LITMIR.BIZ

         Cease!

         Of my own cheating sure

      It is allowed to speak.  Were it not cheating

      To look for the fair side of these impostures,

      In order, under colour of its fairness,

      To gain advantage from them—ha?

         Al-Hafi,

      Go to your desert quickly.  Among men

      I fear you’ll soon unlearn to be a man.

      And so do I—farewell.

         What, so abruptly?

      Stay, stay, Al-Hafi; has the desert wings?

      Man, ’twill not run away, I warrant you—

      Hear, hear, I want you—want to talk with you—

      He’s gone.  I could have liked to question him

      About our templar.  He will likely know him.

      O Nathan, Nathan!

         Well, what now?

            He’s there.

      He shows himself again.

         Who, Daya, who?

      He! he!

         When cannot He be seen?  Indeed

      Your He is only one; that should not be,

      Were he an angel even.

         ’Neath the palms

      He wanders up and down, and gathers dates.

      And eats?—and as a templar?

         How you tease us!

      Her eager eye espied him long ago,

      While he scarce gleamed between the further stems,

      And follows him most punctually.  Go,

      She begs, conjures you, go without delay;

      And from the window will make signs to you

      Which way his rovings bend.  Do, do make haste.

      What! thus, as I alighted from my camel,

      Would that be decent?  Swift, do you accost him,

      Tell him of my return.  I do not doubt,

      His delicacy in the master’s absence

      Forbore my house; but gladly will accept

      The father’s invitation.  Say, I ask him,

      Most heartily request him—

         All in vain!

      In short, he will not visit any Jew.

      Then do thy best endeavours to detain him,

      Or with thine eyes to watch his further haunt,

      Till I rejoin you.  I shall not be long.

      This fellow does not follow me for pastime.

      How skaunt he eyes his hands!  Well, my good brother—

      Perhaps I should say, father; ought I not?

      No—brother—a lay-brother at your service.

      Well, brother, then; if I myself had something—

      But—but, by God, I’ve nothing.

         Thanks the same;

      And God reward your purpose thousand-fold!

      The will, and not the deed, makes up the giver.

      Nor was I sent to follow you for alms—

      Sent then?

         Yes, from the monastery.

            Where

      I was just now in hopes of coming in

      For pilgrims’ fare.

         They were already at table:

      But if it suit with you to turn directly—

      Why so?  ’Tis true, I have not tasted meat

      This long time.  What of that?  The dates are ripe.

      O with that fruit go cautiously to work.

      Too much of it is hurtful, sours the humours,

      Makes the blood melancholy.

         And if I

      Choose to be melancholy—For this warning

      You were not sent to follow me, I ween.

      Oh, no: I only was to ask about you,

      And feel your pulse a little.

            And you tell me

      Of that yourself?

         Why not?

            A deep one! troth:

      And has your cloister more such?

            I can’t say.

      Obedience is our bounden duty.

         So—

      And you obey without much scrupulous questioning?

      Were it obedience else, good sir?

         How is it

      The simple mind is ever in the right?

      May you inform me who it is that wishes

      To know more of me?  ’Tis not you yourself,

      I dare be sworn.

         Would it become me, sir,

      Or

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