eyes a fairer than she; my tongue fails to picture her beauty. When she saw me looking at her, she put her forefinger to her mouth, then joined her middle and index fingers and laid them on her bosom, between her breasts; after which she drew in her head and shut the wicket. With this, fire broke out and raged in my heart; the glance I had of her cost me a thousand sighs and I abode perplexed, having heard no word from her and understanding not the meaning of her signs. I looked again at the window, but found it shut and waited till sundown but heard no sound and saw no one. When I despaired of seeing her again, I rose and taking up the handkerchief, opened it, whereupon there exhaled from it a scent of musk, which caused me such ease that meseemed I was in Paradise. Then I spread it out before me and there dropped from it a little scroll of paper. I opened the scroll, which was scented with a delicious perfume, and found written therein the following verses: I sent my love a scroll, complaining of desire Writ in a fine, small hand; for writings vary still. "Why is thy writing thus," my lover said to me, "Attenuate and small, uneath to read and ill?" Quoth I, "Because I too am wasted, ay, and thin. Thus should their writing be, who weary at Love's will." Then, casting my eyes on the beauty of the handkerchief, I saw embroidered on one of its borders the following verses: The down of his whiskers writes (good luck to it for A scribe!) Two lines, in the basil[FN#124] hand, on the table of his face. O the wilderment of the moon at him, when he appears! And O the shame of the branch at sight of his flexile grace! And on the opposite border were the following verses: The whiskers write upon his cheeks, with ambergris on pearl, Two lines, as 'twere with jet upon an apple, line for line. Death harbours in his languid eyes and slays with every glance; And in his cheeks is drunkenness, and not in any wine.