LVII
I wheedle, too, even like my slave Zeidun,
Who robs at dawn his brother, and at noon
Prostrates himself in prayer—ah, let us pray
That Night might blot us and our sins, and soon.
LVIII
But in the fatal coils, without intent.
We sin; wherefore a future punishment?
They say the metal dead a deadly steel
Becomes with Allah's knowledge and consent.
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