70 – He also recited to me another poem by Yazid ibn al-Hakam:

Indeed, I still look after a man—even though, were he able, he might one day shed my blood when he has no slain kinsman to avenge;
I turn aside from whatever would distress him, while he seems to be led—by a guide, no less—toward what distresses me.
I do this out of courtesy and faithful companionship, though he senses nothing of it and offers no gratitude.
It is forbearance in its purest form, sprung from time-honored reserves of patience; no forbearance is genuine save that of every noble soul.
Had I willed—were it not for this forbearance—I would have severed his nose with a swift, complete, and crippling blow.
Yet I restrain myself, safeguarding the composed wisdom of a powerful clan—dignified elders whose maturity adds luster to generosity.