His name was Mīrzā Qulī. He left a dīvān and was a master of poetical style. His taste in poetry was such that if he had lived till now most of the raw poetasters of to-day would have grown sick of trafficking in verse, and from the time in which he flourished until now none of our later versifiers can be mentioned beside him. He was for many years in the service of Naurang Khān,* and wrote several brilliant encomiastic odes on him. It is said that on account of some suspicion against him something was at last, by order of Naurang Khān, put into his cup, and that he was thus sent from the world. His death took place in Mālwa. The following verses are by him:—

“Thou surely knowest that love for thee does not depart
with life
That thou walkest thus proudly over the dust of those killed
(by love).”

“Thou art neither my friend nor a stranger, and I know not
What name is given to such intercourse as this.”

“My heart is restless within my body which has been slain
by love;
I know not what more it expects from my beloved,
It describes as ‘proving’ the cruelty which it suffers from
thee,
And by this artifice persuades itself to patience for a while.”

“My life is about to leave me and I am well pleased with
this, for my heart
Has now some hope of a remedy for its many years of
pain.”

“In thy absence I do not die, lest thy heart should say
‘This weakling who has not experienced my cruelty could ³³⁰
not endure my absence for a day or two.’”

“Although she came to ask how I fared I died,
In jealous wonder as to who it was from whom she asked
the way to my house.”

“I die and have pity for those who live, for thou
Art accustomed to committing such cruelty as thou hast
done unto me.”

Some people read rashk (‘jealousy’) for raḥm (‘pity’) in this last couplet. The distinction between the two is for such as have a nice discrimination in the matter of words.

The following verses also are by him:—

“I, with my wounded heart, am a half-dead victim of the
chase, whom
The hunter in his pity quickly slays.”

“My beloved desires my death for her ease, and I
With shame bear the burden of my weary life.”

“I have made thee, as my beloved, a byword, and
I rejoice
In thy shame, for thou now wilt cast no glances on men.”

“What ill fortune is Mailī's, to experience nothing but
cruelty at her hands!
She is but a child, who cannot distinguish between cruelty
and fidelity.”*

“I am alone with my broken heart, and I gladly entrust it
to thee:
Of what use will it be to me, that I should keep it?
O my enemy! I am at my last breath, give her to me for a
moment
That I may restore her to thee with a hundred thousand
pangs.”

“In spite of her slights I would not arise at once from her
feast
For if I remain I hope to be glad for a moment at least:
After long years I am sitting, on some pretence, at her
feast
³³¹ And she speaks to me of my rival, hoping that I will
leave.”

Come not to ask how I fare, since there is no hope of my
recovery.
The desire to see me die is no sign of love.
So ardently do I desire speech with thee
That I cannot keep silence, despite my wretched plight
Thou art with my rival and Mailī pretends to ignore it,
With an ignorance which is not less than a hundred regret-
ful glances.”*
“I feign to be free from my longing for her,
That this wile of love may make her less scornful of me.”

“A hundred times have I been grieved by her and again made
peace with her,
But that moon-like beauty recks not whether I be at peace
or at war with her.”

“What has happened that thou passest by Mailī with fierce
shyness?
Perchance thou art in fresh pursuit of other game.”

“O Mailī, that one with the wonder-working breath of ‘Is*
comes to thy pillow.
One who had been dead for a hundred years
Would rise up in joy at her coming.”

“I expected thee, faithless as thou art, to abide by thy
compact,
In the great simplicity of my heart I expected this.”

“If anybody has brought about a meeting between my love
and me
Her anger with me has certainly made him ashamed of
what he has done for me.
The good news of a meeting with her, which the stranger
in ridicule gave me,
Has made me, in my simplicity, expectant of its fulfilment.”

“So long as there remains between us, even in secret, any
talk of ‘me and thee’
A stranger is at our feast, sitting between thee and me.*
Thou through modesty enterest not into speech, and I, in
bashfulness, refrain
³³² Wondering how the jealous wretchers represent what we
would say.”

“She came upon me by accident, and pretended that she had
remembered her promise;
She hung her head, and pretended that she did so in
modesty.”

In the following verse he has imitated the compiler of the Muntakhab.*

“The sky desired to vex the people, and consequently
Availed itself of the ill-will of her who torments us.”