress, 
 All loop'd and fringed, declares no less. 
 And is it not enough, alas ! 
 That here, in sorrow, life they pass, 
 But you with Satan must combine, 
 And tempt the feeble flesh with wine ? 
 You fable, sure — it cannot be — 
 What, bring their souls in jeopardy !
 
 102 THE THREE BEGGARS OF BAGDAT. 
 
 Before the Cadi swear it, friend, 
 
 He to vour oath may credit lend." 
 
 Magid refused; a guilty cause 
 
 Could gain no succour from the laws: 
 
 He liked the Cadi not forjudge, 
 
 So growl'd, and bade the beggars trudge. 
 
 While the pleased Merchant gain'd his end- 
 
 The host would learn his ways to mend, 
 
 The vagrants gratitude be taught, 
 
 And all experience, cheaply bought.
 
 TALE VIII. 
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI.
 
 [ 105 ] 
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 Where interest joins discordant hands, 
 And maidens wed — a house and lands, 
 There Hymen's torch sheds baleful light, 
 Proud is the day, but sad the night. 
 Look round, this truth will soon appear, 
 And this my story, too, makes clear. 
 
 In golden times, of less turmoil, 
 When man with prudence, and some toil, 
 Could earn enough to deck his board, 
 And nurse, besides, his little board ;
 
 10(i THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 A careful hind so shaped his ends, 
 As raised the envy of his friends : 
 His busy plough upturn'd the field ; 
 The tilths their golden tribute yield, 
 Bless him with more than humble fare, 
 And single, he was free from care. 
 Tis something when life's troubles press, 
 To have insured one plague the less : 
 To have insured ! O, vain intent ! 
 While malice, still on mischief bent, 
 Assumes some form, (all forms she can,) 
 And overturns the wisest plan. 
 The mask of friendship now she wore, 
 So oft, alas ! disgraced before; 
 And deems too calm his toilsome life, 
 Without that trying thing — a wife ; 
 By no one care in this world vext, 
 What must he not endure the next ! — 
 Alarm'd, the man her aid bespoke, 
 And vow'd obedience to the yoke.
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 107 
 
 JSot distant far from vagrant gaze, 
 Conceal'd 'mid sweets, a tangled maze 
 Where spreading palms their branches wreath, 
 And playful sun-beams dance beneath, 
 A merchant dwelt, a child of care, 
 To many a sigh of pity heir. 
 One blooming flow'ret fortune spared, 
 Who all his hopes, his sorrows shared; 
 A maid, on whom the Houris smiled, 
 While innocence the dav beguiled. 
 Yet had her eheek still blush'd in vain — ■ 
 Man, sordid man! intent on gain, 
 Unpluck'd leaves beauty's fairest flower, 
 And woos a monster witli a dower. 
 This nymph, the pride of all the vale, 
 Our hind's too busy friends assail ; 
 An offering (it they deem the maid, 
 On Hymen's altar to be laid. 
 Too poor to choose, to fate rcsign'd, 
 The merchant seems not ill inclined ;
 
 108 THE VHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 While she, to mild obedience train'd, 
 Views him with eyes that ne'er disdain'd : — 
 Yet Jove, though blind, resists command, 
 She yields an ice-cold, trembling hand. 
 No sweet alarm her bosom fills, 
 No soft caress her throbbing stills. 
 Love lights no torch the way to cheer, 
 Through wedlock's thorny paths, so drear. 
 
 One little month within the noose, 
 And jealousy the boor pursues : 
 " What imp of Seeva* form'd the scheme, 
 Of tethering me in such a team ? 
 Together tied, yet not united, 
 We cannot choose but be delighted ! 
 Will no kind friend, say cuckold, say, 
 Make the lone hour glide sweet away ? 
 For woman finds no man amiss ; 
 Nor e'er in one can fancy bliss. 
 Through verdant vales so heifers wind, 
 And rove, new pasture still to find. 
 * The destroying power of the Hindoos.
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 109 
 
 I'll paint the sin, alarm her fears ; — 
 Yet passion hath nor eyes, nor ears; 
 Wisdom herself may preach and fail, 
 And still the slightest switch prevail : 
 E'en so ; in tears all day, poor fool, 
 Her longings will have time to cool: 
 The morning's smart, I'd fain believe, 
 I have a charm will cure at eve." 
 
