He came recently to India, and is in the service of the Khān-khānān, son of Bairam Khān.* He has good taste. The follow­ing verses are by him:—*

“My nightly lamentations are still of some effect.
My broken bow has still an arrow which will reach its
mark.
My heart is provoked by her absence; show me some
mercy, O fate!
For my hand is hampered in combat by my having a
mountain's weight tied to my waist.
Scatter roses on the skirts of my friends, for he who is
wounded to the heart by her absence
Has, on the point of each eyelash, a hundred drops* from
his liver.”

“O God! Send me from heaven a market for my wares,
I am selling my heart for a sight of my love; send me a
buyer.”

“My wares are anguish, not joy; why dost thou ask the
price?
Well I know that thou wilt not buy, and I will not sell.”

“When will the deliciousness of love's grief be forgotten?
I have sprinkled that salt on the marrow of my bones.”