How many a
     swain, complaining, saith of destiny malign,
“How many a cup with bitterness o’erflowing have I quaffed!  I
     make my moan of woes, whereat it boots not to repine.” 
Quoth thou, “The goodliest of things is patience and its use:  Its
     practice still mankind doth guide to all that’s fair and
     fine.” 
Wherefore fair patience look thou use, for sure ’tis
     praiseworthy; Yea, and its issues evermore are blessed and
     benign;
And hope thou not for aught from me, who reck not with a folk To
     mix, who may with abjectness infect my royal line. 
This is my saying; apprehend its purport, then, and know I may in
     no wise yield consent to that thou dost opine.

Then he folded the letter and sealing it, delivered it to the damsel, who took it and carried it to her mistress.  When the princess read the letter and apprehended its contents, she said, “Meseemeth he recalleth to me that which I did aforetime.”  Then she called for inkhorn and paper and wrote the following verses: 

Me, till I stricken was therewith, to love thou didst excite, And
     with estrangement now, alas! heap’st sorrows on my spright. 
The sweet of slumber after thee I have forsworn; indeed The loss
     of thee hath smitten me with trouble and affright. 
How long shall I, in weariness, for this estrangement pine, What
     while the spies of severance[FN#106] do watch me all the
     night? 
My royal couch have I forsworn, sequestering myself From all, and
     have mine eyes forbid the taste of sleep’s delight. 
Thou taught’st me what I cannot bear; afflicted sore am I; Yea,
     thou hast wasted me away with rigour and despite. 
Yet, I conjure thee, blame me not for passion and desire, Me whom
     estrangement long hath brought to sick and sorry plight. 
Sore, sore doth rigour me beset, its onslaughts bring me near
     Unto the straitness of the grave, ere in the shroud I’m
     dight. 
So be thou kind to me, for love my body wasteth sore, The thrall
     of passion I’m become its fires consume me quite.

Mariyeh folded the letter and gave it to Shefikeh, bidding her carry it to El Abbas.  So she took it and going with it to his door, would have entered; but the chamberlains and serving-men forbade her, till they had gotten her leave from the prince.  When she went in to him, she found him sitting in the midst of the five damsels aforesaid, whom his father had brought him.  So she gave him the letter and he took it and read it.  Then he bade one of the damsels, whose name was Khefifeh and who came from the land of China, tune her lute and sing upon the subject of separation.  So she came forward and tuning the lute, played thereon in four-and-twenty modes; after which she returned to the first mode and sang the following verses: