But once--having the persistency of the needy--Abi Hafsa scored. The story goes that, entering into the presence of the khalif Al-Mahdi with a number of other poets, he recited to him a panegyric.
"Thy humble poet, Marwan, the son of Abi Hafsa."
"Art thou," said the khalif with great presence of mind, remembering the poet's useful indiscretion, "not he who said: _Whither should we go, since Maan is dead?_ and yet thou hast come to ask gifts from us! _Presents have ceased_; we have nothing for thee. Trail him out by the leg!"
They trailed him out by the leg, but, twelve months later, Marwan once more contrived to gain admittance with the other poets, who, at that time, were allowed to enter into the khalif's presence once a year. He then stood before him and recited the kasada which begins thus: _A female visitor came to thee by night; salute her fleeting image._
Al-Mahdi at first listened in silence, but as the poet proceeded, he became gradually more and more agitated, till at length "he rolled on the carpet with delight."
He then asked how many verses were in the poem and, on being answered, "One hundred," he ordered the author a--present of one hundred thousand pieces of silver.
The poet Ibn Ar-Rumi met his necessary end with composure. Al-Kasim Ibn Obaid Allah Ibn Sulaiman Ibn Wahb, the vizier of Al-Motadid, dreading to incur the satirical attacks of this writer and the outbursts of his malignant tongue, suborned a person called Ibn Firas, who gave him a poisoned biscuit whilst he was sitting in company with the vizier.
When Ibn Ar-Rumi had eaten it, he perceived that he was poisoned, and he rose to withdraw; on which the vizier said to him: "Where are you going?"
"To the place," replied Ibn Ar-Rumi, "where you sent me."
"Well," observed the vizier, "you will present my respects to my father."
"I am not taking the road to hell," retorted the poet.
Another poet, Ibn Sara As-Shantarini, falling upon evil days, became a bookbinder. As such he wrote the following poem: _The trade of a bookbinder is the worst of all; its leaves and its fruits are nought but disappointment. I may compare him that follows it to a needle, which clothes others but is naked itself!_
The Patron was a very real factor in the poetical life of Baghdad.