cup-bearer will never recover his senses till the day of judgment.

Alas, poor Saádí! The lovely cup-bearer, who made such a lasting
impression on the heart of the young poet, was not destined for his
bride. His was indeed a sad matrimonial fate; and who can doubt but that
the beauteous form of the stranger maiden would often rise before his
mental view after he was married to the Xantippe who rendered some
portion of his life unhappy!

Among the tales under the heading of "Imbecility and Old Age" we have
one of "oldé January that wedded was to freshé May," which points its
moral now as it did six hundred years ago: When I married a young
virgin, said an old man, I bedecked a chamber with flowers, sat with her
alone, and had fixed my eyes and heart solely upon her. Many long nights
I passed without sleep, repeating jests and pleasantries, to remove
shyness, and make her familiar. On one of these nights I said: "Fortune
has been propitious to you, in that you have fallen into the society of
an old man, of mature judgment, who has seen the world, and experienced
various situations of good and bad fortune, who knows the rights of
society, and has performed the duties of friendship;--one who is
affectionate, affable, cheerful, and conversable. I will exert my utmost
endeavours to gain your affection, and if you should treat me unkindly I
will not be offended; or if, like the parrot, your food should be sugar,
I will devote my sweet life to your support. You have not met with a
youth of a rude disposition, with a weak understanding, headstrong, a
gadder, who would be constantly changing his situations and
inclinations, sleeping every night in a new place, and every day forming
some new intimacy. Young men may be lively and handsome, but they are
inconstant in their attachments. Look not thou for fidelity from those
who, with the eyes of the nightingale, are every instant singing upon a