ABSTRACT
It is related, O auspicious and high-minded King, that there was once, in the antiquity of time and the passage of the age and of the moment, a Sultan in the city of Basrah, whose name was Zain. He was an admirable youth, delightful to look upon, generous and valiant, noble and powerful; but, in spite of those gifts which set him above his time, he was a reckless prodigal and expert dissipater of gold, who, by large gifts to his greedy young favourites, by expenses on women of every hue and size, and by continual purchase of new virgins at exorbitant prices, had at last exhausted even the immense treasures laid up by his warlike ancestors. One day his wazir kissed the earth between his hands, announcing that the chests of gold were empty and that there was not wherewithal to pay for the refreshment of the morrow; then, fearing that the stake would be his portion for such unwelcome news, he retired as quickly as he might.
