One of Shah Shudja's vizirs, Hadji Kawameddin Hassan, was also a good friend to Hafiz. In the poems he is frequently alluded to as the second Assaf (the first Assaf having been King Solomon's vizir, renowned for his wisdom), while Shah Shudja masquerades under the title of Solomon himself. On his return from a journey, probably to Yezd, Hafiz spent some months in the house of the Vizir—induced thereto by a cogent argument. In one of the poems there is a dialogue between himself and a friend, in which the friend says to him, “When after two years' absence thy destiny has brought thee home, why comest thou not out of thy master's house?” Hafiz replies that the road in which he walks is not of his choosing: “An officer of my judge stands, like a serpent, in ambush upon the path, and whenever I would pass beyond my master's threshold he serves me with a summons and hurries me back into my prison.” He goes on to remark that under these painful circumstances he finds his master's house a sure refuge, and the ser­vants of the Vizir useful allies against the officers of the law. “If any one proffers a demand to me there, I call to my aid the strong arm of one of the Vizir's dependants, and with a blow I cause his skull to be cleft in two.” A summary manner, one would think, of dealing with the law, and little calculated to incline the heart of his judge towards the offender.

There is another Khawameddin who is frequently mentioned, the Vizir of Sultan Oweis of Baghdad. He founded in Shiraz a college for Hafiz, in which the poet gave lectures on the Koran, and read out his own verses, and whither his fame drew a great number of pupils. We find Hafiz asking his bene­factor for money to support this school in the following terms: “Oh discreet friend (my poem), in some retired spot to which even the wind is a stranger, come to the ear of the master, and between jest and earnest place the pointed saying, that his heart may consent unto it; then, of thy kindness, pray his munificence to tell me, if I were to ask for a small stipend, would my request be tolerated?” One cannot but hope that so charming a begging letter, couched in verse withal, was more than toler­ated. It was probably this Vizir who sent a robe of honour to Hafiz which, when it came, proved to be too short for him; “but,” says the poet politely, “no favour of thine could be too short for any man.”

From Oweis himself Hafiz is said to have received kindness, but he does not seem to have been satis­fied with the Sultan's conduct towards him: “From my heart,” he says, “I am the slave of Sultan Oweis, but he remembers not his servant.” The son of Oweis, Sultan Ahmed of Baghdad, whose cruelty caused his subjects to call in the aid of Timur against him, was very anxious to induce Hafiz to visit his court; but Hafiz, perhaps with prudence, declined the invitation, saying that he was content with dry bread eaten at home, and had no desire to taste the honey that pilgrims gather by the road­side. He sent to Ahmed a poem in which he loaded his name with extravagant praise. “On Persian soil,” he declared, “the bud of joy has never blown for me. How excellent is the Tigris of Baghdad and the perfumed wine! Oh wind of the dawn, bring unto me the dust from my friend's threshold, that Hafiz may wash bright with it the eyes of his heart.”

Once only did he comply with the invitations of foreign kings, and his experience on that occasion was far from encouraging. He visited Shah Yahya, Shah Shudja's brother, at Yezd, but the reward which he received was not commensurate with his expectations. “Long life to thee and thy heart's desire, oh Cup-bearer of Djem's court!” he writes —and the context shows that the allusion is to Shah Yahya—“though while I dwelt with thee my cup was never filled with wine.” Moreover, a devoted lover of Shiraz, Hafiz was overcome with home­sickness when he was absent from his native town. “Why,” he says in a pathetic little poem written while he was at Yezd—“Why should I not return to mine own home? Why should I not lay my dust in the street of mine own beloved? My bosom cannot endure the sorrows of exile; let me return to mine own city, let me be master of my heart's desire.” It was after this luckless visit to Shah Yahya that he is said to have remarked, “It seems that Fortune did not intend kings to be wise.”

He never again gathered the honey of the roads of pilgrimage. Once, indeed, in answer to the pressing invitation of Shah Mahmud Purabi, Sultan of Bengal, he set forth for India; but a series of accidents befell him, he lost heart and returned home again. The story is told in a note to Poem XXI.

From the Sultan of Hormuz he received many favours, though he refused to visit him and his pearl fisheries in the Persian Gulf. He compares this Sultan with Shah Yahya, much to the disadvantage of the latter, saying that the King who had never seen him had filled his mouth with pearls, whereas Shah Yahya, to whose court he had journeyed, had sent him empty away.

Shah Shudja was not the only member of the house of Muzaffar who protected Hafiz; the war­rior prince Mansur was his staunch friend. He appears to have been absent from Shiraz at the time of Mansur's accession—perhaps he had accom­panied Timur's retreating army. “The wind has brought me word,” he cries, “that the day of sorrow is overpast; I will return to Shiraz through the favour of my friend. On the banners of the Conqueror (i.e. Mansur, of whose name this is the meaning) Hafiz is borne up into heaven; fleeing for refuge, his destiny has set him upon the steps of a throne.” Mansur held the poet in high esteem. There is a tradition that when he appointed one of his sons governor over a province, the young man asked his father to give him his vizir, Jelaleddin, as a counsellor, and Hafiz as a teacher. “What!” replied Mansur, “wouldst thou be King even in thy father's lifetime, that thou demandest of him the two wisest men in his realm?”