Original content

English translation

The King of India sent gifts to the Caliph of Baghdad, accompanied by a physician-philosopher renowned for his skill in medicine and wisdom. He rose to his feet before the Caliph and said: I have brought three things that befit none but kings and are fitting for none but sultans.

The Caliph asked: What are they? He said: First, a dye that turns white hair black in such a way that it never changes nor turns white again. Second, an electuary such that no matter how much food one eats, the stomach does not grow heavy and the temperament does not fall out of balance. Third, a compound that strengthens the back and awakens desire for intercourse, and from repeating it neither weakness of sight nor deficiency of strength arises.

The Caliph reflected for a moment and said: I had supposed you wiser than this and thought you more clever. But that dye you spoke of is the capital of vanity and the ornament of falsehood and coercion; the blackness of hair is darkness and its whiteness is light. How ignorant is he who strives to cover light with darkness.

The fool who dyes his own white hair black, in old age still keeps all his hope in youth. In the eyes of the wise, who are intent on capturing fortune, when does the black crow have the splendor of the white falcon?

And as for that electuary you mentioned, I am not of the sort who eat much food and take pleasure in it, for what is more unpleasant than that one must every moment go to a place where one must see what should not be seen, hear what should not be heard, and smell what should not be smelled.

The sages have said: Hunger is an illness in the temperament, and drink and food are the material of its cure. Ignorant is he who makes himself ill by choice so that out of necessity he must nurse himself back.

The master goes about acquiring appetite so that he may make a breach in his temperament, and then that breach, with cooked and raw— whatever he finds—he treats it.

And as for that compound you prescribed, intercourse with women is a branch of madness. It is far from the rule of reason that the Caliph of the face of the earth should sink to both knees before a little girl and play the flatterer.

O you who boast of reason, how long, in lust, will you clutch the beloved's tresses and shake the chain of madness? What madness could be greater than this—that before a slip of a woman you sit upon your knees and wag your rump?