Story ON THE MEANNESS OF THE WORTHLESS AND THE FORBEARANCE OF THE WORTHY حکایت در معنی سفاهت نااهلان

Story ON THE MEANNESS OF THE WORTHLESS AND THE FORBEARANCE OF THE WORTHY حکایت در معنی سفاهت نااهلان

Bustan Saadi بوستان سعدی

A ” sauce-box” his wants to a pious man brought,
Who happened himself at the time to have nought
Of money his girdle and hand showed no trace,
Or else he’d have thrown it like dust in his face.
طمع برد شوخی به صاحبدلی
نبود آن زمان در میان حاصلی
کمربند و دستش تهی بود و پاک
که زر برفشاندی به رویش چو خاک
To the outside the vile-visaged beggar then ran,
And to scold and abuse in the street thus began:
“Of these silent-tongued scorpions,” he shouted, “beware!
They are fierce, tearing tigers who woollen clothes wear.
برون تاخت خواهنده خیره روی
نکوهیدن آغاز کردش به کوی
که زنهار از این کژدمان خموش
پلنگان درنده صوف پوش
AVith their knees on their bosoms so cat-like, they stay,
And spring like a dog if a chance comes their way.
Their mart of deceit to the Musjid they brought,
For within their own houses less plunder they got.
که چون گربه زانو به دل برنهند
وگر صیدی افتد چو سگ درجهند
سوی مسجد آورده دکان شید
که در خانه کمتر توان یافت صید
Those who rob caravans are a lion-like race,
But the raiment of men in such hands meet disgrace.
Black patches and white they together have sewn
With deceit, and in secret their riches have grown.
ره کاروان شیر مردان زنند
ولی جامه مردم اینان کنند
سپید و سیه پاره بر دوخته
بضاعت نهاده زر اندوخته
Well done barley sellers, exhibiting wheat!
World wanderers! night birds, who men’s harvests eat!
Take no heed that in worship they’re feeble and old,
For in dancing and pleasure they’re youthful and bold!
زهی جو فروشان گندم نمای
جهانگرد شبکوک خرمن گدای
مبین در عبادت که پیرند و سست
که در رقص و حالت جوانند و چست
چرا کرد باید نماز از نشست
چو در رقص بر میتوانند جست؟
Like Moses’ famed rod, they devour a great deal,
And then show how distressed and afflicted they feel.
They do not abstain and their wisdom is Nil;
It’s enough that the faith brings of Earth’s joys their fill.
عصای کلیمند بسیار خوار
به ظاهر چنین زرد روی و نزار
نه پرهیزگار و نه دانشورند
همین بس که دنیا به دین میخرند
A cloak like Balil’s they draw over their breast,
And in garments most costly their women are dress’d.
Of the Prophet’s great law not a trace do they show,
But siestas and morning repasts, they all know.
عبائی بلیلانه در تن کنند
به دخل حبش جامه زن کنند
ز سنت نبینی در ایشان اثر
مگر خواب پیشین و نان سحر
Their stomachs with morsels are stuffed, seized as dues,
Like the beggar’s patched wallet of seventy hues.”
I care not to further enlarge on this case
For to talk of your own disposition is base.
شکم تا سر آگنده از لقمه تنگ
چو زنبیل دریوزه هفتاد رنگ
نخواهم در این وصف از این بیش گفت
که شنعت بود سیرت خویش گفت
The speaker untruthful denounced in this style;
The fault-seeking eye only sees what is vile.
When a man has a great many others disgraced;
What cares he when any one’s honour’s effaced?
فرو گفت از این شیوه نادیده گوی
نبیند هنر دیده عیب جوی
یکی کرده بی آبرویی بسی
چه غم داردش ز آبروی کسی؟
To the Sheikh a disciple reported the lies;
If the truth you require, such an act was not wise.
A foe at my back told my faults and reposed,
Much worse is the friend who brought all and disclosed.
مریدی به شیخ این سخن نقل کرد
گر انصاف پرسی، نه از عقل کرد
بدی در قفا عیب من کرد و خفت
بتر زو قرینی که آورد و گفت
Some one shot forth an arrow which fell on the road,
It hurt not my body nor sorrow bestowed;
You lifted it up and came quickly to me,
And prick at my ribs with it, heartless and free.
یکی تیری افگند و در ره فتاد
وجود نیازرد و رنجم نداد
تو برداشتی و آمدی سوی من
همی در سپوزی به پهلوی من
The good-natured pietist smilingly said:
“It is easy to utter much more on this head!
Bait, a crier of prayers aad favourite of the Prophet.
So far but a speck of my sins he can show;
But one in a hundred of all that I know.
بخندید صاحبدل نیک خوی
که سهل است از این صعب تر گو بگوی
هنوز آنچه گفت از بدم اندکی است
از آنها که من دانم این صد یکی است
Those faults which to me in suspicion he bound,
I myself know for certain within me are found
For the first time this year, he before me appears;
Does he know of my faults during seventy years?
ز روی گمان بر من اینها که بست
من از خود یقین میشنام که هست
وی امسال پیوست با ما وصال
کجا داندم عیب هفتاد سال؟
Than myself, none knows better the sins I have done
In this world, but the All-wise, Invisible One.”
A right thinking man I have never yet seen,
Who thought that excepting one fault he was clean.
به از من کس اندر جهان عیب من
نداند به جز عالم الغیب من
ندیدم چنین نیک پندار کس
که پنداشت عیب من این است و بس
Is my sins’ witness he, at the last trumpet’s swell;
I fear not the Fire for my footing is well.
If my enemy wishes my faults to pourtray,
Bid him take, from before me, the copy away.
به محشر گواه گناهم گر اوست
ز دوزخ نترسم که کارم نکوست
گرم عیب گوید بد اندیش من
بیا گو ببر نسخه از پیش من
Those persons have been the pure men of God’s road,
Who themselves as the butt of Calamity showed.
Be silent, until they the skin off you tear!
For the pious, the burdens of wantons must bear.
کسان مرد راه خدا بودهاند
که برجاس تیر بلا بودهاند
زبون باش تا پوستینت درند
که صاحبدلان بار شوخان برند
If a goblet they make from the ashes of men,
With stones, the revilers will break it again.
گر از خاک مردان سبویی کنند
به سنگش ملامت کنان بشکنند


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