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“No turtle warbles on the branch, before the break of morn, But stirs in me a killing grief, a sadness all forlorn.
No lover, longing for his loves, complaineth of desire, But with a doubled stress of woe my heart is overborne.
Of passion I complain to one who hath no ruth on me. How soul and body by desire are, one from other, torn!”
Then her eyes brimmed over with tears, and she wrote these verses also:
“Love-longing, the day of our parting, my body with mourning smote, And severance from my eyelids hath made sleep far remote.
I am so wasted for yearning and worn for sickness and woe, That, were it not for my speaking, thou’dst scarce my presence note.”
Then she wept and wrote at the foot of the scroll, “This is from her who is far from her people and her native land, the sorrowful-hearted Nuzhet ez Zeman.” She folded the letter and gave it to the merchant, Night lix.who took it and reading what was written in it, rejoiced and exclaimed, “Glory to Him who fashioned thee!” Then he redoubled in kindness and attention to her all that day; and at nightfall, he sallied out to the market and bought food, wherewith he fed her; after which he carried her to the bath and said to the tire-woman, “As soon as thou hast made an end of washing her head, clothe her and send and let me know.” Meanwhile he fetched food and fruit and wax candles and set them on the dais in the outer room of the bath; and when the tire-woman had done washing her, she sent to tell the merchant, and Nuzhet ez Zeman went out to the outer room, where she found the tray spread with food and fruit. So she ate, and the tire-woman with her, and gave what was left to the people and keeper of the bath. Then she slept till the morning, and the merchant lay the night in a place apart. When he awoke, he came to her and waking her, presented her with a shift of fine silk, a kerchief worth a thousand dinars, a suit of Turkish brocade and boots embroidered with red gold and set with
