Thus disguised,
he went to the palace, and having obtained permission, entered and
saluted the king, who said to him: "Who art thou, O brother of the
Arabs? and what dost thou desire?" The poet answered: "May Allah
increase the power of the king! I am a poet of such a tribe, and have
composed an ode in praise of our lord the khalif." "O brother of the
Arabs," said the king, "hast thou heard of our condition?" "No,"
answered the poet; "and what is it, O khalif of the age?" "It is,"
replied the king, "that if the ode be not thine, we give thee no reward;
and if it be thine, we give thee the weight in money equal to what it is
written upon." "How," said the poet, "should I assume to myself that
which belongeth to another, and knowing, too, that lying before kings is
one of the basest of actions? But I agree to the condition, O our lord
the khalif." So he repeated his ode. The king, perplexed, and unable to
remember any of it, made a sign to the mamluk, but he had retained
nothing; then called to the female slave, but she was unable to repeat a
word. "O brother of the Arabs," said the king, "thou hast spoken truth;
and the ode is thine without doubt. I have never heard it before.
Produce, therefore, what it is written upon, and I will give thee its
weight in money, as I have promised." "Wilt thou," said the poet, "send
one of the attendants to carry it?" "To carry what?" demanded the king.
"Is it not upon a paper in thy possession?" "No, O our lord the khalif.
At the time I composed it I could not procure a piece of paper on which
to write it, and could find nothing but a fragment of a marble column
left me by my father; so I engraved it upon that, and it lies in the
courtyard of the palace." He had brought it, wrapped up, on the back of
a camel. The king, to fulfil his promise, was obliged to exhaust his
treasury; and, to prevent a repetition of this trick, in future rewarded
poets according to the custom of kings.

* * * * *

_Apropos_ of royal gifts to poets, it is related that, when the Afghans
had possession of Persia, a rude chief of that nation was governor of
Shiraz. A poet composed a panegyric on his wisdom, his valour, and his
virtues. As he was taking it to the palace he was met by a friend at the
outer gate, who inquired where he was going, and he informed him of his
purpose. His friend asked him if he was insane, to offer an ode to a
barbarian who hardly understood a word of the