for drink without melody lacks the chief of its essentiality；even as saith the poet；'Pass round the cup to the old and the young man，too，And take the bowl from the hand of the shining moon，[420]But without music，I charge you，forbear to drink；I see even horses drink to a whistled tune.'[421]
Therewith up sprang the gardener lad and mounting one of the young men's mules，was absent awhile，after which he returned with a Cairene girl，as she were a sheep's tail，fat and delicate，or an ingot of pure silvern ore or a dinar on a porcelain plate or a gazelle in the wold forlore.She had a face that put to shame the shining sun and eyes Babylonian[422] and brows like bows bended and cheeks rose-painted and teeth pearly-hued and lips sugared and glances languishing and breast ivory white and body slender and slight，full of folds and with dimples dight and hips like pillows stuffed and thighs like columns of Syrian stone，and between them what was something like a sachet of spices in wrapper swathed.Quoth the poet of her in these couplets；'Had she shown her shape to idolaters'sight，* They would gaze on her face and their gods detest：
And if in the East to a monk she'd show'd，* He'd quit Eastern posture and bow to West.[423]