"O happy, happy Wisa, who dost lie At Rāmin's feet, and with bewitched eye Gazest on him, as partridge doomed to die Its gaze upon the hawk doth concentrate! O happy, happy Wisa, who dost hold Clasped in thy hand the jewelled cup of gold, Filled to the brim with nectar rare and old, Which like thy beauty doth intoxicate! O happy Wisa, whose red lips confess With smiles their love, ere Rāmin's lips they press, Whom with desire's fulfilment Heaven doth bless, And Mubad's fruitless passion doth frustrate!"