1. A refuge for the vice of idleness to revel in,
And a measure for virtues to aspire to.

2. So no inspired heart stirred,
By a purpose cast, nor wakeful eyelid stirred.

3. But an ambition gone astray and a delusion
With which in glory, he sets out at dawn or returns at eve.

4. I shall blame a white threshold with rhymed prose,
Alike if they or the fresh north wind be stirred.

5. They pass the night chanting, and remain to be recited,
Their poems, even as tales of conquest are recited.

6. The clan of Abdelkarim, stars of glory
Which in Tai are seen for ever to hover.

7. So no sound lineage you in which
You multiply them, nor sense sound.

8. If satire of them is reward,
Then tell me for whom was praise created.

9. Shall I hate the essence of Arabs refined
When no sincere patron hated them.

10. And you have no stratagem against them of use.
Indeed you shall die and be at peace!