Whenas Shápúr sat in his uncle's place
Most joyed but some were sorry in Irán.
He thus harangued the noble men of lore,
And veteran, adviceful archimages:—
“Know that henceforth we favour not the liar,
For lying is not policy and that
Ensureth greatness. Treat not nidderings
As friends and sow not weeds within the garden.
The man of brains should make a mock of none.
Tongues should be guarded, not imbued with bane,
For he that speaketh much in the assembly
Will minish his repute, but when a sage
Discourseth, hear, for learning ageth not.
The covetous have aching hearts, do thou
Abstain from greed and make not friends with liars,
Or men of evil rede. Four qualities
Are needful in a man: first, being modest,
Just, and accomplished; secondly, sincere
And single-hearted; thirdly, moderate
And welcoming whatever fortune bringeth;
And, fourthly, never speaking foolishly,
But using fools for profit not for sport.
The hearts of noble men obtain both worlds,
But justice pleaseth not the hearts of churls,
Who in this world possess an evil name,
And in the other win not Paradise.
The vain withal hath but a brief career
Because he dissipateth wealth in folly,
While he is lauded that doth choose the mean;
He showereth benedictions on himself.*

God aid you, be your fortune ever bright,
And may He help us, for the throne of greatness
Abideth not with any.”

Thus he said.

The nobles rose and blessed him.

When five years

And four months had passed by, the Sháh one day
Went out to hunt, the world was full of cheetahs,
Of hawks, and hounds, these flying and those coursing.
A tent was pitched to make a resting-place
Where when the Sháh had eaten he reposed;
He drank three goblets full of royal wine,
And, musing, drowsed. His comrades all dispersed
While he reclined. He slept. Then from the waste
A tempest rose, so great that none recalled
The like, and brought the wood-work of the tent
Down on the Sháh's head! He that had aspired
To win the world—the valorous Shápúr—
Died and resigned the royal crown to others.
This whirling world is evermore the same,
And constant only to the knavish one,
Who in his jugglery is void of shame
To filch from any or to foist upon.
Act, then, enjoy, disport, but fret thee not.
Why grasp at vengeance, toy with treasury?
Within this gloomy orb accept thy lot,
Seek honour, and let this world's secret be.
Discovery will make thee writhe with pain;
Then pry not, let its mystery remain.