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.