Two dozing beggars, each one's face a sore,
Sprawl'd in the sun the city's gate before;
A leprous cripple and a thief, whose eyes—
Burnt out with burning iron—as supplies
The law for thieves—were wounds, fly-swarmed and raw,—
Lifted shrill voices as they heard or saw;
Praised God, and bowed into the dust each face,
With words of "victory and Allah's grace
Attend our Caliph, Mouley-Ishmael!
Even at the cost of ours his day be well!"