Morad was yet living, and felt his strength return at the
embraces of his son; then commanding him to sit down at his bedside,
"Abouzaid," says he, "thy father has no more to hope or fear from the
inhabitants of the earth; the cold hand of the angel of death is now
upon him, and the voracious grave is howling for his prey. Hear,
therefore, the precepts of ancient experience, let not my last
instructions issue forth in vain. Thou hast seen me happy and
calamitous, thou hast beheld my exaltation and my fall. My power is in
the hands of my enemies, my treasures have rewarded my accusers; but my
inheritance, the clemency of the emperour has spared, and my wisdom his
anger could not take away. Cast thine eyes around thee; whatever thou
beholdest will, in a few hours, be thine: apply thine ear to my
dictates, and these possessions will promote thy happiness. Aspire not
to public honours, enter not the palaces of kings; thy wealth will set
thee above insult, let thy moderation keep thee below envy. Content
thyself with private dignity, diffuse thy riches among thy friends, let
every day extend thy beneficence, and suffer not thy heart to be at rest
till thou art loved by all to whom thou art known. In the height of my
power, I said to defamation, Who will hear thee? and to artifice, What
canst thou perform? But, my son, despise not thou the malice of the
weakest, remember that venom supplies the want of strength, and that the
lion may perish by the puncture of an asp.
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