 Possess'd with this, at dinner hour 
 He eats and growls : — the rice is sour, 
 The porridge cold, and for the meat, 
 Not fit for famish'd wolves to eat ! 
 Alas ! on evil madly bent, 
 He seeks in her distress content ; 
 But, left in tears, she fairer seems, 
 Her blue eves languish milder beams : 
 So droops the rose, celestial flower ! 
 In morn's ambrosial, dewy shower. 
 
 Night came, and not in vain were used 
 Those arts in wedlock oft abused ;
 
 110 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 Yet how her wounded pride was heal'd, 
 From eyes un wedded rests conceal'd. 
 Tli rough flowery paths we pass to pain, 
 And sunshine gathers clouds and rain ; 
 So happiness, in married life, 
 Is but the prelude to new strife. — 
 Proud of his hopeful scheme, the boor, 
 Next morn, on mercy shut the door ; 
 Secured her virtue for the day, 
 And light of heart, e'en went his way. 
 Wrong'd fair ! thy tears, unjustly shed, 
 Shall fall upon his guilty head ; 
 Yes, vengeance shall o'ertake him vet : 
 A wife but seldom dies in debt. 
 
 One morn she graced her threshold side, 
 Where many a flower in beauty vied : 
 Deep were her sighs, and sweeter far 
 Than gales perfumed with nagasar; * 
 Her tears fast flow'd, while o'er her fate 
 She mourn'd, as yet afraid to hate. 
 
 * A delicious Indian perfume.
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. Ill 
 
 When, flush'd with speed, two heralds came, 
 
 And hail'd her in the Sultan's name; 
 
 Demand, but yet with courteous air, 
 
 Something faint nature to repair. 
 
 What her scant store affords, with haste 
 
 Before her guests she smiling plac'd : 
 
 Then modestly besought to know 
 
 How far they purposed still to go : 
 
 " On this good fortune must decide, 
 
 For fortune onlv is our guide. 
 
 One deeply skill'd we seek," they said, 
 
 " Whose art might almost raise the dead. 
 
 One , but no matter for his name, 
 
 We merely hunt him by his fame. 
 Ah! why did heaven vile fish ordain, 
 Why with sharp bones their frame sustain r 
 Or why were maidens not endu'd 
 Willi patience slow to chew their food ? 
 Had heaven so pleased, we should not here 
 Two breathless messengers appear;
 
 112 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 The king to Alia would not fly, 
 
 His daughter would not choking lie ; 
 
 Nor swear, so may she die in pain, 
 
 If e'er she touches fish again !" 
 
 " A faithful guide hath fortune proved, 
 
 By Haree * are ye hither moved," 
 
 Replied the dame, " here set your rest, 
 
 And think yourselves supremely blest. 
 
 Though poor these walls, though mean in size, 
 
 (What is not mean in courtiers eyes ?) 
 
 Yet they contain, nor think me bold, 
 
 What palaces might proudly hold ; 
 
 Yes, here resides Thanwantaree/f- 
 
 Or one, at least, as skill'd as he. 
 
 Yet, strange, (for in this earthly round 
 
 Perfection is but seldom found,) 
 
 The man is of a whim possest, 
 
 (Your mission shields you from a jest,) 
 
 And neither fame nor fee endures : — 
 
 He will be beat before he cures ! 
 
 * Providence. + The Hindoo Esculapius
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 113 
 
 Your eyes, I see, demand the sage, 
 The hoe, the spade, his hours engage. 
 Even now he turns, on yonder plain, 
 The crumbling glebe, or sows the grain : 
 But duty calls — O, may his ear 
 The imperious call submissive hear ! — 
 Upon your steeds you'll thither hie, 
 Ere minutes pass, though swift they fly. 
 Yet once again ; stand not entreating, 
 But be provided with a beating." 
 
 Their panting coursers they bestride ; 
 And now he is by either spied, 
 Hard toiling like the meanest hind, 
 Exposed to sun, and sultry wind. 
 Low in the dust they bow profound ; 
 Th' imperial mandate then propound ; 
 Demand his aid, whose fame had spread 
 Where'er disease reclined her head. 
 With keen mistrust the pair he eyed, 
 And thus, half sportively, replied : 
 i
 
 114 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 " Troth, Fame hath made a brave report, 
 
 And wisely have ye left the court ! 
 
