Of the Sultan I would take one gaze, if so I may; Muslim I; I do not make a god of clay.

See, the independent heart that in my breast I bear to the beggar doth impart a regal air.

What doth on the tulip fall out of the starry sky, o’er the verdant herbage all now scatter I.

Ranging through the Infinite my thought begs never boon, as the Pleiades crave light from sun and moon.

But if any wandering sun toward my path should stray, with a smile I make it run far from the way.

With the lustre and the flame that Nature hath endowed like a lightning-flash I gleam in a dark cloud.

Well I know the wont and way of them that rule, aloof Joseph’s in the well, and they asses on roof!