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By the scorpious[1] that he launches from his ringlet-clustered brows, Seeking ever in their meshes hapless lovers to ensnare,
By the myrtle of his whiskers and the roses of his cheeks, By his lips’ incarnate rubies and his teeth’s fine pearls and rare,
By his breath’s delicious fragrance and the waters of his mouth, That defy old wine and choicest with their sweetness to compare,
By his heavy hips that tremble, both in motion and repose, And the slender waist above them, all too slight their weight to bear,
By his hand’s perennial bounty and his true and trusty speech, By the stars that smile upon him, favouring and debonair,
Lo, the scent of musk none other than his very perfume is, And the ambergris’s fragrance breathes about him everywhere.
Yea, the sun in all his splendour cannot with his brightness vie, And the crescent moon’s a fragment that he from his nail doth pare.
Night clxxiii.The King, accordingly, waited till a day of state, when the audience hall was filled with his Amirs and Viziers and grandees and officers of state and captains. As soon as they were all assembled, he sent for his son Kemerezzeman, who came and kissing the earth three times, stood before him, with his hands clasped behind his back. Then said the King to him, ‘Know, O my son, that I have sent for thee and summoned thee to appear before this assembly and all these officers of state that I may lay a commandment on thee, wherein do thou not gainsay me. It is that thou marry, for I am minded to wed thee to a king’s daughter and rejoice in thee ere I die.’ When the prince heard these his father’s words, he bowed his head awhile, then raising it, replied, being moved thereto by youthful folly and boyish ignorance, ‘Never will I marry, no, not though I drink the cup of death! As for thee, thou art great in years and little of wit: hast thou not, twice before this, questioned me of the matter of marriage, and I refused thee? Indeed, thou dotest and art not fit to govern a flock of sheep!’ So saying, he unclasped his hands from
- ↑ The browlocks, from their shape, are commonly likened by Eastern poets to scorpions.
