_Chārudatta._ Why not? _Maitreya._ Because the gods are not gracious to you even when thus honored. So what is the use of worshiping? P. 16.8] _Chārudatta._ Not so, my friend, not so! This is the constant duty of a householder. The gods feel ever glad content In the gifts, and the self-chastisement, The meditations, and the prayers, Of those who banish worldly cares. 16 Why then do you hesitate? Go and offer sacrifice to the Mothers. _Maitreya._ No, I'm not going. You must send somebody else. Anyway, everything seems to go wrong with me, poor Brahman that I am! It's like a reflection in a mirror; the right side becomes the left, and the left becomes the right. Besides, at this hour of the evening, people are abroad upon the king's highway--courtezans, courtiers, servants, and royal favorites. They will take me now for fair prey, just as the black-snake out frog-hunting snaps up the mouse in his path. But what will you do sitting here? _Chārudatta._ Good then, remain; and I will finish my devotions. * * * * * _Voices behind the scenes._ Stop, Vasantasenā, stop! [_Enter Vasantasenā, pursued by the courtier, by Sansthānaka, and the servant._] _Courtier._ Vasantasenā! Stop, stop! Ah, why should fear transform your tenderness? Why should the dainty feet feel such distress, That twinkle in the dance so prettily? Why should your eyes, thus startled into fear, Dart sidelong looks? Why, like the timid deer Before pursuing hunters, should you flee? 17 _Sansthānaka._ Shtop,[31] Vasantasenā, shtop! Why flee? and run? and shtumble in your turning? Be kind! You shall not die. Oh, shtop your feet! With love, shweet girl, my tortured heart is burning. As on a heap of coals a piece of meat. 18 [10.2 S. _Servant._ Stop, courtezan, stop! In fear you flee Away from me, As a summer peahen should; But my lord and master Struts fast and faster, Like a woodcock in the wood. 19 _Courtier._ Vasantasenā! Stop, stop! Why should you tremble, should you flee, A-quiver like the plantain tree? Your garment's border, red and fair, Is all a-shiver in the air; Now and again, a lotus-bud Falls to the ground, as red as blood. A red realgar[32] vein you seem, Whence, smitten, drops of crimson stream. 20 _Sansthānaka._ Shtop. Vasantasenā, shtop! You wake my passion, my desire, my love; You drive away my shleep in bed at night; Both fear and terror sheem your heart to move; You trip and shtumble in your headlong flight. But Rāvana forced Kuntī[33] to his will; Jusht sho shall I enjoy you to the fill. 21 _Courtier._ Ah, Vasantasenā,