ISHAK
O friend, is this talk for the ardent lover?

HASSAN
Are you my friend? You, Ishak, the glorious singer of Islam?
And if you are my friend, are you like those who were my friends before?

ISHAK
Last night, I found you lying like a filthy corpse beneath this window,
but I knew by your lute and your countenance that you were a poet,
like myself, and I was sorry to think you dead.

HASSAN
A poet? I? I am a confectioner.

ISHAK
You are my friend, Hassan.

HASSAN
Then consider this rose. This rose is more bitter than colocynth.
For, look you, friend, had she not flung this rose, I would have said
she hated me and loved another; it is well. She had the right to hate
and love. She could hate and she could love. But now, ah, tell me,
you who seem to be my friend, are all you poets liars?

ISHAK
Ya, Hassan, but we tell excellent lies.

HASSAN
Why do you say that beauty has a meaning? Why do you not say