His wife rejoined: “The witness thou requir’st to bring, Must, by some shrewd contrivance, from thy prospects spring. Rain-water’s all we have in store within our hut, Estate, possessions, wealth, lie in our water-butt. A little pot of water shalt thou bear with thee, As offering to the Caliph. This present from me; And say: ‘No other wealth on earth do I possess. To Arabs of the desert, water’s happiness! The Caliph’s treasury is full of gems and gold; A pot of water such as this, its coffers do not hold! 465 What is this pot? It is an emblem of our lives! The water in it, matchless virtue of our wives! Accept, then, gracious prince, this little pot from me; And out of all God’s gifts repay its value, free!’ That pot’s five lips are emblems of our senses. Sure! Keep them all clean; so may thy honour, too, be pure! The pot will then relation keep with ocean’s wave; And I, perchance, advantage from that ocean have. If clean thou carry it before the sovereign’s eyes, He may be pleased therewith;--buy it from mere surprise. 470 The pot will, then, of water never lacking be; My little water-pot shall suffice thee and me. Close tight its lips, and bear it full from our supply. A holy text ’tis says: ‘From lust close every eye.’[311] His beard, his moustache, both, will swell with joy at this. For prince supreme like him, my offering’s not amiss.” Thou, woman, didst not know that there, in Bagdād’s midst, A Tigris flowed with water, sweet as honey.--Didst? A very ocean is it, rapid in its course; With boats and ships, with fishers’ hooks, both fine and coarse. 475 Go then, good man! The Caliph thee his state shall show! Thou’lt comprehend the text: “Beneath which rivers flow.”[312] Thus, likewise, are our intellects, our thoughts, our sense; A drop compared with God’s boundless omniscience! The husband now chimed in: “Yes! Plug the pot’s mouth tight. Thou’st hit the very offering;--useful, good, and right! Sew it up carefully in case of felt, threefold. Our Caliph’s breakfast-water[313] shall it be;--so cold! No other water’s like it in this world of ours;— It’s heaven’s pure ambrosia, ’still’d from vernal showers! 480 Poor cits know none but waters hard and bitter all;— Whence various maladies, with blindness, them befall!”