Meanwhile，the old men said to one another，When the day of the Festival of the Fire comes，we will sacrifice him on the mountain，as a propitiatory offering to the Fire.'Presently the damsel went down to him and beat him grievously，till the blood streamed from his sides and he fainted away；after which she set at his head a cake of bread and a cruse of brackish water and went away and left him.In the middle of the night，he revived and found himself bound and sore with beating： so he wept bitterly and recalling his former estate of ease and honour and lordship and dominion，groaned and lamented and repeated the following verses：
Halt by the ruins of the house and question of our fate Nor think we sojourn in the land，as in our first estate.
Fortune，the sunderer，hath wrought the severance of our loves；
Yet doth our enemies despite against us nought abate.
A filthy cockatrice is set to torture me with whips，Whose breast against me is fulfilled with rancour and with hate.
But haply God shall yet reknit our severed loves again And turn our enemies from us with vengeance stern and strait.
Then he put out his hand and finding the bread and water at his head，ate enough to keep life in him and drank a little water，but could get no sleep for the swarms of bugs and lice.As soon as it was day，the slave-girl came down to him and changed his clothes，which were drenched with blood and stuck to him，so that his skin came off with the shirt；wherefore he shrieked aloud and cried，Alas！' and said，O my God，if this be Thy pleasure，increase it upon me！O Lord，verily Thou art not unmindful of him that oppresses me： do Thou then avenge me upon him！'And he groaned and repeated the following verses：
Lord，I submit myself to that Thou dost decree，Contented to endure，if but it pleasure Thee；
To suffer at Thy will with patience nor complain，Though I be cast to burn on coals of tamarisk-tree.[68]
Mine enemies oppress and torture me；but Thou With benefits belike shall quite and comfort me.
Far be t from Thee to let th oppressor go unscathed；Thou art my hope and stay，O Lord of Destiny！
And what another says：
Avert thy face from thought-taking and care And trust to fate to order thine affair；
For many a weary and a troublous thing Is，in its issue，solaceful and fair.
That which was strait is oftentimes made wide And straitened that，which easy was whilere.
God orders all，according to His will；Gainsay Him not in what He doth prepare，But trust in happy fortune near at hand，Wherein thou shalt forget the woes that were.
Then the slave-girl beat him till he fainted away and throwing him a cake of bread and a cruse of brackish water，went away and left him sad and lonely，bound in chains of iron，with the blood streaming from his sidesand far from those he loved.So he called to mind his brother and his former high estate and repeated the following verses，shedding floods of tears the while：
How long wilt thou wage war on me，O Fate，and bear away My brethren from me？Hold thy hand and spare awhile，I pray！
Is it not time，O thou whose heart is as the rock，that thou My long estrangement and my dole shouldst pity and allay？
Ill hast thou wrought to those I love and made my foes exult With all that thou hast wreaked on me of ruin and dismay.
Yea，for the pains he sees me brook of exile and desire And loneliness，my foemans heart is solaceful and gay.
Thourt not content with what is fallen on me of bitter dole，Of loss of friends and swollen eyes，affliction and affray.
But I must lie and rot，to boot，in prison strait and dour，Where nought but gnawing of my hands I have for help and stay，And tears that shower in torrents down，as from the rain-charged clouds，And fire of yearning，never quenched，that rages night and day，And memory and longing pain and melancholy thought And sobs and sighs and groans and cries of'Woe！' and'Wellaway！'
Passion and soul-destroying grief I suffer，and unto Desire，that knoweth not relent nor end，am fallen a prey.
No kindly soul is found to have compassion on my case And with his visits and his grace my misery allay.
Lives there a true and tender friend，who doth compassionate My sickness and my long unrest，that unto him I may Make moan of all that I endure for dole and drearihead And of my sleepless eyes，oppressed of wakefulness alway？
My night in torments is prolonged；I burn，without reprieve，In flames of heart-consuming care that rage in me for aye.
The bug and flea do drink my blood，even as one drinks of wine，Poured by the hand of damask-lipped and slender-waisted may.
The body of me，amongst the lice，is as an orphans good，That in an unjust Cadis hands doth dwindle and decay.
My dwelling-place is in a tomb，three scanty cubits wide，Wherein in shackles and in bonds I languish night and day.
My tears my wine are and my chains my music： my dessert Woeworthy thought and cares the bed whereon myself I lay.
