THE KING

O Vizier, be it as thou say’st!

HUSSEIN

Three days since, at the time of prayer,
A certain Moollah, with his robe
All rent, and dust upon his hair,
Watched my lord’s coming forth, and pushed
The golden mace-bearers aside,
And fell at the King’s feet, and cried:—­

“Justice, O King, and on myself! 
On this great sinner, who did break
The law, and by the law must die! 
Vengeance, O King!”

                           But the King spake:—­
     “What fool is this, that hurts our ears
     With folly? or what drunken slave? 
     My guards, what, prick him with your spears! 
     Prick me the fellow from the path!”

As the King said, so was it done,
And to the mosque my lord passed on.

But on the morrow when the King
Went forth again, the holy book
Carried before him, as his right,
And through the square his way he took,

     My man comes running, flecked with blood
     From yesterday, and falling down
     Cries out most earnestly:—­“O King,
     My lord, O King, do right, I pray!

     “How canst thou, ere thou hear, discern
     If I speak folly? but a king,
     Whether a thing be great or small,
     Like Allah, hears and judges all.

     “Wherefore hear thou!  Thou know’st how fierce
       In these last days the sun hath burned;
     That the green water in the tanks
       Is to a putrid puddle turned;
     And the canal, that from the stream
     Of Samarcand is brought this way,
     Wastes, and runs thinner every day.

     “Now I at nightfall had gone forth
       Alone, and in a darksome place
     Under some mulberry trees I found
       A little pool; and in short space
     With all the water that was there
     I filled my pitcher, and stole home
     Unseen; and having drink to spare,
     I hid the can behind the door,
     And went up on the roof to sleep.

     “But in the night, which was with wind
     And burning dust, again I creep
     Down, having fever, for a drink.

     “Now meanwhile had my brethren found
     The water-pitcher, where it stood
     Behind the door upon the ground,
     And called my mother; and they all,
     As they were thirsty, and the night
     Most sultry, drained the pitcher there;
     That they sate with it, in my sight,
     Their lips still wet, when I came down.

     “Now mark!  I, being fevered, sick
       (Most unblest also), at that sight
     Brake forth, and cursed them—­dost thou hear?—­
       One was my mother—­Now, do right!”

     But my lord mused a space, and said:—­
       “Send him away, sirs, and make on! 
     It is some madman!” the King said. 
       As the King bade, so was it done.