Then the girl was silent awhile, but presently taking the lute in lap, again bent over it, as mother bendeth over child, and preluded in many different modes; then, returning to the first, she sang these couplets, "Would they [FN#430] the lover seek without ado, * He to his heavy grief had bid adieu: With him had vied the Nightingale[FN#431] on bough * As one far parted from his lover's view: Rouse thee! awake! The Moon lights Union-night * As tho' such Union woke the Morn anew. This day the blamers take of us no heed * And lute-strings bid us all our joys ensue. Seest not how four-fold things conjoin in one * Rose, myrtle, scents and blooms of golden hue.[FN#432] Yea, here this day the four chief joys unite * Drink and dinars, beloved and lover true: So win thy worldly joy, for joys go past * And naught but storied tales and legends last." When Nur al-Din heard the girl sing these lines he looked on her with eyes of love and could scarce contain himself for the violence of his inclination to her; and on like wise was it with her, because she glanced at the company who were present of the sons of the merchants and she saw that Nur al-Din was amongst the rest as moon among stars; for that he was sweet of speech and replete with amorous grace, perfect in stature and symmetry, brightness and loveliness, pure of all defect, than the breeze of morn softer, than Tasnim blander, as saith of him the poet,[FN#433] "By his cheeks' unfading damask and his smiling teeth I swear, By the arrows that he feathers with the witchery of his air, By his sides so soft and tender and his glances bright and keen, By the whiteness of his forehead and the blackness of his hair, By his arched imperious eyebrows, chasing slumber from my lids With their yeas and noes that hold me 'twixt rejoicing and despair, By the Scorpions that he launches from his ringlet-clustered brows, Seeking still to slay his lovers with his rigours unaware, By the myrtle of his whiskers and the roses of his cheek, By his lips' incarnate rubies and his teeth's fine pearls and rare, By the straight and tender sapling of his shape, which for its fruit Doth the twin pomegranates, shining in his snowy bosom, wear, By his heavy hips that tremble, both in motion and repose, And the slender waist above them, all too slight their weight to bear, By the silk of his apparel and his quick and sprightly wit, By all attributes of beauty that are fallen to his share; Lo, the musk exhales its fragrance from his breath, and eke the breeze From his scent the perfume borrows, that it scatters everywhere. Yea, the sun in all his splendour cannot with his brightness vie And the crescent moon's a fragment that he from his nails doth pare." —And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say. When it was the Eight Hundred and Sixty-eighth Night,