My lord, answered my brother, in a begging tone, I am a
poor man, who stand in need of the help of such rich and generous
persons as yourself. He could not have addressed himself to a
fitter person than this lord, who had a thousand good qualities.
The Bermecide seemed to be astonished at my brother's answer;
and, putting both his hands to his stomach, as if he would rend
his clothes for grief, Is it possible, cried he, that I am at
Bagdad, and that such a man as you is so poor as you say? This is
what must never be. My brother, fancying that he was going to
give him some singular mark of his bounty, blessed him a thousand
times, and wished him all sort of happiness. It shall not be
said, replied the Bermecide, that I will abandon you, nor will I
have you to leave me. Sir, replied my brother, I swear to you I
have not swallowed one bit to-day! Is that true? replied the
Bermecide; and are you fasting till now? Alas, for thee, poor
man! he is ready to die for hunger. Ho, boy! cried he with a loud
voice, bring a bason and water presently, that we may wash our
hands. Though no boy appeared, that my brother saw, either with
water or bason, the Bermecide fell a rubbing his hands, as if one
had poured water upon them, and bid my brother come and wash with
him. Schacabac judged by this that the Bermecide lord loved to be
merry; and he himself understanding raillery, and knowing that
the poor must be complaisant to the rich, if they would have any
thing, came forward, and did as he did.
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