"Steady," he whispered, "unless you would have your head chopped neatly from your shoulders for affronting Ming Huang."
The Emperor had taken no notice of the incident.
"Rise," he ordered.
Chih-chang had succeeded in propping him up.
"What is your name?"
As Li Po attempted to answer a great hiccough sprang from his lips and echoed through an astounded court. Unperturbed, the poet quickly found speech, "My name is Li Po. Not knowing that I was to be honored in so signal a manner by being presented to your Majesty, I have been indulging in wine to a limited extent. As a plant takes stains from silk, so doth wine remove sadness from the heart. Even your Majesty must admit that when one has good wine, a graceful boat, a maiden to adore, one has everything."
The Emperor smiled. "Wine needs no defence. Its curative powers to obliterate melancholy are universally known. But tell me, Li Po, a little of your history."
"I was born in Pa-hsian of Imperial descent. The family of Li is wealthy, doubly wealthy since I am their son. At ten years of age I could write verses that made older poets to tear out their beards. Perhaps it was because I soared to heights of which they could not dream. . . . I crave your Majesty's indulgence but unless you order the room to cease from spinning round, I will not be able to proceed. Besides it is too hot."
"Ho Chih-chang will show you to the garden. You can bathe your face in a running brook."
