“And pray, who is your physician?” again asked the visitor, “Azrael, the Angel of Death. And now, be-gone with you!” growled the invalid. “Oh, is he?” pursued the deaf man. “Then you ought to rejoice, for he is a man of auspicious footsteps. I saw him only just now, and asked him to devote to you his best possible attention.” With these words he bade the sick man good-by, and withdrew, rejoicing that he had satisfactorily performed a neighborly duty. Meanwhile, the other man was angrily muttering to himself, “This fellow is an implacable foe of mine. I did not know his heart was so full of malignity.” --_Stories in Rime (Masnavi)._ _OLD AGE--DIALOGUE_ _Old Man._ I am in sore trouble owing to my brain. _Physician._ The weakness of the brain is due to old age. _Old Man._ Dark spots are floating before my eyes. _Physician._ That, too, comes from old age, oh, venerable sheikh! _Old Man._ My back aches very much. _Physician._ The result of old age, oh, lean sheikh! _Old Man._ No food that I take agrees with me. _Physician._ The failure of the digestive organs is also due to old age. _Old Man._ I am afflicted with hard breathing. _Physician._ Yes, the breathing ought to be affected in that manner. When old age comes, it brings a hundred complaints in its train. _Old Man._ My legs are getting feeble, and I am unable to walk much. _Physician._ It is nothing but old age which obliges you to sit in a corner. _Old Man._ My back has become bent like a bow. _Physician._ This trouble is merely the consequence of old age. _Old Man._ My eyesight is quite dim, oh, sage physician! _Physician._ Nothing but old age, oh, wise man! _Old Man._ Oh, you idiot, always harping on the same theme! Is this all you know of the science of medicine? Fool, does not your reason tell you that God has assigned a remedy to every ailment? You are a stupid ass, and with your paltry stock of learning are still fumbling in the mire! _Physician._ Oh, you dotard past sixty, know, then, that even this rage and fury is due to old age! From Abu Ishak we glean this delightful bit of parody on Hafiz. _PARODY ON HAFIZ_ HAFIZ ABU-ISHAK Will those who can transmute Will those who sell cooked dust into gold by looking sheep’s-head give us a sidelong at it ever give a sidelong glance, when they open glance at us? their pots in the morning? The beauteous Turk, who The cook has to-day is the cause of death to her bought onions for giving a lovers, has to-day gone forth relish to minced meat. Let intoxicated. Let us see from us see, now, from whose whose eyes the heart’s blood eyes tears shall begin to shall begin to flow. flow.