1. O sons of Tahir, if you have denied me your generosity,
Then do not deny me the cure for my sickness.

2. Let me blame my soul for hoping in you,
And mourn my praise of you with wailing.

3. Do not be stingy with me, for all of you
Sons of Tahir, are not stingy in honor.

4. Help me, though I have torn my clothes
To shreds, like a wayfarer’s rags.

5. Let my handkerchiefs, when your meat
Is distributed, be my hands and my server’s.

6. Do not disdain to give them out of pretense and reputation,
For the like of them is not too little for the like of you.

7. O sons of Tahir, however much a man presumes,
Blaming you among people is not seemly.

8. By the life of slender waists that incline toward you,
The she-camel has indeed stopped at your abode.