during the season of verdure, about the gay termination of
spring, after they had rioted in the cup of plenty, and lay rolling on a
green carpet of spinach, the cup of the silly ass began to overflow with
the froth of conceit, and he thus expressed his unseasonable intentions:

"O comrade of the branching antlers, what a mirth-inspiring night is
this! How joyous are the heart-attracting moments of spring! Fragrance
distils from every tree; the garden breathes otto of roses, and the
whole atmosphere is pregnant with musk. In the umbrageous gloom of the
waving cypress the turtles are exchanging their vows, and the bird of a
thousand songs [i.e., the nightingale] sips nectar from the lips of the
rose: nothing is wanting to complete the joys of spring but one of my
melodious songs. When the warm blood of youth shall cease to give
animation to these elegant limbs of mine, what relish shall I have for
pleasure? And when the lamp of my life is extinguished, the spring will
return in vain."

_Nakhshabi, music at every season is delightful, and a song sweetly
murmured captivates the senses._

_The musician who charms our ears will most assuredly find the road of
success to our hearts._[51]

[51] The italicised passages which occur in this tale are
verses in the original Persian text.

The elk answered: "Sagacious, long-eared associate, what an unseasonable
proposal is this? Rather let us converse together about pack-saddles and
sacks; tell me a story about straw, beans, or hay-lofts, unmerciful
drivers, and heavy burdens."

_What business has the Ass to meddle with music?_

_What occasion has Long-ears to attempt to sing?_

"You ought also to recollect," continued the elk, "that we are thieves,
and that we came into this garden to plunder. Consider what an enormous
quantity of beets, lettuces, parsley, and radishes we have eaten, and
what a fine bed of spinach we are spoiling! 'Nothing can be more
disgusting than a bird that sings out of season' is a proverb which is
as current among the sons of wisdom as a bill of exchange among
merchants, and as valuable as an unpierced pearl. If you are so
infatuated as to permit the enchanting melody of your voice to draw you
into this inextricable labyrinth, the gardener will instantly awake,
rouse his whole caravan of workmen, hasten to this garden and convert
our music into mourning; so that our history will be like that of the
house-breakers."

The Prince of Folly,