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O folk, is there none of you all will answer my bitter cry! Is there never a merciful friend will help me of all mankind?
Yet death and the pains of death are a little thing to me; I have put off the hope of life and left its sweets behind.
O Thou that sentest the Guide, the Chosen Prophet to men, The Prince of the Intercessors, gifted to loose and bind,
I prithee, deliver me and pardon me my default, And put the troubles to flight that crush me, body and mind!
The gaoler took off his clean clothes and clothing him in two filthy garments, carried him to the Vizier. Noureddin looked at him, and knowing him for his enemy who still sought to compass his death, wept and said to him, ‘Art thou then secure against Fate? Hast thou not heard the saying of the poet?—
Where are now the old Chosroës, tyrants of a bygone day? Wealth they gathered; but their treasures and themselves have passed away!
O Vizier,’ continued he, ‘know that God (blessed and exalted be He!) doth whatever He will!’ ‘O Ali,’ replied the Vizier, ‘dost thou think to fright me with this talk? Know that I mean this day to strike off thy head in despite of the people of Bassora, and let the days do what they will, I care not; nor will I take thought to thy warning, but rather to what the poet says:
Let the days do what they will, without debate, And brace thy spirit against the doings of Fate.
And also how well says another:
He who lives a day after his foe Hath compassed his wishes, I trow!’
Then he ordered his attendants to set Noureddin on the back of a mule, and they said to the youth (for indeed it was grievous to them), ‘Let us stone him and cut him in pieces, though it cost us our lives.’ ‘Do it not,’ replied Noureddin. ‘Have ye not heard what the poet says?—
A term’s decreed for me, which I must needs fulfil, And when its days are spent, I die, do what I will.
Though to their forest dens the lions should me drag, Whilst but an hour remains, they have no power to kill.’
