University of Virginia Library

Once in Baghdád a poor Arab,
After weary days of fasting,
Into the Khalífah's banquet-
Chamber, where, aloft in State
Harún the Great at supper sate,

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Push'd and pushing, with the throng,
Got before a perfume-breathing
Pasty, like the lip of Shírín
Luscious, or the Poet's song.
Soon as seen, the famisht clown
Seizes up and swallows down.
Then his mouth undaunted wiping—
‘Oh Khalífah, hear me swear,
‘While I breathe the dust of Baghdád,
‘Ne'er at any other Table
‘Than at Thine to sup or dine.’
Grimly laugh'd Harún, and answer'd;
‘Fool! who think'st to arbitrate
‘What is in the hands of Fate—
‘Take, and thrust him from the Gate!’