On the morrow, he went
round about the city with the stones till eventide, when he
returned to his house, to pass the night. One of his neighbours,
a worthy old woman, saw him and said to him, 'God keep thee, O my
son! How long hast thou been mad?' And he answered her with the
following verse:
Quoth they, "Thou'rt surely mad for her thou lov'st;" and I
replied, "Indeed the sweets of life belong unto the raving
race.
My madness leave and bring me her for whom ye say I'm mad; And if
she heal my madness, spare to blame me for my case."
Therewith she knew him for a lover who had lost his mistress and
said, 'There is no power and no virtue but in God the Most High,
the Supreme! O my son, I would have thee acquaint me with the
particulars of thine affliction. Peradventure God may enable me
to help thee against it, if it so please Him.' So he told her all
that had happened and she said, 'O my son, indeed thou hast
excuse.' And her eyes ran over with tears and she repeated the
following verses:
Torment, indeed, in this our world, true lovers do aby; Hell
shall not torture them, by God, whenas they come to die!
Of love they died and to the past their passions chastely hid; So
are they martyrs, as, indeed, traditions[FN#20] testify.
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