A poorly-clad doctor of law and divinity sat one day in the front row of seats in a Cādi’s court. The Cādi gave him a sharp look, whereupon the usher took the man by the arm and said: “Get up; dost thou not know that the best place is not for such as thee? Either take a lower seat, or remain standing, or leave the court altogether. Be not so bold as to occupy the seat of the great. If thou art humble, pose not as a lion. Not every one is worthy of the chief seat; honour is proportionate to rank, and rank to merit.” He who sits with honour in a place lower than that of which he is worthy falls not with ignominy from eminence. Fuming with anger, the doctor moved to a lower seat. Two advocates in the court then entered into a spirited discussion, and flew at each other with their tongues like fighting-cocks with beak and claw. They were involved in a complicated knot which neither could unravel. From the last row of seats the tattered doctor roared out with the voice of a lion in the forest. “It is not the veins of the neck that should stand out in argument,” he said, “but the proofs, which should be full of meaning. I, too, have the faculty of argument.” “Speak on,” they answered. With the quill of eloquence that he possessed, the doctor engraved his words upon the minds of his listeners like inscriptions on a signet-ring; and, drawing his pen through the letters of pretension, he invoked applause from every corner. So hard did he drive the steed of speech that the Cādi lagged behind like an ass in the mire. Removing his cloak and turban, the latter sent them to the doctor as a token of his respect. “Alas!” he said, “I did not discern thy merit, nor welcome thee on thy arrival. I regret to see thee in this condition with such a stock of knowledge.” The usher then approached the stranger courteously in order that he might place the Cādi’s turban upon his head. But the doctor repelled him with his hands and tongue, saying: “Place not upon my head the fetters of pride, for to-morrow this fifty-yarded turban would turn my head from those in jaded garb. Those who called me ‘lord’ and ‘chief’ would then appear insignificant in mine eyes. Is pure water different whether it be contained in a goblet of gold or an earthen ewer? A man’s head requires brain and intellect, not an imposing turban like thine. A big head does not make one worthy; it is like the gourd, void of kernel. Be not proud because of thy turban and beard, for the one is cotton and the other grass. One should aim at the degree of eminence that is conformable with one’s merit. With all this intellect, I will not call thee man, though a hundred slaves walk behind thee. How well spoke the shell when a greedy fool picked it out of the mire: ‘None will buy me for the smallest price: be not so insane as to wrap me up in silk.’ A man is not better than his fellows by reason of his wealth, for an ass, though covered with a satin cloth, is still an ass.”