_Vasantasenā._ [_Aside._] Oh, wonderful! If his house is really at my left hand, then the scoundrel has helped me in the very act of hurting me, for he has guided me to my love. _Sansthānaka._ But mashter, it's pitch dark and it's like hunting for a grain of soot in a pile of shpotted beans. Now you shee Vasantasenā and now you don't. _Courtier._ Pitch dark it is indeed. The sudden darkness seems to steal The keenness of my sight; My open eyes, as with a seal, Are closed by blackest night. 33 And again: Darkness anoints my body, and the sky Drops ointment of thick darkness, till mine eye Is all unprofitable grown to me, Like service done to them who cheat and lie. 34 _Sansthānaka._ Mashter, I'm looking for Vasantasenā. _Courtier._ Is there anything you can trace her by, jackass? _Sansthānaka._ Like what, for inshtance? P. 28.3] _Courtier._ Like the tinkling of her jewels, for instance, or the fragrance of her garlands. _Sansthānaka._ I hear the shmell of her garlands, but my nose is shtuffed so full of darkness that I don't shee the shound of her jewels very clearly. _Courtier._ [_To Vasantasenā. Aside._] Vasantasenā, 'T is true, the night is dark, O timid maid, And like the lightning hidden in the cloud, You are not seen; yet you will be betrayed By fragrant garlands and by anklets loud. 35 Have you heard me, Vasantasenā? _Vasantasenā._ [_To herself._] Heard and understood. [_She removes the ankle-rings, lays aside the garlands, and takes a few steps, feeling her way._] I can feel the wall of the house, and here is a side-entrance. But alas! my fingers tell me that the door is shut. * * * * * _Chārudatta_ [_who is within the house_]. Comrade, my prayer is done. Go now and offer sacrifice to the Mothers. _Maitreya._ No, I'm not going. _Chārudatta._ Alas! The poor man's kinsmen do not heed his will; The friends who loved him once, now stand afar; His sorrows multiply; his strength is nil; Behold! his character's bright-shining star Fades like the waning moon; and deeds of ill That others do, are counted to him still. 36 And again: No man holds converse with him; none will greet With due respect the poor man when they meet. Where rich men hold a feast, if he draw near, He meets with scornful looks for looks of cheer. [15.19. S. Where vulgar throngs are gathered, 't is the same; His scanty raiment wakes his heartfelt shame. Five are the deadly sins[36] we knew before; Alas! I find the sixth is--to be poor. 37 And yet again: Ah, Poverty, I pity thee, that so To me thou clingest, as thy dearest friend; When my poor life has met its woeful end, I sadly wonder, whither thou wilt go. 38