[_He listens._] The headsmen's voices! They shound like a broken brass cymbal. I hear the music of the fatal drum and the kettle-drums, and sho I shuppose that that poor man, Chārudatta, is being led to the place of execution. I musht go and shee it. It is a great delight to shee my enemy die. Beshides, I 've heard that a man who shees his enemy being killed, is sure not to have shore eyes in his next birth. I acted like a worm that had crept into the knot of a lotush-root. I looked for a hole to crawl out at, and brought about the death of thish poor man, Chārudatta. Now I 'll climb up the tower of my own palace, and have a look at my own heroic deeds. [_He does so and looks about._] Wonderful what a crowd there is, to shee that poor man led to his death! What would it be when an arishtocrat, a big man like me, was being led to his death? [_He gazes._] Look! There he goes toward the shouth, adorned like a young shteer. But why was the proclamation made near my palace tower, and why was it shtopped? [_He looks about._] Why, my shlave Sthāvaraka is gone, too. I hope he has n't run away and betrayed the shecret. I musht go and look for him. [_He descends and approaches the crowd._] _Sthāvaraka._ [_Discovers him._] There he comes, good masters! _Headsmen._ Give way! Make room! And shut the door! Be silent, and say nothing more! Here comes a mad bull through the press, Whose horns are sharp with wickedness. 30 [164.16. S. _Sansthānaka._ Come, come, make way! [_He approaches._] Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my shlave, come, let 's go home. _Sthāvaraka._ You scoundrel! Are you not content with the murder of Vasantasenā? Must you try now to murder the noble Chārudatta, that tree of life to all who loved him? _Sansthānaka._ I am beautiful as a pot of jewels. I kill no woman! _Bystanders._ Oho! _you_ murdered her, not the noble Chārudatta. _Sansthānaka._ Who shays that? _Bystanders._ [_Pointing to Sthāvaraka._] This honest man. _Sansthānaka._ [_Fearfully. Aside._] Merciful heavens! Why did n't I chain that shlave Sthāvaraka fasht? Why, he was a witnessh of my crime. [_He reflects._] I 'll do it thish way. [_Aloud._] Lies, lies, good gentlemen. Why, I caught the shlave shtealing gold, and I pounded him, and murdered him, and put him in chains. He hates me. What he shays can't be true. [_He secretly hands Sthāvaraka a bracelet, and whispers._] Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my shlave, take thish and shay shomething different. _Sthāvaraka._ [_Takes it._] Look, gentlemen, look! Why, he is trying to bribe me with gold. _Sansthānaka._ [_Snatches the bracelet from him._] That 's the gold that I put him in chains for. [_Angrily._] Look here, headsmen! I put him in charge of my gold-chest, and when he turned thief, I murdered him and pounded him. If you don't believe it, jusht look at his back. _Headsmen._ [_Doing so._] Yes, yes. When a servant is branded that way, no wonder he tells tales.