The fourth victim makes (his) complaint.

(Then) full of deepest awe the fourth man said, O you who’re worthy of a thousand thanks,
A foreign young musician I, in love; sweetly as flowing stream I play the lute.
I had a loving friend, of beauty rare, a Chinese girl, a comforter in grief.
She’d given a name to “nothing” by her mouth, “honey in smiles” (called) for its sugared smiles*1942.
Her sun-like visage robbed the moon of light; the day, before it, perished e’en as night*1943.
Bought in (our) country with my money, she*1944, and of the greatest blessings of my eyes.
Confronted with the Spring, so fair to view, her beauty took both house and garden too*1945.
Singing and music she had learnt from me: her playing soothed the heart, caressed the spirit.
Both of us with each other in one house, in close communion like the light and moth.
Life to my heart she gave, as lamp to night, by me she was as garden-verdure gay.
She lighted up a candle where she dwelt*1946, (and) burnt the moth’s heart with the fire of it*1947.
As lighted taper bright and straight in form*1948,—Rāst-rūshan took her from (your) slave away.
When I, through losing her, disturbed and mad, sought to regain companionship with her,
(Rāst-rūshan) had me bound with many bonds, as who should say, a madman must be bound.
He, at (his) ease, with my bride whom he’d stolen; with countless needs and longings I, in jail.
’Tis (now) four years since, in (his) tyranny, he’s kept me, guiltless, in this abject state.
The king at once gave up the girl to him, not her alone, but thousand things as well.
He gave for her a portion when he wed, and set him free from durance with his bride.