And Shibli Bagarag said, ‘Excellent fair show, O mighty one!’ Yet knew he not in what, but he was abject by reason of the thwacks.

So the Vizier said, ’Thou lookest lean, even as one to whom Fortune oweth a long debt.  Tell me now of thy barbercraft:  perchance thy gain will be great thereby?’

And Shibli Bagarag answered, ’My gain has been great, O eminent in rank, but of evil quality, and I am content not to increase it.’  And he broke forth into lamentations, crying in excellent verse:—­

     Why am I thus the sport of all—­
     A thing Fate knocketh like a ball
     From point to point of evil chance,
     Even as the sneer of Circumstance? 
     While thirsting for the highest fame,
      I hunger like the lowest beast: 
     To be the first of men I aim
      And find myself the least.

Now, the Vizier delayed not when he heard this to have a fair supply set before Shibli Bagarag, and meats dressed in divers fashions, spiced, and coloured, and with herbs, and wines in golden goblets, and slaves in attendance.  So Shibli Bagarag ate and drank, and presently his soul arose from its prostration, and he cried, ’Wullahy! the head cook of King Shamshureen could have worked no better as regards the restorative process.’

Then said the Chief Vizier, ‘O Shibli Bagarag, where now is thy tackle?’

And Shibli Bagarag winked and nodded and turned his head in the manner of the knowing ones, and he recited the verse: 

     ’Tis well that we are sometimes circumspect,
      And hold ourselves in witless ways deterred: 
     One thwacking made me seriously reflect;
      A second turned the cream of love to curd: 
     Most surely that profession I reject
      Before the fear of a prospective third.

So the Vizier said, ‘’Tis well, thou turnest verse neatly’ And he exclaimed extemporaneously: 

   If thou wouldst have thy achievement as high

     As the wings of Ambition can fly: 
   If thou the clear summit of hope wouldst attain,
     And not have thy labour in vain;
   Be steadfast in that which impell’d, for the peace
     Of earth he who leaves must have trust: 
   He is safe while he soars, but when faith shall cease,
     Desponding he drops to the dust.

Then said he, ’Fear no further thwacking, but honour and prosperity in the place of it.  What says the poet?—­

     “We faint, when for the fire
      There needs one spark;
     We droop, when our desire
      Is near its mark.”