[This comparison is genuinely Eastern.  Kisra called wine “the soap of sorrow.”  The Mohammedans, to whom wine is forbidden, have praised it like the guests of the House of Seti.  Thus Abdelmalik ibn Salih Haschimi says:  “The best thing the world enjoys is wine.”  Gahiz says:  “When wine enters thy bones and flows through thy limbs it bestows truth of feeling, and perfects the soul; it removes sorrow, elevates the mood, etc., etc.”  When Ibn ’Aischah was told that some one drank no wine, he said:  “He has thrice disowned the world.”  Ibn el Mu’tazz sang: 

“Heed not time, how it may linger, or how swiftly take its flight,
Wail thy sorrows only to the wine before thee gleaming bright. 
But when thrice thou st drained the beaker watch and ward
keep o’er thy heart. 
Lest the foam of joy should vanish, and thy soul with anguish smart,
This for every earthly trouble is a sovereign remedy,
Therefore listen to my counsel, knowing what will profit thee,
Heed not time, for ah, how many a man has longed in pain
Tale of evil days to lighten—­and found all his longing vain.” 
—­Translated by Mary J. Safford.]

“What a simile!” cried Gagabu.  “You must explain it.”

“It cleanses the soul of sorrow,” answered the other.  “Good, friend!” they all exclaimed.  “Now every one in turn shall praise the noble juice in some worthy saying.”

“You begin—­the chief prophet of the temple of Atnenophis.”

“Sorrow is a poison,” said the priest, “and wine is the antidote.”

“Well said!—­go on; it is your turn, my lord privy councillor.”

“Every thing has its secret spring,” said the official, “and wine is the secret of joy.”

“Now you, my lord keeper of the seal.”

“Wine seals the door on discontent, and locks the gates on sorrow.”

“That it does, that it certainly does!—­Now the governor of Hermothis, the oldest of all the company.”

“Wine ripens especially for us old folks, and not for you young people.”

“That you must explain,” cried a voice from the table of the military officers.

“It makes young men of the old,” laughed the octogenarian, “and children of the young.”

“He has you there, you youngsters,” cried Gagabu.  “What have you to say, Septah?”

“Wine is a poison,” said the morose haruspex, “for it makes fools of wise men.”

“Then you have little to fear from it, alas!” said Gagabu laughing.  “Proceed, my lord of the chase.”

“The rim of the beaker,” was the answer, “is like the lip of the woman you love.  Touch it, and taste it, and it is as good as the kiss of a bride.”

“General—­the turn is yours.”

“I wish the Nile ran with such wine instead of with water,” cried the soldier, “and that I were as big as the colossus of Atnenophis, and that the biggest obelisk of Hatasu were my drinking vessel, and that I might drink as much as I would!  But now—­what have you to say of this noble liquor, excellent Gagabu?”