رَأَيتُ مَن لَستُ لَهُ ذاكِراً

إِذا رَأى لِحيَتَهُ يَبكي

I saw one whose memory escapes me

Weeping when he saw his beard

فَقُلتُ لِمْ لا أَتَلَهّى بِه

وَأَنصُرُ الفِعلَ عَلى التُركِ

So I said, why not tease him a little

And let action prevail over restraint

فَلَم أَزَل أَمسَحُ أَعطافَهُ

حَتّى إِذا اِستَفتَحَ في الضحِكِ

I kept stroking his whiskers

Until his face opened into a smile

قُلتُ لَهُ ما قيمَةُ الشَيبِ أَن

يَدورَ بَينَ الهَمِّ وَالضَنكِ

I said, what value does grey hair have

That wavers between anxiety and gloom

أَنسُج لَهُ ما يَتَغَطّى بِهِ

فَقَد يُغَطّي الحَقُّ بِالشَكِّ

I will weave a cover for him

For truth may be veiled by doubt

فَقالَ صِف لي ما أَرى دُرَّهُ

لِلسَبَجِ الرَطبِ بِهِ يَحكي

He said, describe what I see as a pearl

That tells of the sap of the moist hyssop

فَقُلتُ إِنّي واصِفٌ فَاِستَمِع

مِن صادِقٍ عارٍ مِنَ الإِفكِ

I said, listen to me, a truthful one

Free from falsehood's vileness

خُذِ القِلى وَالغَيظَ فَاِسحَقهُما

وَاِعجِنهُما بِالعَضرِطِ المَكّي

Take rancor and anger, crush them

Knead them with Meccan loaf

وَاِخضِب بِهِ شَعرَكَ يا شَيخَنا

مِنَ العِذارَينِ إِلى الفَكِّ

Dye your hair with it, my elder

From temple to jawbone

وَهَذِهِ النُسخَةُ مَكتوبَةً

عَن شَرَحانَ القائِدِ التُركي

This prescription is written

By Sherhan, the Turkish commander