I ask you, King, to rise up and move. That cry outside yonder is the cry of life to life. And if the life within you is not stirred, in response to that call without, then there is cause for anxiety indeed,--not because duty has been neglected, but because you are dying. But, Poet, surely we must die, sooner or later? No, King, that's a lie. When we feel for certain that we are alive, then we know for certain that we shall go on living. Those who have never put life to the test, in all possible ways, these keep on crying out: _Life is fleeting, Life is waning, Life is like a dew-drop on a lotus leaf._ But, isn't life inconstant? Only because its movement is unceasing. The moment you stop this movement, that moment you begin to play the drama of Death. Poet, are you speaking the truth? Shall we really go on living? Yes, we shall really go on living. Then, Poet, if we are going to go on living, we must make our life worth its eternity. Is not that so? Yes, indeed. Ho, Guard. Yes, Your Royal Highness. Call the Vizier at once. Yes, Your Royal Highness. (_Vizier enters._) What is Your Majesty's pleasure? Vizier! Why on earth have you kept me waiting so long? I was very busy, Your Majesty. Busy? What were you busy about? I was dismissing the General. Why should you dismiss the General? We have got to discuss war matters with him. And arrangements had to be made for the state-departure of the Chinese Ambassador. What do you mean by his state-departure? If it please Your Majesty, you did not grant him an interview. So he---- Vizier! You surprise me. Is this the way you manage state affairs? What has happened to you? Have you lost your senses? Then, again. Sire, I was trying to find a way to pull down the Poet's house. At first, no one would undertake it. Then, at last, all the Pundits of the Royal School of Grammar and Logic came up with their proper tools and set to work. Vizier! Are you mad this morning? Pull down the Poet's house? Why, you might as well kill all the birds in the garden and make them up into a pie. If it please Your Majesty, you need not be annoyed. We shan't have to pull down the house after all; for the moment Sruti-bhushan heard it was to be demolished, he decided to take possession of it himself. What, Vizier! That's worse still. Why! The Goddess of Music would break her harp in pieces against my head, if she even heard of such a thing. No, that can't be. Then, Your Majesty, there was another thing to be got through. We had to deliver over the province of Kanchanpur to the Pundit. No, Vizier! What a mess you are making. That must go to our Poet. To me, King? No. My poetry never accepts reward. Well, well. Let the Pundit have it. And, last of all, Sire. I have issued orders to the soldiers to disperse the crowd of famine-stricken people. Vizier, you are doing nothing but blunder. The best way to disperse the famished people is with food, not force. (_Guard enters._)