The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, Volume II — John Shaqi
The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, Volume II
General
The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, Volume II
Fairy tales; Tales -- Arab countries
Then she brought the chess-board and played with him; but instead
of looking at her moves, he looked at her face and set the knight
in the place of the elephant[FN#17] and the elephant in the place
of the knight. She laughed and said to him, "If this be thy play,
thou knowest nothing of the game." "This is only the first bout,"
replied he; "take no count of it." She beat him, and he replaced
the pieces and played again with her; but she beat him a second
time and a third and a fourth and a fifth. So she fumed to him
and said, "Thou art beaten in everything." "O my lady," answered
he, "how should one not be beaten, who plays with the like of
thee?" Then she called for food, and they ate and washed their
hands, after which the maids brought wine, and they drank.
Presently, the lady took the dulcimer, for she was skilled to
play thereon, and sang to it the following verses:
Fortune is still on the shift, now gladness and now woe; I liken
it to the tide, in its ceaseless ebb and flow.
So drink, if thou have the power, whilst it is yet serene, Lest
it at unawares depart, and thou not know.
They gave not over carousing till nightfall, and this day was
pleasanter than the first. When the night came, the lady went to
her sleeping-chamber, leaving Sherkan with the damsels. So he
threw himself on the ground and slept till the morning, when
the damsels came to him with tambourines and other musical
instruments, according to their wont. When he saw them, he sat
up; and they took him and carried him to their mistress, who came
to meet him and taking him by the hand, made him sit down by her
side. Then she asked him how he had passed the night, to which he
replied by wishing her long life; and she took the lute and sang
the following verses:
Incline not to parting, I pray, For bitter its taste is alway.
The sun at his setting grows pale, To think he must part from the
day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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