ما ضرطةٌ بَدَرَتْ وهباً بواهبةٍ

لمن هجاه كحظٍّ ناله أَبَدا

No reproach ever stained a gift from one who gives

To him who rails, as fate allots, he'll ne'er succeed

يا ليتني نِلْتُ ممَّا نال طائفةً

وأَنَّني ضارطٌ عند الوزير غدا

Would that I gained some part of what another won

And that I served as chamberlain tomorrow morn

قد أكثر الناس في وهبٍ وضرطته

حتى لقد مُلَّ ما قالوا وقد بردا

Too much men blame or flatter gifts and place

Till praise and blame alike seem trite and worn

لا تَعْلُ ضرطةُ هاجيه كضرطته

في الذاكرين ولا يُحْسَدْ كما حُسِدا

No blame can touch the giver like the blame

That memory brings, nor envy wound like scorn

يا وهبُ لا تكترث للعائبيك بها

فإنما أنت غيثٌ ربما رَعَدا

O Wahb, heed not those who blame your gifts

For you're a rain that rumbles ere the morn

ولم يزل عيبُ من قلَّت معايِبُهُ

يُحْصَى ويُترك ما قد أعجز العددا

Small faults in great men still get counted wrong

While graver faults in small men go unmourned

انظر إلى أحمدٍ ضرَّاطِ عسكره

هَلْ عابَهُ أحَدٌ أو عَدَّه أحَدَا

Look at Ahmad, steward of the army, say

Has anyone reviled or shamed that lord?

يُعيَّرُ المرءُ ما استحيا مُعَيِّرَهُ

ولا يُعَيَّرُ آتي العار مُعْتَمِد

A man gets shamed as long as he's ashamed

But he whom shame has left, none can shame with words