58 “My Lord, I beseech you, let not anger cloud your judgment. Those words slipped from my tongue in a state of drunkenness. Allow me, I pray, to continue my verse.” He then resumes his poetic narrative: A lord of palaces, in drunken dreams I soar, But waking finds me humbled, less than before. The lord of but a lamb, a camel at my side, From lofty heights to simple stead, I glide. Thus flows the tide of fortune, high and low, In vino’s grasp, to grandeur and then woe. Al-Nuʿmān ibn al-Munẓir, turning with a hint of exasperation to Al-Nābighah al-Ẓubyānī, remarks: “Since your departure, he has been crafting such ludicrous poems. Nābighah, where have you vanished to all this time?”
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