Nor can he pile it in his vaults to stay
The crowding misery of another day.
So fell Ben Ali for an arrowy word
And barbed jest that the king's anger stirred,
And he was led beyond the noisy brawls
Of traders chaffering at the market stalls,
And in a pit thrown near the city walls.
Whither the beggar came, and came alone,
A cobble in his hand, beside the pit.
"The wise man waiteth till the time is fit,