 If the world's master anxious seeks 
 
 One greatly skill'd in raising leeks, 
 
 Or lacks an arm in di°;e;in<>; learn'd. 
 
 A hand to hoeing nicely turn'd, 
 
 His servants need no further look." — 
 
 But pukes he neither gave nor took ; 
 
 And thought their beards it ill became, 
 
 To make of him their idle game. 
 
 " She told us true," they cried : " We see 
 
 Thou art anxious, friend, to take thy fee." 
 
 With that a storm of blows the knaves 
 
 Let fall from their official staves, 
 
 Till metamorphosed, lo ! the clown 
 
 Assumes, though loth, the doctor's gown, 
 
 Mounts, in due state, his spavin'd mare; 
 
 And forthwith all to court repair. 
 
 Restored to hope by their return, 
 The Sultan hastes their tale to learn :
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 115 
 
 Delighted hears, his smiles to win, 
 
 His slaves a monstrous fable spin ; 
 
 What toils, what dangers they o'erpast, 
 
 Till fortune bless'd their search at last. 
 
 To crown the wonder, they disclose 
 
 The man's mysterious love for blows, 
 
 Which if bestow'd with niggard hand, 
 
 He'll kill nor cure, but sullen stand. 
 
 'Twas strange, the monarch thought, but then, 
 
 Could kings divine the ways of men r 
 
 Subjects so willing to be pieas'd, 
 
 At least might have their longings eas'd. 
 
 His patient now the sufferer sees, 
 And, trembling, on his bended knees 
 Calls every saint to testify 
 How much he knows of pharmacy. 
 He'd heard of cupping, purging, bleeding. 
 But here was nearly all his reading: 
 Yes, this, in truth, he understood, 
 That hunger was allay'd by food. —
 
 116 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 These things he knew, and many such, 
 And men less wise might know as much. 
 
 Patience, who seldom long remains 
 In palaces, and proud domains, 
 The royal breast here quite forsook ; 
 On two bildars he cast a look, 
 Who with renown their office filPd ; 
 Broad rogues in bastinading skill'd. 
 Their supple sticks they promptly ply, 
 Unpitying hear him Mercy ! cry ; 
 Thrash all unwise resistance out, 
 Till, quite subdued, the smarting lout 
 Exclaims " For Alla's sake give o'er ! 
 I'll cure the maid ; what would you more !" 
 
 With choice in gilded state to roam 
 Or crawl a quivering jelly home, 
 He turns the matter round and round — 
 The evil was not so profound : 
 Would but the joyous goddess deign 
 To bless him with a merry vein,
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 117 
 
 Lend him her smile-provoking aid, 
 The thing were done as soon as said. 
 " Into a mad convulsion thrown, 
 E'en now, methinks, I see the bone, 
 L see the royal maid relieved, 
 The king o'erjoy'd, myself reprieved !" 
 
 A face of wisdom now he wears, 
 And thrice he strokes his beard, and stares, 
 And thrice lie hems, — when sudden fired, 
 Like one deranged, or one inspired, 
 He, pointing to the hearth, commands, 
 A blazing pile of crackling brands ; 
 By nods and signs his will is known, 
 To have the afflicted fair alone. 
 His turband now aside he laid, 
 And, heedless of the blushing maid, 
 Stretch'd at the fire he lies his lena;th. 
 Exposed, and bare his hairy strength. 
 Now on a spit he seems to turn, 
 And roast, a monstrousjoint, and burn ;
 
 118 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 Pipes dolefully the scorching graces, 
 With apt contortions, purls, grimaces: 
 The princess, maugre pride and pain, 
 No longer could herself contain, 
 But fro ,11 her midriff laugh'd outright, 
 As any simple maiden might : 
 Propell'd the forked mischief came, 
 
 And gave another dunce to fame! 
 
 o 
 
 All titles now were deem'd too poor 
 To grace such skill : so thought the boor : 
 Who, though refused, demanded still 
 The simple boon, to tend his mill ; 
 In want of corn, in want of trim, 
 And most of all, in want of him. 
 But when, the signal being made, 
 The two bildars resumed their trade, 
 Few blows sufficed his sight to clear, 
 And mould him for his new career. 
 
