human
Present thyself, or lose thy head!
gpt
My head must surely fall, And then my master will seize all My wealth again. But from the throne There came a calm and kindly tone:
human
My son, well pleased am I to see Thy dealings in prosperity; May Allah keep thee in good health! Well hast thou learned the use of wealth. No longer buried under-ground, Its comforts spread to all around. The poor man's blessings on thy name Are better far than worldly fame. I called thee hither. Now, behold, Here are the silver, gems, and gold I took from thee in other days; Receive them back, and go thy ways, For thou hast learned this truth at last-- Would that it might be sown broadcast!-- That riches are but worthless pelf When hoarded only for one's self.