“Do you threaten me wi’ death for my loving you so well? * When Death to me were rest and all dying is by Fate? And man’s death is but a boon, when so longsome to him grows * His life, and rejected he lives in lonest state: Then visit ye a lover who hath ne’er a soul to aid; * For on pious works of men Heaven’s blessing shall await. But an ye be resolved on this deed then up and on; * I’m in bonds to you, a bondsman confined within your gate: What path have I whose patience without you is no more? * How is this, when a lover’s heart in stress of love is strait? O my lady show me ruth, who by passion am misused; * For all who love the noble stand for evermore excused.” He then folded the scroll and gave it to the old woman, together with two purses of two hundred dinars, which she would have refused, but he conjured her by oath to accept of them. So she took them both and said, “Needs must I bring thee to thy desire, despite the noses of thy foes.” Then she repaired to the palace and gave the letter to Hayat al-Nufus who said, “What is this, O my nurse? Here are we in a correspondence and thou coming and going! Indeed, I fear lest the matter get wind and we be disgraced.” Rejoined the old woman, “How so, O my lady? Who dare speak such word?” So she took the letter and after reading and understanding it she smote hand on hand, saying “Verily, this is a calamity which is fallen upon us, and I know not whence this young man came to us!” Quoth the old woman, “O my lady, Allah upon thee, write him another letter; but be rough with him this time and say to him, ‘An thou write me another word after this, I will have thy head struck off.’” Quoth the Princess, “O my nurse, I am assured that the matter will not end on such wise; ’twere better to break off this exchange of letters; and, except the puppy take warning by my previous threats, I will strike off his head.” The old woman said, “Then write him a letter and give him to know this condition.” So Hayat al-Nufus called for pen-case and paper and wrote these couplets:— Ho, thou heedless of Time and his sore despight! * Ho, thou heart whom hopes of my favours excite! Think O pride-full! would’st win for thyself the skies? * Would’st attain to the moon shining clear and bright? I will burn thee with fire that shall ne’er be quenched, * Or will slay thee with scymitar’s sharpest bite! Leave it, friend, and ’scape the tormenting pains, * Such as turn hair-partings[FN#274] from black to white. Take my warning and fly from the road of love; * Draw thee back from a course nor seemly nor right!