The Poor Scenite Arab and his Wife.

  An Arab woman once thus to her husband spake, Insisting strongly he’d of these words notice take: “How very poor we are! What hardships have we borne! The whole world lives in pleasures; we’re the butt of scorn! We have no bread; for condiment we’ve grief and cares. Jug, pitcher we possess not; drink we naught but tears. By day, our only raiment’s scorching solar heat; Our bedclothes in the night, the moon’s rays pale and sweet. The disk of Luna we may well imagine bread. Our hands we lift to heaven; keen hunger’s pangs we 5 dread. E’en mendicants feel shame at our dire poverty. Our days are dark as night, through drear adversity. Our kindred, as all strangers, sight of us now shun. Just like the wandering Jew, for fear we should them dun. ¹ When I would borrow half a handful of lentils, The neighbours wish me dead; their wrath on me distils. Amongst us Arabs pride is felt in war and gifts, Among those very Arabs thou’rt devoid of shifts. What need of war have we? We’re wounded; we are slain; The dart of want has pierced us through and through with 10 pain. What need of faults, O sinless one? We’re in hell-fire! What solace have we? Overwhelmed with deep desire! What gifts have we to give? We silent beggars sit! Could we but seize a gnat, its throat we’d straightway slit! If guest should come to us, as sure as I’m alive, When he was sunk in sleep, to strip him we would strive.” Such grumblings, and as follows, going on all day, She made her husband wish her fifty miles away: “Unbroken destitution’s brought us both to straits. 15 My heart burns for our sorrows; hope’s gleam ne’er awaits. How long are we to suffer torture such as this? With hunger’s agony, like coals of fire we hiss. Should any stranger guest come unexpectedly, What shame we’d feel him to receive dejectedly. If any visitor should pass our way this eve, Unless we eat his sandals, what food can we give?”