My shword is sharp; good-by, poor head! Let's chop it off, or kill you dead. Then do not try my wrath to shun; When you musht die, your life is done. 30 _Vasantasenā._ Sir, I am a weak woman. _Courtier._ That is why you are still alive. _Sansthānaka._ That is why you're not murdered. _Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] Oh! his very courtesy frightens me. Come, I will try this. [_Aloud._] Sir, what do you expect from this pursuit? my jewels? P. 24.7] _Courtier._ Heaven forbid! A garden creeper, mistress Vasantasenā, should not be robbed of its blossoms. Say no more about the jewels. _Vasantasenā._ What is then your desire? _Sansthānaka._ I'm a man, a big man, a regular Vāsudeva.[34] You musht love me. _Vasantasenā._ [_Indignantly._] Heavens! You weary me. Come, leave me! Your words are an insult. _Sansthānaka._ [_Laughing and clapping his hands._] Look, mashter, look! The courtezan's daughter is mighty affectionate with me, isn't she? Here she says "Come on! Heavens, you're weary. You're tired!" No, I haven't been walking to another village or another city. No, little mishtress, I shwear by the gentleman's head, I shwear by my own feet! It's only by chasing about at your heels that I've grown tired and weary. _Courtier._ [_Aside._] What! is it possible that the idiot does not understand when she says "You weary me"? [_Aloud._] Vasantasenā, your words have no place in the dwelling of a courtezan, Which, as you know, is friend to every youth; Remember, you are common as the flower That grows beside the road; in bitter truth, Your body has its price; your beauty's dower Is his, who pays the market's current rate: Then serve the man you love, and him you hate. 31 And again: The wisest Brahman and the meanest fool Bathe in the selfsame pool; Beneath the peacock, flowering plants bend low, No less beneath the crow; The Brahman, warrior, merchant, sail along With all the vulgar throng. You are the pool, the flowering plant, the boat; And on your beauty every man may dote. 32 [13.22 S. _Vasantasenā._ Yet true love would be won by virtue, not violence. _Sansthānaka._ But, mashter, ever since the shlave-wench went into the park where Kāma's[35] temple shtands, she has been in love with a poor man, with Chārudatta, and she doesn't love me any more. His house is to the left. Look out and don't let her shlip out of our hands. _Courtier._ [_Aside._] Poor fool, he has said the very thing he should have concealed. So Vasantasenā is in love with Chārudatta? The proverb is right. Pearl suits with pearl. Well, I have had enough of this fool. [_Aloud._] Did you say the good merchant's house was to the left, you jackass? _Sansthānaka._ Yes. His house is to the left.