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friends are treasured up.” “With all my heart,” answered he; “enter.” So we entered, I and the lady, but found money scarce with him. However, he gave me a handkerchief, saying, “Carry it to the market and sell it and buy meat and what else thou needest.” So I took the handkerchief and hastening to the market, sold it and bought meat and what else we required; but, when I returned, I found that Muslim had retired, with the lady, to an underground chamber.[1] When he heard me, he came out and said to me, “God requite thee the kindness thou hast done me, O Abou Ali,[2] and reckon it of thy good deeds on the Day of Resurrection!” So saying, he took from me the meat and wine and shut the door in my face His words enraged me and I knew not what to do; but he stood behind the door, shaking for mirth; and when he saw me thus, he said to me, “I conjure thee on my life, O Abou Ali, tell me who it was composed this verse?
I lay in the arms of the fair one all night, Whilst my friend slept, clean-limbed, but polluted of spright.”
At this, my rage redoubled, and I replied, “He who wrote this other verse:
One, I wish him in’s girdle a thousand of horns, Exceeding the idol Menaf[3] in their height!”
Then I began to revile him and reproach him with the foulness of his conduct and his lack of honour; and he was silent. But, when I had finished, he smiled and said, “Out on thee, O fool! Thou hast entered my house and sold my handkerchief and spent my money: so, with whom art thou wroth, O pimp?” Then he left me and went away to her, whilst I said, “By Allah, thou art right to call me
