Now on the rose's palm the cup with limpid wine is brimming,
And with a hundred thousand tongues the bird her praise is hymning.
Ask for a song-book, seek the wild, no time is this for knowledge;
The Comment of the Comments spurn, and learning of the college,[33]
Be it thy rule to shun mankind, and let the Phoenix monish,
For the reports of hermit fame, from Káf to Káf astonish.[34]
When yesterday our rector reeled, this sentence he propounded:
"Wine is a scandal; but far worse what men's bequests have founded."
Turbid or clear, though not thy choice, drink thankfully; well knowing
That all which from our Sákí flows to his free grace is owing.
Each dullard who would share my fame, each rival self-deceiver,
Reminds me that at times the mat seems golden to its weaver.
Cease, Háfiz! store as ruddy gold
The wit that's in thy ditty:
The stampers of false coin, behold!
Are bankers for the city.[35]