Oh, unfortunate prince, says the sultan, you can never enough be bewailed! Nobody can be more sensibly touched with your condition than I am; never did such an extraordinary misfortune befal any man; and those who write your history will have the advantage to relate a passage that surpasses all that has ever yet been recorded. There is nothing wanting but one thing, the revenge which is due to you, and I will omit nothing that can be done to procure it. While the sultan discoursed upon this subject with the young prince, he told him who he was, and for what end he entered the castle, and thought on a plan of revenge, which he communicated to him. They agreed upon the measures they were to take for effecting their design, but deferred the execution of it till the next day. In the mean time, the night being far spent, the sultan took some rest, but the poor young prince passed the night without sleep as usual, having never slept since he was enchanted; but he conceived some hopes of being speedily delivered from his misery. Next morning the sultan got up before day, and, in order to execute his design, he hid in a corner his upper garment, that would have been cumbersome to him, and went to the Palace of Tears. He found it illuminated with an infinite number of flambeaux of white wax, and a delicious scent issued from several boxes of fine gold, of admirable workmanship, all ranged in excellent order. As soon as he saw the bed where the black lay, lie drew his scimitar, killed the wretch without resistance, dragged his corpse into the court of the castle, and threw it into a well. After this he went and lay down in the black's bed, took his scimitar with him under the counterpane, and lay there to execute what he had designed. The magician arrived in a little time; she first went into the chamber where her husband, the king of the Black Islands, was; stripped him, and beat him with bull pizzles in a most barbarous manner. The poor prince filled the palace with his lamentations to no purpose; and conjured her, in the most affecting manner that could be, to take pity on him; but the cruel woman would not give over till she had given him an hundred blows. You had no compassion on my lover, said she, and you are to expect none from me. Scheherazade, perceiving day, stopped, and could go no further. O heaven! says Dinarzade, sister, this was a barbarous enchantress indeed. But must we stop here? Will you not tell us whether she received the chastisement she deserved? My dear sister, says the sultaness, I desire nothing more than to acquaint you with it to-morrow; but you know that depends on the sultan's pleasure. After what Schahriar had heard, he was far from any design to put Scheherazade to death; on the contrary, says he to himself, I will not take away her life till she has finished this surprising story, though it should last for two months. It shall always be in my power to keep the oath I have made.