The Messenger Speaks with the Beloved

Once again that master of enchantment began to weave a fresh spell over her. He answered her: You proud cypress, do not play the coquette any further with heartsick lovers. There is a captive who longs for you, whose mind is forever lost in desire for you. How long will you keep trying to destroy him? Fear, at last, his burning sigh. It is enough to kill this helpless man with grief, to snuff out his lamp with a cold wind. Let him taste something of your lips; perhaps then his pain will find some calm. I am that old man from whom young people learn the ways of love. I am the physician for the suffering of love's sufferers, the cure for love's incurable ache. I console those who have given their hearts; I find a remedy for the helpless. I know the cure for the lovesick and mad; I know a thousand spells drawn from this old tale. Listen to me: treasure your youth, for no one is given a second life. So do not humiliate your own lovers if you cannot bear humiliation yourself. Why pour fire on this heart already burned? From now on, give up this harshness and severity. From this fire you will see nothing but smoke; you will grow full of regret, and find no warmth. A whole spring is not worth the trouble of one thorn; the entire world is not worth causing pain. No one holds a grudge against the kind; no one wages war by such a code. Take pity on this poor, bewildered youth, a stranger, wounded, and powerless. His heart is bound to love and longing for you, worn out by love and longing for you. How can you find it right to keep him apart, to drive him from your door with scorn? Suppose he never wins his wish from you: why should he have to die in separation? I do not ask that he sit beside you; only let him glimpse you once from afar. What custom is this, to treat a friend so cruelly, to turn friends' hearts against you? For a while be a companion to a stranger; for a moment be kind to one who is kind. With this warmth he kept working on her heart; he breathed on it, and softened the iron. This exchange went on between them for a time, with much back and forth from either side. For every excuse she offered in the matter, he set before her a fresh reply. When he had recited enough of this to her, the sweet-lipped idol was left with no answer. By cunning, the bird was caught in the snare at last; the startled falcon came to hand at last. That lily-natured idol, out of her willfulness, behaved just as Nezami describes: With one eye she poured out boundless coquetry, while with the other she made a fresh vow. Though her scolding smashed glass against stone, her ruby lips fixed the price in the midst of the quarrel.