Classic Poem

This, for such as these the present Times, I see expedient
That my chattels to the winehouse I should bear and sit content.

Mine be neither friend nor comrade Save the gugglet and the book,
So I may not see the knav'ries Of this world maleficent.

Cup in hand I take and hold me From the hypocrites aloof;
One pure heart alone I've chosen Of the world-folk to frequent.

Of much vaunting me for righteous In the patchcoat stained, before
Skinker's cheek and wine rose-coloured, Now with shame do I repent.

Midst the folk, my head in freedom, Like the cypress, I shall rear,
So my skirt I may ingather From the world's bedragglement.

On my heart oppression's dust is: Suffer not, o Lord Most High,
That my sun-like mirror troubled Be of noyance and lament.

For my straitened breast o'er heavy Is its burden of chagrin;
My sad heart is all unequal To this load of languishment.

Whether I the tavern toper Or the city Hafiz be,
I'm such stuff as this thou seist, Ay, and worse than my ostent.

I'm the servant of the Asef Of the age: fret not my heart,
For he'd do me, did I ask it, Justice of the firmament.