Praise to thee great Allah, For carving my beloved Pure as the sand of Mecca, Rarer than the rose rarest. But Allah, Why you make her princess Beyond reach of servant Rasheed? The suitors are at the palace gate Hankering after my love-bird. Her father the Khaleef Hath proclaimed- Let eet bee Who touches the rose tree The one she marree. How great you are Allah, The fat prince of Persia Fed on lard is passing Touching not the rose tree. Hurray Bismillah, The Nawab of Nokredeet Has his eyes on the balcony His hands on the box he carree, He touches not the rose tree. Marches Ahmed, prince of 7 palaces Missing the rose tree By an isle & 14 torches, O merciful father of horses. & Zanab Tak-i-Wauk Takes his walk Right past the rose tree O lover of the love famished With each suitor passing Touching not the rose tree, My beloved blushes Hoping it will be mee, Guide me then With hands of strategee, To the rose tree the rose tree.