Art thou sad? Take a piece of hasheesh as large as a
grain of barley, or drink a small measure of rose-colored
wine. Then you will become a Sufi. But, if you will
not drink of this or partake of that, nothing remains for
you but to eat pebbles; go, eat some pebbles!
But yesterday, I saw a potter in a bazaar treading
most vigorously the clay he was molding. The clay
seemed to say to him: I also have been like thee; treat
me, then, with less harshness.
If thou drinkest wine, drink it with intelligent people,
drink it in company with thy ravishing idols, with smiles
upon their lips and their cheeks tinted with the colors of
the tulip. Drink not too much or speak boastingly of
it; make it not a refrain, but drink a little from time
to time in quietude.
Wine should be drunk in the company of slender creatures
who ravish the heart with the color of their cheeks.
Art thou bitten by the serpent of grief, friend—drink, then,
of this antidote. I myself drink of it and plume myself
on the strength of it; would that it might be propitious!
If you drink it not, why not be willing that I should?
Go, eat some earth.
Here is the Dawn; arise, O beardless youth, and quickly
fill this crystal cup with ruby wine, for [later], you could
seek long time ere finding such a moment of existence as
is lent us in this world of nothingness.