Prevod

Whenever anyone committed an offense, the punishment was made light or severe according to the gravity of the wrongdoing. One man had offended not once but repeatedly, and so he was summoned to receive a severe punishment. When word came that he had been brought in, preparations were made as usual to force him to lie face down, with men to hold down his head and buttocks, rods laid ready, and someone appointed to administer the beating. But when two men led him forward, his hair proved to be pure white, without a single black strand among it, and he was very old. At the sight of him, the thought of having him beaten became so painful that the judge wondered what pretext he might find for pardoning him. Yet he could think of none. He questioned the man about his offenses one by one, but the old man merely sat answering with his age as his excuse. Still wondering how he might pardon him, the judge said, “What an incorrigible thief you are! Can you compose a poem?” “Though it may be of little merit, I can compose one,” the man replied. “Then do so,” he was told. Almost at once, he recited in a trembling voice: “Though the snows upon my head have deepened with the years, only at the sight of these rods does the chill strike through my body.” Deeply moved and filled with admiration, the judge pardoned him. Whatever else one may be, one should never be without feeling.