§ 3 How Shírwí grieved for Khusrau Parwíz and how the Chiefs were displeased thereat

Shírwí wept bitterly on hearing this;
His heart quaked for the crown and throne, and when
The company dispersed that had dismayed him
With foul words clamouring for his father's blood,
And burning the youth's heart, he left the throne
Of kingship, clasped with honoured hands his head,
And wept blood on his breast. News of that weeping
And of the lamentation of the king,
Came to the host and all were in dismay.
They met, discussed Khusrau Parwíz, and cried:—
“If he shall sit upon the throne again
He will disgrace the captains of the host.”
Whenas the sun rose o'er the darksome hills
The malcontents awoke and went to court.
The Sháh, on hearing of it, took his seat
Upon the throne, and those of high degree,
Akin or alien, approached the presence.
They took their seats with scowls but no one spoke.
The king said: “Gibbeting is the desert
Of him that mourneth not my father's woes.
I call such misbegotten and a knave.
Let none depend on such because that man
Is rottener than a rotten willow-tree.”
He gat this answer from the men in fault:—
“Call whosoever saith: ‘I serve two Sháhs’
A fool at heart and vile whate'er his rank.”
Shírwí rejoined: “For Sháhs no wealth no troops!
For one month we will utter pleasant words,
And give no hint of duress to my sire;
He may make statements that will gladden us
Because his treasures are in every coast.”

C. 2041
On hearing this they rose to seek their homes.
Then Sháh Shírwí gave orders to the cooks:—
“Let nothing be denied Khusrau Parwíz:
Serve up his food upon a golden service,
And let the food itself be rich and grateful.”
The servers brought it but he would not eat
The viands that were proffered, hot or cold.
Shírín's hand brought to him all that he ate
Because she sorrowed with him in his grief.
She was his sole good friend and soothed his woes
Both day and night, shared all his hopes and fears,
And quaked for him like willow in the wind.
A month passed and meanwhile Khusrau Parwíz
Was full of pain and anguish night and day,
His faults and crimes recalled to memory,
And little relish of that life had he.