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THE SICK KING IN BOKHARA.
THE SICK KING IN BOKHARA.
HUSSEIN.
O most just vizier, send away
The cloth-merchants, and let them be,
Them and their dues, this day! the king
Is ill at ease, and calls for thee.
THE VIZIER.
O merchants, tarry yet a day
Here in Bokhara! but at noon
To-morrow come, and ye shall pay
Each fortieth web of cloth to me,
As the law is, and go your way.
O Hussein, lead me to the king!
Thou teller of sweet tales, thine own,
Ferdousi's, and the others', lead!
How is it with my lord?
HUSSEIN.
Alone,
Ever since prayer-time, he doth wait,
O vizier! without lying down,
In the great window of the gate,
Looking into the Registàn,
Where through the sellers' booths the slaves
Are this way bringing the dead man
O vizier, here is the king's door!
