Her subtle foes were on the watch,
And mark'd her course, with fury fraught,
And while she hoped the birds to catch,
An arrow's point the huntress caught.

In fancy she had got them all,
And drunk their blood and suck'd their breath;
Alas! she only got a fall,
And only drank the draught of death.

Why, why was pigeons' flesh so nice,
That thoughtless cats should love it thus?
Hadst thou but liv'd on rats and mice,
Thou hadst been living still, poor Puss.

Curst be the taste, howe'er refined,
That prompts us for such joys to wish,
And curst the dainty where we find
Destruction lurking in the dish.

_Ibn Alalaf Alnaharwany_.


AN EPIGRAM UPON EBN NAPHTA-WAH[22]

By the former with ruin and death we are curst,
In the latter we grieve for the ills of the first;
And as for the whole, where together they meet,
It's a drunkard, a liar, a thief, and a cheat.