Where faith is a peril and courtship a cheat,
More false to the touch than a rose overblown—
With a soul that is true to itself, as your own.
Monsoor Pacha, as two gentlemen may,
Civilized, city-bred, link we our hands:
Ours is a friendship whose spirit demands
The scope of the sky and the stretch of the sands.
Monsoor Pacha, doff your courtier's garb;
We have given to courtesy all of its dues;
Spring to your throne on the back of your barb,