The love borne by Maḥmúd Yamínu'd-Dawla to Ayáz the Turk is well known and famous. It is related that Ayáz was not remarkably handsome, but had several good points. Of sweet expression and olive complexion, symmetrically formed, graceful in his movements, sensible and deliberate in action, he was mightily endowed with all the arts of courtiership, in which respect, indeed, he had few rivals in his time. Now these are all qualities which excite love and give permanence to friendship.

Now Maḥmúd was a pious and God-fearing man, and he wrestled with his love for Ayáz so that he did not diverge by so much as a single step from the Path of the Law and the Way of Chivalry. One night, however, at a carousal, when the wine had begun to affect him and love to stir within him, he looked at the curls of Ayáz, and saw, as it were, ambergris rolling over the face of the moon, hyacinths twisted about the visage of the sun, ringlet upon ringlet like a coat of mail; link upon link like a chain; in every ringlet a thousand hearts and under every lock a hundred thousand souls. Thereupon love plucked the reins of self-restraint from the hands of his endurance, and lover-like he drew him to himself. But the watchman of “Hath not God forbidden you to transgress against Him?” thrust forth his head from the collar of the Law, stood before Maḥmúd, and said: “O Maḥmúd, mingle not sin with love, nor mix the false with the true, for such a slip will raise the Realm of Love in revolt against thee, and thou wilt fall like thy first father from Love's Paradise, and remain afflicted in the world of Sin.” The ear of his fortunate nature being quick to hear, he hearkened to this announcement, and the tongue of his faith cried from his innermost soul, “We believe and we affirm.” Then, again, he feared lest the army of his self-control might be unable to withstand the evolutions of the locks of Ayáz, so, drawing a knife, he placed it in the hands of Ayáz, bidding him take it and cut off his curls. Ayáz took the knife from his hands with an obeisance, and, having enquired where he should cut them, was bidden to cut them in the middle. He therefore doubled back his locks to get the measurement, executed the King's command, and laid the two tresses before Maḥmúd. It is said that this ready obedience became a fresh cause of love; and Maḥmúd called for gold and jewels and gave to Ayáz beyond his usual custom and ordinary practice, after which he fell into a drunken sleep.

When the morning breeze blew upon him, and he arose from sleep to ascend the Royal Throne, he remembered what he had done. He summoned Ayáz and saw the clipped tresses. The army of remorse invaded his heart, and the peevish headache born of wine settled on his brain. He kept rising up and sitting down aimlessly, and none of the courtiers or men of rank dared to address to him any enquiry, until at length Ḥájib 'Alí Qaríb, who was the Chief Chamberlain, turned to 'Unṣurí and said, “Go, show thyself to him.” So 'Unṣurí came in and did obeisance. Maḥmúd raised his head and said: “I was just thinking of you. You see what has happened: say something on this subject.” 'Unṣurí said:—

“Though shame it be a fair one's curls to shear,
Why rise in wrath or sit in sorrow here?
Rather rejoice, make merry, call for wine;
When clipped the cypress doth most trim appear.”

Maḥmúd was highly pleased with this quatrain, and bade them bring gold and silver, which he mixed together, and therewith thrice filled the poet's lap. Then he summoned the minstrels before him, and drank wine to [the accom­paniment of] those two verses whereby his melancholy had been dissipated, and recovered the equability of his temper.