Thereafter tumult, combating and strife
Arose throughout Írán, the bright day gloomed
And men renounced Jamshíd, who when his Grace
Was darkened turned to folly and perverseness.
Pretenders started up, on every march
The disaffected nobles levied troops
And strove. Some set forth for Arabia,
For they had heard: “There is a monarch there—
An awe-inspiring king of dragon-visage.”
Thus all the discontented cavaliers
Went to Zahhák and offered fealty,
Saluting him as monarch of Írán.
The king of dragon-visage came like wind
And donned the Íránian crown, collected troops—
The bravest of Arabia and Írán—
And having seized the throne of Sháh Jamshíd
Slipped on the world as 'twere a finger-ring.
Thus fell Jamshíd. Pressed by the world's new lord
He fled, surrendering crown, throne and treasure,
Host, power and diadem. The world turned black

To him, he disappeared and yielded all.
He was in hiding for a century,
But in the hundredth year the impious Sháh
Appeared one day beside the sea of Chín.
Zahhák clutched him forthwith, gave him small respite,
And sawing him asunder freed the world
From him and from the fear that he inspired.
Long was he hidden from the Dragon's breath,
But there was no escaping in the end,
For fortune whirled him like a yellow straw
And both his throne and greatness passed away.
What better Sháh was ever on the throne,
And yet what profit could he call his own
From all his toils? His seven centuries
Brought him great blessings and calamities.
What need hast thou then for a length of years?
The world will keep its secrets though for food
It give thee sweets and honeycomb, and rude
Ungentle voices banish from thine ears.
Wilt thou then say: “Its love is spent on me,
In every look affection is expressed?”
Wilt thou confide therein caressingly
And tell it all the secrets of thy breast?
'Twill play with thee a pretty game indeed
Anon, and cause thy wretched heart to bleed.
My heart is weary of this Wayside Inn:
O God! release me soon from toil therein.