I am also acquainted with philosophy and medicine and the prolegomena of science and the commentaries of Galen, the physician, on the canons of Hippocrates; and I have commented him and I have read the Tazkirah and have commented the Burhán; and I have studied the Simples of Ibn Baytár, and I have something to say of the canon of Meccah, by Avicenna. I can ree riddles and can solve ambiguities, and discourse upon geometry and am skilled in anatomy I have read the books of the Sháfi'í[FN#256] school and the Traditions of the Prophet and syntax; and I can argue with the Olema and discourse of all manner learning. Moreover I am skilled in logic and rhetoric and arithmetic and the making of talismans and almanacs, and I know thoroughly the Spiritual Sciences[FN#257] and the times appointed for religious duties and I understand all these branches of knowledge." Then quoth she to the merchant, "Bring me ink case and paper, that I write thee a letter which shall aid thee on thy journey to Baghdad and enable thee to do without passports." Now when the merchant heard this, he cried out "Brava! Brava![FN#258] Then O happy he in whose palace thou shalt! Thereupon he brought her paper and ink case and a pen of brass and bussed the earth before her face to do her honour. She took a sheet and handled the reed and wrote therewith these verses, "I see all power of sleep from eyes of me hath flown; * Say, did thy parting teach these eyne on wake to wone? What makes thy memory light such burnings in my heart? * Hath every lover strength such memories to own? How sweet the big dropped cloud which rained on summer day; * 'Tis gone and ere I taste its sweets afar 'tis flown: I pray the wind with windy breath to bring some news * From thee, to lover wightwi' love so woe begone Complains to thee a lover of all hope forlorn, * For parting pangs can break not only heart but stone." And when she had ended writing the verses she continued, "These words are from her who saith that melancholy destroyeth her and that watching wasteth her; in the murk of whose night is found no light and darkness and day are the same in her sight. She tosseth on the couch of separation and her eyes are blackened with the pencils of sleeplessness; she watcheth the stars arise and into the gloom she strains her eyes: verily, sadness and leanness have consumed her strength and the setting forth of her case would run to length. No helper hath she but tears and she reciteth these verses, 'No ring dove moans from home on branch in morning light, * But shakes my very frame with sorrow's killing might: No lover sigheth for his love or gladdeth heart * To meet his mate, but breeds in me redoubled blight I bear my plaint to one who has no ruth for me, * Ah me, how Love can part man's mortal frame and sprite!' " Then her eyes welled over with tears, and she wrote also these two couplets,