“Umm Lailah.—Again I am put in mind of my dear son! O my heart, melted into blood, pour thyself forth! Dear son, whilst thou wast alive, I had some honour and respect, everybody had some regard for me; but since thou art gone, I am altogether abandoned. Woe be to me! woe be to me! I am despised and rejected. Woe unto me! woe unto me!
“Husain.—Do not set fire to the harvest of my soul any further. Husain is, before God, greatly ashamed of his shortcomings towards thee. Come out from the tent, for it is the last meeting previous to separating from one another for ever; thy distress is an additional weight to the heavy burden of my grief.
“The Mother of ʾAlí Akbar.—I humbly state it, O glory of all ages, that I did not expect from thy saintship that thou wouldest disregard thy handmaid in such a way. Thou dost show thy kind regard and favour to all except me. Dost thou not remember my sincere services done to thee? Am I not by birth a descendant of the glorious kings of Persia, brought as a captive to Arabia when the former empire fell and gave place to the new-born monarchy of the latter kingdom? The Judge, the living Creator, was pleased to grant me an offspring, whom we called ʾAlí Akbar, this day lost to us for ever. May I be offered for thee! While ʾAlí Akbar my son was alive, I had indeed a sort of esteem and credit with thee; but now that my cypress, my newly-sprung-up cedar, is unjustly felled, I have fallen from credit too, and must therefore shed tears.
“Husain.—Be it known unto thee, O thou violet of the flower-garden of modesty, that thou art altogether mistaken. I swear by the holy enlightened dust of my mother Zahrah’s grave, that thou art more honourable and dearer now than ever. I well remember the affectionate recommendations of ʾAlí Akbar. our son, concerning thee. How much he was mindful of thee at the moment of his parting! How tenderly he cared for thee, and spoke concerning thee to every one of his family!
“ʾAlí Akbar’s Mother.—O gracious Lord, I adjure thee, by the merit of my son, ʾAlí Akbar, never to lessen the shadow of Husain from over my head. May no one ever be in my miserable condition—never be a desolate, homeless woman, like me!
“Husain.—O thou unfortunate Zainab, my sister, the hour of separation is come! The day of joy is gone for ever! the night of affliction has drawn near! Drooping, withering sister, yet most blest in thy temper, I have a request from thee which I fear to make known.
“Zainab.—May I be a sacrifice for thy heart, thou moon-faced, glorious sun! there is nobody here, if thou hast a private matter to disclose to thy sister.
“Husain.—Dear unfortunate sister, who art already severely vexed in heart, if I tell thee what my request is, what will be thy condition then? Though I cannot restrain myself from speaking, still I am in doubt as to which is better, to speak, or to forbear.
“Zainab.—My breast is pierced! My heart boils within me like a cauldron, owing to this thy conversation. Thou soul of thy sister, hold not back from Zainab what thou hast in thy mind.
“Husain.—My poor sister, I am covered with shame before thee, I cannot lift up my head. Though the request is a trifle, yet I know it is grievous to thee to grant. It is this; bring me an old, dirty, ragged garment to put on. But do not ask me, I pray thee, the reason why, until I myself think it proper to tell thee.