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دفتر چهارم - بخش ۴۶ - باز آمدن آن شاعر بعد چند سال به امید همان صله و هزار دینار فرمودن بر قاعدهٔ خویش و گفتن وزیر نو هم حسن نام شاه را کی این سخت بسیارست و ما را خرجهاست و خزینه خالیست و من او را بده یک آن خشنود کنم / Book Four - Section 46 - The Return of That Poet After Several Years in Hope of the Same Reward, and the Ordering of a Thousand Dinars According to His Custom, and the New Vizier-Also Named Hasan-Saying to the King: 'This Is Far Too Much, We Have Expenses, the Treasury Is Empty, and I Will Satisfy Him with a Trifle in an Instant'

Original content

بعد سالی چند بهر رزق و کشت
شاعر از فقر و عوز محتاج گشت

گفت وقت فقر و تنگی دو دست
جست و جوی آزموده بهترست

درگهی را که آزمودم در کرم
حاجت نو را بدان جانب برم

معنی الله گفت آن سیبویه
یولهون فی الحوائج هم لدیه

گفت الهنا فی حوائجنا الیک
والتمسناها وجدناها لدیک

صد هزاران عاقل اندر وقت درد
جمله نالان پیش آن دیان فرد

هیچ دیوانهٔ فلیوی این کند
بر بخیلی عاجزی کدیه تند

گر ندیدندی هزاران بار بیش
عاقلان کی جان کشیدندیش پیش

بلک جملهٔ ماهیان در موجها
جملهٔ پرندگان بر اوجها

پیل و گرگ و حیدر اشکار نیز
اژدهای زفت و مور و مار نیز

بلک خاک و باد و آب و هر شرار
مایه زو یابند هم دی هم بهار

هر دمش لابه کند این آسمان
که فرو مگذارم ای حق یک زمان

استن من عصمت و حفظ تو است
جمله مطوی یمین آن دو دست

وین زمین گوید که دارم بر قرار
ای که بر آبم تو کردستی سوار

جملگان کیسه ازو بر دوختند
دادن حاجت ازو آموختند

هر نبیی زو برآورده برات
استعینوا منه صبرا او صلات

هین ازو خواهید نه از غیر او
آب در یم جو مجو در خشک جو

ور بخواهی از دگر هم او دهد
بر کف میلش سخا هم او نهد

آنک معرض را ز زر قارون کند
رو بدو آری به طاعت چون کند

بار دیگر شاعر از سودای داد
روی سوی آن شه محسن نهاد

هدیهٔ شاعر چه باشد شعر نو
پیش محسن آرد و بنهد گرو

محسنان با صد عطا و جود و بر
زر نهاده شاعران را منتظر

پیششان شعری به از صدتنگ شعر
خاصه شاعر کو گهر آرد ز قعر

آدمی اول حریص نان بود
زانک قوت و نان ستون جان بود

سوی کسب و سوی غصب و صد حیل
جان نهاده بر کف از حرص و امل

چون بنادر گشت مستغنی ز نان
عاشق نامست و مدح شاعران

تا که اصل و فصل او را بر دهند
در بیان فضل او منبر نهند

تا که کر و فر و زر بخشی او
هم‌چو عنبر بو دهد در گفت و گو

خلق ما بر صورت خود کرد حق
وصف ما از وصف او گیرد سبق

چونک آن خلاق شکر و حمدجوست
آدمی را مدح‌جویی نیز خوست

خاصه مرد حق که در فضلست چست
پر شود زان باد چون خیک درست

ور نباشد اهل زان باد دروغ
خیک بدریدست کی گیرد فروغ

این مثل از خود نگفتم ای رفیق
سرسری مشنو چو اهلی و مفیق

این پیمبر گفت چون بشنید قدح
که چرا فربه شود احمد به مدح

رفت شاعر پیش آن شاه و ببرد
شعر اندر شکر احسان کان نمرد

محسنان مردند و احسانها بماند
ای خنک آن را که این مرکب براند

ظالمان مردند و ماند آن ظلمها
وای جانی کو کند مکر و دها

گفت پیغامبر خنک آن را که او
شد ز دنیا ماند ازو فعل نکو

مرد محسن لیک احسانش نمرد
نزد یزدان دین و احسان نیست خرد

وای آنکو مرد و عصیانش نمود
تا نپنداری به مرگ او جان ببرد

این رها کن زانک شاعر بر گذر
وام‌دارست و قوی محتاج زر

برد شاعر شعر سوی شهریار
بر امید بخشش و احسان پار

نازنین شعری پر از در درست
بر امید و بوی اکرام نخست

شاه هم بر خوی خود گفتش هزار
چون چنین بد عادت آن شهریار

لیک این بار آن وزیر پر ز جود
بر براق عز ز دنیا رفته بود

بر مقام او وزیر نو رئیس
گشته لیکن سخت بی‌رحم و خسیس

گفت ای شه خرجها داریم ما
شاعری را نبود این بخشش جزا

من به ربع عشر این ای مغتنم
مرد شاعر را خوش و راضی کنم

خلق گفتندش که او از پیش‌دست
ده هزاران زین دلاور برده است

بعد شکر کلک خایی چون کند
بعد سلطانی گدایی چون کند

گفت بفشارم ورا اندر فشار
تا شود زار و نزار از انتظار

آنگه ار خاکش دهم از راه من
