There lived once, of old days, in the land of Khorassan, a
merchant called Mejdeddin, who had great wealth and many slaves
and servants, black and white; but he was childless until he
reached the age of threescore, when God the Most High vouchsafed
him a son, whom he named Ali Shar. The boy grew up like the moon
on the night of its full, and when he came to man's estate and
was endowed with all kinds of perfection, his father fell sick of
a mortal malady and calling his son to him, said to him, 'O my
son, the hour of my death is at hand, and I desire to give thee
my last injunctions.' 'And what are they, O my father?' asked
Ali. 'O my son,' answered Mejdeddin, 'I charge thee, be not [too]
familiar with any and eschew what leads to evil and mischief.
Beware lest thou company with the wicked; for he is like the
blacksmith; if his fire burn thee not, his smoke irks thee: and
how excellent is the saying of the poet:
There is no man in all the world whose love thou shouldst desire,
No friend who, if fate play thee false, will true and
constant be.
Wherefore I'd have thee live apart and lean for help on none. In
this I give thee good advice; so let it profit thee.
And what another saith:
Men are a latent malady; Count not on them, I counsel thee.
An if thou look into their case, They're full of guile and
perfidy.
And yet a third:
The company of men will profit thee in nought, Except to pass
away the time in idle prate;
So spare thou to converse with them, except it be For gain of
lore and wit or mending of estate.