1. O son of one whose birth was pure and free,
Of Ja'far's line, descended from his sire,

2. Though years bow down my friend, to him I'm nigh
A songstress here can make the jurist spry

3. She sings, and wherein am I such a wit?
To entertain him, yet no twist she'll knit

4. A hall as fair as any garden, still
No heart's delight is found, and never will

5. So help me gain what I may purchase joy
An aged crone, a peddler I employ

6. By honored elders, men of highest fame
Graced with virtues, Ja'far's noble name

7. Though but a trifle, one like brothers share
I'll squeeze and squeeze, if bid, the orange rare