An old scholar, in modest attire,

Sat humbly in the judge’s court.

The judge glanced at him sharply,

And his assistant tugged his sleeve, saying, 'Rise!'

Do you not know that this seat is not for you?

Sit lower, leave, or stand aside.

Not everyone deserves the place of honor,

Prestige comes with status, and rank with merit.

Why should another see your need again?

This shame alone is punishment enough.

He who humbles himself finds dignity,

And will not fall from high to low in disgrace.

Do not show boldness in the place of the great,

If you lack strength, do not act like a lion.

Seeing this, the wise yet poor man, pale-faced,

Sat and rose, as fortune waged war against him.

Like fire that brings forth helpless smoke,

He lowered himself to a lesser place.

The scholars began a debate,

Arguing over 'No!' and 'I do not submit!'

They opened the doors to discord,

With 'Yes!' and 'No!' raising their voices high.

You’d think skillful roosters were fighting,

Clashing with beaks and claws.

One, drunk with rage, lost himself,

Another struck both hands on the ground.

They fell into a tangled knot of disputes,

Unable to find a way to resolve them.

The old man in tattered clothes, in the last row,

Roared like a lion of the wild.

He said, 'Oh leaders of the Prophet's law,

In conveying the revelation, jurisprudence, and principles.'

Strong and spiritual arguments are needed,

Not raised neck veins as proof of strength.

For me, too, life is a game of mallet and ball,

They said, 'If you know it well, then speak.'

With the pen of eloquence and its art,

He inscribed his words on hearts like a seal on a ring.

He turned from the realm of form to meaning,

And struck the pen upon the head of contention.

From every side came praises to him,

A thousand blessings on his wisdom and nature.

He drove the steed of speech to such a place,

That the judge, like a mule, was stuck in the mire.

The judge rose, abandoning his dignity and turban,

And sent him forward with honor and grace.

He said, 'Alas! I did not recognize your worth,

Nor did I offer thanks for your arrival.'

'Tis a pity, with such talent as yours,

To see you in such a lowly place.'

The assistant came to console him,

And offered to place the judge's turban on his head.

With hand and word, he stopped him, saying, 'Stay away!

Do not bind arrogance upon my head.'

'For tomorrow, with this aged head,

I may gnash my teeth on this turban in regret.'

If they call me master and place me high,

The people will look at me with disdainful eyes.

Does pure water ever change its essence,

Whether it's held in a golden jar or clay pot?

A man needs wisdom and intellect in his head,

Not a fine turban like yours for show.

Greatness does not come from a large head,

For a gourd has a large head but no brain.

Do not raise your neck with turban and beard,

For the turban is cotton, and the beard but grass.

Those who only appear as human,

Are better to remain silent as mere figures.

Seek a station according to your skill,

Do not, like Saturn, seek both height and malice.

The height of a reed mat is fine,

For the nature of sugarcane is already within.

I do not call anyone wise and ambitious,

Even if a hundred servants follow him humbly.

How well said a bead of clay in mud,

When a foolish greedy hand picked it up.

No one would buy me for anything,

Do not wrap me in silk for my madness.

The coarse bread has the same worth it always does,

Even if it sits among poppies.

A wealthy man is not better than others,

For a donkey in silk is still a donkey.

Thus, the skilled speaker,

Washed away enmity from hearts with the water of words.

It is hard to speak to a wounded heart,

When your foe falls, do not slacken.

When you have the chance, extract your enemy's essence,

For opportunity washes the dust off the heart.

The judge remained trapped in his tyranny,

Saying, 'This is indeed a grievous day.'

He bit his hands in astonishment,

His eyes remained fixed like the stars.

The young man turned his ambition from there,

He left, and no one saw him again.

A roar rose from the elders in the gathering,

Saying, 'Where is such a bold eye from?'

The herald followed him and ran everywhere,

Who has seen a man of such traits and visage?

Someone said, 'Such a sweet soul,

We know only Saadi of this kind in this town.'

A hundred thousand praises for what he said,

See how sweetly he spoke of the bitter truth.