The Sāmaveda, the Rigveda too, The science mathematical, he knew; The arts wherein fair courtezans excel, And all the lore of elephants as well. Through Shiva's grace, his eye was never dim; He saw his son a king in place of him. The difficult horse-sacrifice he tried Successfully; entered the fiery tide, One hundred years and ten days old, and died. 4 And yet again: Eager for battle; sloth's determined foe; Of scholars chief, who to the Veda cling; Rich in the riches that ascetics know; Glad, gainst the foeman's elephant to show His valor;--such was Shūdraka, the king. 5 And in this work of his, Within the town, Avanti named, Dwells one called Chārudatta, famed No less for youth than poverty; A merchant's son and Brahman, he. His virtues have the power to move Vasantasenā's inmost love; Fair as the springtime's radiancy, And yet a courtezan is she. 6 So here king Shūdraka the tale imparts Of love's pure festival in these two hearts, Of prudent acts, a lawsuit's wrong and hate, A rascal's nature, and the course of fate. 7 [_He walks about and looks around him._] Why, this music-room of ours is empty. I wonder where the actors have gone. [_Reflecting._] Ah, I understand. P. 4.7] Empty his house, to whom no child was born; Thrice empty his, who lacks true friends and sure; To fools, the world is empty and forlorn; But all that is, is empty to the poor. 8 I have finished the concert. And I've been practising so long that the pupils of my eyes are dancing, and I'm so hungry that my eyes are crackling like a lotus-seed, dried up by the fiercest rays of the summer sun. I'll just call my wife and ask whether there is anything for breakfast or not.