در رباید هم‌چو گلبرگ از چمن

این به من بگذار که استادم درین
گر تقاضاگر بود هر آتشین

از ثریا گر بپرد تا ثری
نرم گردد چون ببیند او مرا

گفت سلطانش برو فرمان تراست
لیک شادش کن که نیکوگوی ماست

گفت او را و دو صد اومیدلیس
تو به من بگذار این بر من نویس

پس فکندش صاحب اندر انتظار
شد زمستان و دی و آمد بهار

شاعر اندر انتظارش پیر شد
پس زبون این غم و تدبیر شد

گفت اگر زر نه که دشنامم دهی
تا رهد جانم ترا باشم رهی

انتظارم کشت باری گو برو
تا رهد این جان مسکین از گرو

بعد از آنش داد ربع عشر آن
ماند شاعر اندر اندیشهٔ گران

کانچنان نقد و چنان بسیار بود
این که دیر اشکفت دستهٔ خار بود

پس بگفتندش که آن دستور راد
رفت از دنیا خدا مزدت دهاد

که مضاعف زو همی‌شد آن عطا
کم همی‌افتاد بخشش را خطا

این زمان او رفت و احسان را ببرد
او نمرد الحق بلی احسان بمرد

رفت از ما صاحب راد و رشید
صاحب سلاخ درویشان رسید

رو بگیر این را و زینجا شب گریز
تا نگیرد با تو این صاحب‌ستیز

ما به صد حیلت ازو این هدیه را
بستدیم ای بی‌خبر از جهد ما

رو بایشان کرد و گفت ای مشفقان
از کجا آمد بگویید این عوان

چیست نام این وزیر جامه‌کن
قوم گفتندش که نامش هم حسن

گفت یا رب نام آن و نام این
چون یکی آمد دریغ ای رب دین

آن حسن نامی که از یک کلک او
صد وزیر و صاحب آید جودخو

این حسن کز ریش زشت این حسن
می‌توان بافید ای جان صد رسن

بر چنین صاحب چو شه اصغا کند
شاه و ملکش را ابد رسوا کند

English translation

Book Four – Section 46 – The Return of That Poet After Several Years in Hope of the Same Reward, and the Ordering of a Thousand Dinars According to His Custom, and the New Vizier—Also Named Ḥasan—Saying to the King: "This Is Far Too Much, We Have Expenses, the Treasury Is Empty, and I Will Satisfy Him with a Trifle in an Instant"

After some years, for the sake of livelihood and harvest, The poet grew needy from poverty and want. He said: "In times of poverty and hardship, both hands— Seeking what has been proven is best. A threshold that I have tested in generosity— I shall bring my new need in that direction." That Sībawayhi explained the meaning of Allāh: "They rush in distraction in their needs—all to Him." He said: "Our Ilāh—in our needs we turn to You, And we sought them and found them with You." Hundreds of thousands of wise ones in times of pain, All groaning before that singular Dīyān. No senseless madman would ever do this— Rush to beg helplessly from a miser. Had they not witnessed thousands of times and more, Would the wise ever bring their souls forward to Him?

Nay, all the fish in the waves, All the birds at their heights— Elephant and wolf and lion in the hunt as well, The mighty dragon and the ant and the serpent as well— Nay, earth and wind and water and every spark Find their sustenance from Him—in winter and in spring. Each moment this sky pleads to Him: "Do not forsake me, O Ḥaqq, for a single instant. My pillar is Your protection and preservation; All is folded within the right hand of those two hands." And this earth says: "You hold me steadfast— O You who have made me ride upon the water."

All have sewn their purses from Him, All have learned the granting of need from Him. Every prophet has drawn a bill of exchange from Him: "Seek help from Him—through patience or through prayer." Heed! Seek from Him, not from other than Him; Seek water in the sea, seek it not in the dry riverbed. And if you ask of another, He too gives; On the palm of that one's inclination, He places generosity. He who enriches the indifferent one with the gold of Qārūn— If you turn your face to Him in obedience, what will He do?

