The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night — Volume 01 (of 10)
General
The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night — Volume 01 (of 10)
Fairy tales -- Arab countries; Folklore -- Arab countries
Forbear, O troubles of the world, ✿ And pardon an ye nill forbear:
I went to seek my daily bread ✿ I find that breadless I must fare:
For neither handcraft brings me aught ✿ Nor Fate allots to me a share:
How many fools the Pleiads reach ✿ While darkness whelms the wise and
ware.
So he prayed pardon of Allah and, throwing away the jar, wrung his net
and cleansed it and returned to the sea the third time to cast his net
and waited till it had sunk. Then he pulled at it and found therein
potsherds and broken glass; whereupon he began to speak these verses:—
He is to thee that daily bread thou canst nor loose nor bind ✿ Nor pen
nor writ avail thee aught thy daily bread to find:
For joy and daily bread are what Fate deigneth to allow; ✿ This soil is
sad and sterile ground, while that makes glad the hind.
The shafts of Time and Life bear down full many a man of worth ✿ While
bearing up to high degree wights of ignoble mind.
So come thou, Death! for verily life is not worth a straw ✿ When low
the falcon falls withal the mallard wings the wind:
No wonder 'tis thou seest how the great of soul and mind ✿ Are poor,
and many a losel carle to height of luck designed.
This bird shall overfly the world from east to furthest west ✿ And that
shall win her every wish though ne'er she leave the nest.
Then raising his eyes heavenwards he said, "O my God!"[62] verily Thou
wottest that I cast not my net each day save four times;[63] the third
is done and as yet Thou hast vouchsafed me nothing. So this time, O my
God, deign give me my daily bread. Then, having called on Allah's
name,[64] he again threw his net and waited its sinking and settling;
whereupon he haled at it but could not draw it in for that it was
entangled at the bottom. He cried out in his vexation "There is no
Majesty and there is no Might save in Allah!" and he began reciting:—
Fie on this wretched world, an so it be ✿ I must be whelmed by grief
and misery:
Tho' gladsome be man's lot when dawns the morn ✿ He drains the cup of
woe ere eve he see:
Yet was I one of whom the world when asked ✿ "Whose lot is happiest?"
oft would say "'Tis he!"
[Illustration]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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