 Stript o' his freedom, shorn and shaved, 
 In splendid robes he sits enslaved.
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 119 
 
 Too coarse his lungs for scented air, 
 He pants for home, and homely fare, 
 And meditates a sudden flight 
 From all his pomp some lucky night. 
 Meantime, those busy females, Fame 
 And Falsehood, wonders loud proclaim. 
 W hen all the rotten, far and near, 
 With ague, palsy, gout, appear ; 
 Entreat the Sovereign's awful nod 
 May move for them this healing god ; 
 Who, gracious, seeing no design, 
 His revenue to undermine, 
 Commends them with a father's care; — 
 Stiff stands the boor, upright his hair : 
 " Unless our holy prophet deigns 
 To find the physic and the brains," 
 He said, " their pains they must endure — 
 Why, here's an army, sire, to cure !" 
 The bildars catch the sign, and now, 
 Awed by their rods, and threatening brow,
 
 120 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 He swears to make the ailing whole, 
 Down to the scullion, every soul. 
 
 Retired the Sultan and his train, 
 The sick alone with him remain. 
 With leaden eye upon the ground, 
 He seems immersed in thought profound ; 
 And all are with persuasion fill'd, 
 They see a sage most deeply skill'd. 
 He raises now a blazing pyre, 
 And still with billets feeds the fire. 
 His patients then, in circle wide, 
 Are ranged around, from side to side; 
 When, lo ! as from a trance awoke, 
 Their grave attention he bespoke. 
 " How blest, could I this toil decline ! — 
 No easy task, my friends, is mine, 
 Such crowds of patients to restore ; — 
 All, all, poor souls! afflicted sore. 
 For science points one way alone, 
 And that a rough one, I must own.
 
 THE FHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 121 
 
 'Tis tins : — the most diseased — attend — 
 Amid the flames his pains must end : 
 This debt to human suffering paid, 
 His ashes, into powders made, 
 (For inward taken they are best,) 
 Must then be swallow'd by the rest. 
 The remedy is rough, most sure ; 
 No matter, if it work a cure: 
 The remedy is rough ; it is — 
 But what an envied lot is his, 
 Who blest! the worst of torments braves, 
 And scores of true believers saves!" 
 These healing words pronounced, they pry 
 In each one's case with anxious eye. 
 Asthma in wind, sees gout in haste, 
 Swollen dropsy tapers in the waste, 
 Health blushes in the hectic cheek, 
 Pale nausea ceases now to peak, 
 While atrophy, fresh vigour boasting, 
 One yet more sapless seeks for roasting.
 
 122 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 
 
 The boor pursues his skilful plan — 
 " Thou'rt deadly pale, poor soul, and wan," 
 (Addressing him who stood the first,) 
 " Thy feeble frame declares thee worst. 
 Thou seem'st, with thy remains of breath, 
 In any shape to welcome death." 
 " Who, I ? dear Doctor, you're deceived — 
 I worst ! thank heaven, I'm much relieved ; 
 And never, in my life, I vow, 
 Felt half so full of health as now." 
 " Of health ? O Alia, patience grant i 
 Why make you this your idle haunt ? 
 Of health ! then let it quick appear, 
 And fly, impostor, fly from here !" 
 His pains forgotten, out he flings, 
 For fear had lent him both her wings. 
 Without, the courtiers seeing one 
 Who lately crawl'd, now nimbly run, 
 Demanded, " Art thou heal'd ?" — " You guess. ,; 
 Another came, " And thou?" — " Yes, ves!"
 
 THE PHYSICIAN OF DELHI. 123 
 
 And still, as through the doors they push'd, 
 Sciatica on palsy rush'd. 
 The halt, unprop'd, their haste betray, 
 E'en blindness, somehow, gropes her way ; 
 Jn fine, so hopeless none were found, 
 Not even those in wedlock bound, 
 But deem'd a life, diseased, unhallow'd, 
 Better than being in powders swallow'd. 
 
 The Sultan, fill'd with new surprise, 
 Thinks such a man for courts too wise : 
 And, gracious, drops the arm of power — 
 He might depart in peace that hour. 
 With honours crown'd, his partner fair 
 Perceives he has a courtly air : 
 While he, too rich for jealous taint, 
 Now finds his wife a perfect saint. 
 So heedles- of each others ways, 
 Most lovingly they pass their days, 
 Till Death, that old suspicious knave., 
 Secured their quiet, in the grave. 
 
 Printed by W. Bulmcr and Co. Cleveland-row.
 
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