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FERISHTAH'S FANCIES.
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To—whom but that same bearer of the cupWhose inadvertency was chargeableWith what therefrom ensued, disgust and deathTo Abbas Shah, the over-nice of soul?Whence he appoints thee,—such his clemency,—Not death, thy due, but just a double taxTo pay, on thy particular bed of reedsWhich flower into the brush that makes a broomFit to sweep ceilings clear of vermin. Sure,Thou dost believe the story nor disputeThat punishment should signalize its truth?Down therefore with some twelve dinars! Why start,—The stag's way with the lion hard on haunch?'Believe the story?'—how thy words throng fast!—'Who saw this, heard this, said this, wrote down this