Once again the poet, from longing for what was due, Turned his face toward that beneficent king. What is the poet's gift? A new poem— He brings it before the beneficent one and lays it as pledge. Benefactors with a hundred gifts, generosity, and grace, Gold laid out, awaiting the poets. Before them, a poem is worth more than a hundred bales of verse— Especially a poet who brings pearls from the deep.

Man is first greedy for bread, For sustenance and bread are the pillar of life. Toward earning and toward seizure and a hundred stratagems, Life laid in the palm from greed and hope. When, rarely, he becomes free from need of bread, He becomes a lover of name and the praise of poets— So that his origin and branches may be set forth, And a pulpit erected in expounding his excellence, So that his pomp, splendor, and gold-giving May give fragrance like ambergris in speech and conversation.

Ḥaqq created our nature in His own image; Our attributes take their precedence from His attributes. Since that Creator seeks gratitude and praise, Seeking praise is also innate to man. Especially the man of Ḥaqq who is nimble in virtue— He fills with that breath like a sound wineskin. But if he is not worthy, from that false breath The wineskin is torn—when can it shine? This parable I did not speak from myself, O friend— Do not hear it lightly, since you are worthy and awake. The Prophet said this when he heard the reproach: "Why should Aḥmad grow fat on praise?"

The poet went before that king and brought A poem in gratitude for beneficence that does not die. Benefactors died, yet their benefactions remained— Blessed is he who rides this mount. Oppressors died, yet those oppressions remained— Woe to the soul that practices deceit and cunning. The Prophet said: "Blessed is he who Departs from this world leaving behind a righteous deed."

The beneficent man died, but his beneficence did not die— Before Yazdān, faith and beneficence are not small. Woe to him who died and his transgression remained— Do not suppose that with his death his soul escaped. Leave this aside, for the poet, in passing, Is indebted and gravely in need of gold.

The poet brought his poem to the king In hope of the gift and beneficence of before— A delicate poem full of genuine pearls, In hope and scent of the honor of that first time. The king, true to his nature, ordered him a thousand— For such was the habit of that king. But this time, that vizier full of generosity Had gone from this world on the Burāq of glory. In his place a new vizier had become chief, But utterly merciless and miserly.

He said: "O King, we have expenses; This gift is not a fitting reward for a poet. I, for a quarter of a tenth of this, O fortunate one, Will make the poet pleased and satisfied." The people told him: "He has, in times past, Taken tens of thousands from this great man. After sugar, how can he chew a reed stalk? After kingship, how can he beg?"

He said: "I will press him in the press of pressure Until he becomes wretched and thin from waiting. Then, if I give him dust from my path, He will snatch it like a rose petal from the meadow. Leave this to me, for I am a master in this— Even if every petitioner were fiery. Were he to fly from the Pleiades down to the earth, He will soften when he sees me."

The sultan said to him: "Go, the command is yours— But make him glad, for he speaks well of us." He said to him, leaving two hundred hopes desolate: "Leave this to me; write this down as my charge." Then the Ṣāḥib threw him into waiting— Winter passed and Dey went, and spring arrived. The poet grew old waiting for him, Then became broken by this grief and scheming.

He said: "If not gold, then give me abuse— So my soul may be freed; I will be your slave. The waiting has killed me; at least say 'Go,' So this wretched soul may be released from pawn."

After that, he gave him a quarter of a tenth of it, And the poet remained in heavy thought— For that cash had been so great and so much, And this, which opened late, was a bundle of thorns. Then they told him: "That noble minister Has gone from this world—may God reward you— For through him that gift was made double; Rarely did the giving fall into error. Now he has gone and taken beneficence with him; He did not die, truly—nay, beneficence has died.

The noble and right-guided Ṣāḥib has gone from us; The Ṣāḥib who flays the dervishes has arrived. Go, take this and flee from here by night, Lest this contentious Ṣāḥib take issue with you. We obtained this gift from him by a hundred stratagems— O you who are unaware of our effort."

He turned to them and said: "O compassionate ones, Tell me, from where has this enforcer come? What is the name of this vizier who strips the robe?" The people told him: "His name is also Ḥasan."

He said: "O Lord, the name of that one and the name of this— How could they be the same? What a pity, O Lord of the faith! That Ḥasan from whose single pen A hundred viziers and ministers come, all generous by nature— This Ḥasan—from the ugly beard of this Ḥasan One can weave, O soul, a hundred ropes. When a king gives ear to such a minister, He brings everlasting disgrace upon the king and his realm."

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Updated 2026-05-16

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