I cling to journeying, I cross deserts, I loathe pride that I may cull joy:

And I plunge into floods, and tame steeds that I may draw the trains of pleasure and delight.

And I throw away staidness, and sell my land, for the sipping of wine, for the quaffing of cups.

And were it not for longing after the drinking of wine my mouth would not utter its elegancies;

Nor would my craft have lured the travellers to the land of Irak, through my carrying of rosaries.

Now be not angry, nor cry aloud, nor chide, for my excuse is plain:

And wonder not at an old man who settles himself in a well-filled house by a wine cask that is brimming.

For truly wine strengthens the bones and heals sickness and drives away grief.

And the purest of joy is when the grave man throws off the veils of shame and flings them aside:

And the sweetest of passion is when the love-crazed ceases from the concealing of his love, and shows it openly.

Then avow thy love and cool thy heart: or else the fire-staff of thy grief will rub a spark on it;

And heal thy wounds, and draw out thy cares by the daughter of the vine, her the desired:

And assign to thy evening draught a cup-bearer who will stir the torment of desire when she gazes;

And a singer who will raise such a voice that the mountains of iron shall thrill at it when she chants.

And rebel against the adviser who will not permit thee to approach a beauty when she consents.

And range in thy cunning even to perverseness; and care not what is said of thee, and catch what suits thee:

And leave thy father if he refuse thee, and spread thy nets and hunt who comes by thee.

But be sincere with thy friend, and avoid the niggardly, and bestow kindness, and be constant in gifts;

And take refuge in repentance before thy departure; for whoso knocks at the door of the Merciful causes it to open.

Then I said to him, “O rare thy recitation, but fie on thy misconduct!—Now, by Allah, tell me from what thicket is thy root, for thy puzzle vexes me.”—He said I love not to disclose myself; yet I will intimate it:

I am the novelty of the time, the wonder of nations;

I am the wily one, who plays his wiles among Arabs and foreigners;

But not the less a brother of need, whom fortune vexes and wrongs,

And the father of children who lie out like meat on the tray:

Now the brother of want, who has a household, is not blamed if he be wily.

Said the narrator: Then I knew that it was Abû Zayd, the man of ill-fame and disgrace, he that blackens the face of his hoariness.—And the greatness of his contumacy offended me, and the foulness of the path of his resorting:—So I said to him with the tongue of indignation and the confidence of acquaintance: “Is it not time, old man, that thou withdraw from debauch­ery?”—But he was angry, and growled, and his coun­tenance changed, and he thought a while:—And then he said, “It is a night for merriment, not for rebuke, an occasion for drinking wine, not for contention; so leave speaking thy thought until we meet to-morrow.” —Then I left him, through fear of his drunken hu­mour, not through dependence on his promise;—And I passed my night clothed in the mourning of re­pentance, at having advanced the steps of my foot to the daughter of the vine, not of grace.—And I made a vow to God Almighty that I would never again enter the tavern of a liquor-seller, even that I might be endowed with the dominion of Bagdad;—And that I would not look upon the vats of wine, even that the season of youth might be restored to me.—Then we saddled the white camels in the last darkness of night, and left together those two old ones, Abû Zayd and Iblîs.