Classic Poem

He who brings trouble on his parents, rebellions indeed is that son:
Hell's fires are the retribution that await the wicked son.
Filled are the parents' days with trouble and with sorrow
Of whom is born a son evil in disposition.
Low will be his ending, he will lie amongst the dust,
Who conceals not from the world his disputes with his own parents.
Such is the custom that has been inaugurated in Aurung's reign,
That every son should be jealous of even his father's life;
For now he deems himself the noblest of the noble,
To whose unnatural baseness all the Heavens are witness.
Rather let him pray that a base son may never leave the grave,
The Father who would crave of God for offspring.
All my herd have turned out half-bred ponies,
Show me where amongst them there is one that shows his blood.
The offspring of a pony has all a pony's tricks,
What though his Sire may be an Arab of purest blood?
In the religious faith of the ill-bred what trust is there?
Rather than such, the accursed Guebre and his creed!