Ferishtah's Fancies by Robert Browning — Read

Quoth one: "Sir, solve a scruple! No true sage / I hear of, but instructs his scholar thus: / 'Wouldst thou be wise? Then mortify thyself! / Balk of its craving every bestial sense! / Say, "If I relish melons -- so do swine! / Horse, ass, and mule consume their provender / Nor leave a pea-pod: fasting feeds the soul. " / Thus they admonish: while thyself, I note, / Eatest thy ration with an appetite, / Nor fallest foul of whoso licks his lips / And sighs -- 'Well-saffroned was that barley-soup! ' / Can wisdom coexist with -- gorge-and-swill, / I say not, -- simply sensual preference / For this or that fantastic meat and drink? / Moreover, wind blows sharper than its wont / This morning, and thou hast already donned / Thy sheepskin over-garment: sure the sage / Is busied with conceits that soar above / A petty change of season and its chance / Of causing ordinary flesh to sneeze? / I always thought, Sir"...

"Son," Ferishtah said, / "Truth ought to seem as never thought before. / How if I give it birth in parable? / A neighbor owns two camels, beasts of price / And promise, destined each to go, next week, / Swiftly and surely with his merchandise / From Nishapur to Sebzevar, no truce / To tramp, but travel, spite of sands and drouth, / In days so many, lest they miss the Fair. / Each falls to meditation o'er his crib / Piled high with provender before the start. / Quoth this: 'My soul is set on winning praise / From goodman lord and master, -- hump to hoof, / I dedicate me to his service. How? / Grass, purslane, lupines, and I know not what, / Crammed in my manger? Ha, I see -- I see! / No, master, spare thy money! I shall trudge / The distance and yet cost thee not a doit / Beyond my supper on this mouldy bran. ' / 'Be magnified, O master, for the meal / So opportunely liberal! ' quoth that. / 'What use of strength in me but to surmount / Sands and simooms, and bend beneath thy bales / No knee until I reach the glad bazaar? / Thus I do justice to thy fare: no sprig / Of toothsome chervil must I leave unchewed! / Too bitterly should I reproach myself / Did I sink down in sight of Sebzevar, / Remembering how the merest mouthful more / Had heartened me to manage yet a mile! ' / And so it proved: the too-abstemious brute / Midway broke down, his pack rejoiced the thieves, / His carcass fed the vultures: not so he / The wisely thankful, who, good market-drudge, / Let down his lading in the market-place, / No damage to a single pack. Which beast, / Think ye, had praise and patting and a brand / Of good-and-faithful-servant fixed on flank? / So, with thy squeamish scruple. What imports / Fasting or feasting? Do thy day's work, dare / Refuse no help thereto, since help refused / Is hindrance sought and found. Win but the race -- / Who shall object 'He tossed three wine-cups off, / And, just at starting, Lilith kissed his lips'?