How is’t thy flames consume not all their hated kind?95
Bewitched thee have they? Or is’t magic natural?
Or is’t my fortune wills that thou turn prodigal?”
To him the fire: “O miscreant! I’m still the same.
Come in and try, thou, how thou’lt find my smallest flame.
My nature, as my substance, has not suffered change.
Outside my nature’s limit I’ve no power to range.
At door of Turkman’s tent the savage household dogs
Do wag their tails before a guest, and crouch like logs.
But should a stranger pass by, near the guarded tent,