"Lion of the wold wilt thou murther me, * Ere I meet her who doomed me to slavery? I am not game and I bear no fat; * For the loss of my love makes me sickness dree; And estrangement from her hath so worn me down * I am like a shape in a shroud we see. O thou sire of spoils,[FN#46] O thou lion of war, * Give not my pains to the blamer's gree. I burn with love, I am drowned in tears * For a parting from lover, sore misery! And my thoughts of her in the murk of night * For love hath make my being unbe."
As he had finished his lines the lion rose,--And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.
When it was the Three Hundred and Seventy-fourth Night,
She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that as Uns al- Wujud ended his lines, the lion arose and stalk
