At this part of the discourse, the king could not withhold his
tears; and the sultan's heart was so pierced with the relation,
that he could not speak one word to comfort him. A little time
after, the young king, lifting up his ryes to heaven, cried out,
Mighty Creator of all things, I submit myself to your judgments,
and to the decrees of your providence; I endure my calamities
with patience, since it is your will it should be so; but I hope
your infinite goodness will reward me for it.
The sultan, being much moved by the recital of so strange a
story, and animated to avenge this unfortunate prince, says to
him, Tell me whither this perfidious magician retires, and where
her unworthy gallant may be, who is buried before his death? My
lord, replies the prince, her gallant, as I have already told
you, is in the Palace of Tears, in a tomb in form of a dome, and
that palace joins to this castle on the side of the gate. As to
the magician, I cannot precisely tell whither she retires; but
every day at sun-rising she goes to see her gallant, after having
executed her bloody vengeance upon me, as I have told you: and
you see I am not in a condition to defend myself against so great
cruelty. She carries him the drink with which she has hitherto
prevented his dying, and always complains of his never speaking
to her since he was wounded.
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