1. When I say the jugs of Qazaa`
Filled to the brim and freely poured,

2. The drinker's breast warmed from a draft,
Egged on by modest maids,

3. If a groom should waver all wobble too,
Like ancient lanners, never struck,

4. Tailed by a heedless, headless crew,
No glory there, no gall there too,

5. He answers panic's every call,
You'd think him a meandering fool met a dead end road,

6. His legs lodged in the mud's crevice,
Barren gravel and loosened rocks abound,

7. Beasts scarcely tempt those frail hands,
So he comes before times undone.