Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal with the refrain "henûz": a lover left wingless in pursuit of a Huma-like beloved, stripped of his wealth, who counts even a stone at his head a favour.
Münîrî plays on "hürmet" as respect and as prohibition, ascribes the forbiddenness of wine to its imitation of the ruby lip, and finds a resurrection in the beloved's stature.
Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal without a redif: heart and faith lost to a silver-eared idol, the peace of hearts who steals peace, a sip from a ruby lip and the cypress's shade.
Münîrî seeks a way to rub his face on the threshold, kisses the beloved's dog's footprint by moonlight, rejoices at the arrowhead in his heart and weeps blood once salt tears are gone.
Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal closing with Arabic phrases: a beloved fairer than any child of Rıdvan and a houri, and a closing couplet that backs a plea for a kiss with a verse.
Münîrî likens the beloved's face to a harvest of roses, turns the other beauties into gleaners of that harvest, and, weary of the world's thorns, chooses the furnace over the garden.
Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal with the refrain "men": tresses that steal faith, a pain no remedy in Avicenna's Kânûn and Şifâ can cure, and a petition at the gate of a sultan.
Münîrî writes of an arm that will not wind round his neck like a sword-belt, a candle that deserves its tongue cut, a dark mole casting pepper into fire, and the candle of Çigil.
Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal on which Çeşmî wrote a tahmis: pain from the heavens, no loyalty from kin, tears like the Oxus and a plea to the shah of the world to ask after him.
In this plain ghazal Münîrî tells of fate's bow strung like the brow, the love he once mocked now befalling him, the quarter that is paradise, and a hidden burning that cannot stay hidden.
Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal with the refrain "men": a bud-mouthed, rose-cheeked beloved, an exhausted reply to the advice that patience finds loyalty, and a heart taken by one glance.
In the last of his Turkish ghazals Münîrî tells of a lip that could teach the Messiah miraculous speech, the proverb of the single hand, and his poetry heard across the inhabited world.
Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal addressed to the "sultan of sea and land": a poem of reproach to a ruler who raises his enemy's worth and does not hear the cries of his servant.
In Münîrî's first tuyugh the lover seized by love has no patience left, and the finger of imagination holds the beloved's strand of hair until the day of reckoning.
Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazal with the refrain "hemîşe": a beloved watched from afar, a vision in which seer and seen are one, and a warning not to be proud of transient fortune.
In Münîrî's only tuyugh in a different metre, love makes the lover mad, turns his state into a tale and, with light from the candle of beauty, makes his heart a moth.
The last of Prince Bayezid's Persian ghazals: a beloved who is God's shadow over the realm of beauty, sovereignty without love counted a fable, and a double meaning on the word "Şâhî".
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "dil", the helpless heart finds no remedy for its pain, and the wound from the arrow of the beloved's glance is one no salve can heal.
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "göñül", the heart plundered in the land of love is both prosperous and ruined, and visits its owner only now and then as a guest.
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "olur", without the beloved the tear becomes a ruby and the liver bloody water, until the bloody tear floods the land of the heart.
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "bulmadum", separation has no end and pain no limit; the lover reaches the guidance of the face only through the unbelief of the hair.
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "degül", neither cypress nor rose matches the beloved; seeing her lofty stature, the heart says it is no stature (bâlâ) but an affliction (belâ).
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "‘ışḳ", the dizzy lover is left headless and disordered, until the beloved's green down comes like Hızır before love's flood rises over him.
In Münîrî's Persian tuyugh, whoever is ruined by love's cup gains a bad name, and the poet prays that no one be, like him, parted from the beloved's hair and without patience.
In Münîrî's second Persian tuyugh, pain becomes the heart's companion and affliction the soul's friend, and the lover weeps because he is far from the wound of the glance.
In Münîrî's garden tuyugh, the beloved's beauty is the orchard of the world and her locks the basil of spirits, while the heart is that rose garden's nightingale of a thousand songs.
In Münîrî's tuyugh punning on "gül-zâr" and "gül zârî", thousands of nightingales and roses lament for the beloved's cheeks, and the lover is the nightingale sick from the thorn.
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "gözlerüñ", the beloved's eyes are a merciless Turk who orders the glance, "Come on, at once", to lay waste the realm of the heart.
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "-yuz", the lovers admire the basil-like down, are a sacrifice to the bow-brows, and are left distraught and dizzy by the curling lock.
In Münîrî's tuyugh built on the language of calligraphy, the moles are the dot of cîm in "cemâl", and as script without dots is imperfect, so is the down without the mole.
In Münîrî's tuyugh of the eyelash and the arrow, the beloved's eyelash guides the arrow of fate, and the poet praises her as an archer who never misses when she shoots.
In Münîrî's tuyugh rhyming on "-ūsına", the sorcerous glance keeps the lover from the beloved's locks, and the festival crescent in heaven's arch cannot reach her crescent brow.
In Münîrî's tuyugh rhyming on "-īn", the beloved's brow shines like Venus, and Gabriel calls amen from the Sidra to every prayer the lover makes for her stature.
In Münîrî's tuyugh of the curling lock, the coiled hair throws the world into confusion like the lover's heart, and the beloved binds every heart with a single hair.
In Münîrî's tuyugh with the refrain "ḳadüñ", the beloved's lofty stature rises in the soul's rose garden, raises a doomsday and stands without equal in the world.
Münîrî's last tuyugh speaks a piece of wisdom: one who does not worry over the world is free of grief, and fortunate is he whose glass of honour is struck by the stone of zeal.
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