Page:Quatrains of Omar Khayyam (tr. Whinfield, 1883).djvu/170

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Let him rejoice who has a loaf of bread, A little nest wherein to lay his head, Is slave to none, and no man slaves for him,— In truth his lot is wondrous well bested.

What adds my service to Thy majesty? Or how can sin of mine dishonour Thee? pardon, then, and punish not, I know Thou'rt slow to wrath, and prone to clemency.

Hands, such as mine, that handle bowls of wine, 'Twere shame to book and pulpit to confine; Zealot! thou'rt dry, and I am moist with drink, Yea, far too moist to catch that fire of thine!