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O who will be the noble man to treat me well and loyally And just this once do a good turn for such a no-good wretch as me, Will first, as flute and reedpipe play, his message to my heart convey And with a single winecup pay me a true act of courtesy? That heartswipe who wears down my soul retains my heart in his control. I can't lose hope. Might he console my heart and treat it lovingly? Said I: the day has yet to pa** when I let your hair loose at last. Said he to me: it's playing fast and loose with you by my decree. The straight and narrow Sufi's mind, when love stands in plain sight, is blind. Tell of being wasted. Help him find cause to forsake sobriety. Love grand as this proved hard to win, poor beggar that I've always been. What Sultan takes a street-lout in to play and pleasure secretly? From that sweet, curling crown of hair no tyranny is hard to bear. What shame in bonds and chains is there for one who's lived by knavery? Grief's countless legions stand arrayed. From Fortune I importune aid. May gracious Fakhr-al-Dīn be swayed to ease my grief with sympathy. Stay back, Hafez. Don't even try engaging that spellbinding eye. Those curling locks, like dark night's sky are roiling with much trickery.