_Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the fourth court the drums that maiden fingers beat are booming like the thunder; the cymbals are falling, as the stars fall from heaven when their merit is exhausted;[54] the pipe is discoursing music as sweet as the humming of bees. And here, again, is a lute that somebody is holding on his lap like a girl who is excited by jealousy and love, and he is stroking it with his fingers. And here, again, are courtezan girls that sing as charmingly as honey-drunken bees, and they are made to dance and recite a drama with love in it. And water-coolers are hanging in the windows so as to catch the breeze. Show me the way, madam. _Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the fifth court. _Maitreya._ [_Enters and looks about._] Well! Here in the fifth court the overpowering smell of asafetida and oil is attractive enough to make a poor devil's mouth water. The kitchen is kept hot all the time, and the gusts of steam, laden with all sorts of good smells, seem like sighs issuing from its mouth-like doors. The smell of the preparation of all kinds of foods and sauces makes me smack my lips. And here, again, is a butcher's boy washing a mess of chitterlings as if it were an old loin-cloth. The cook is preparing every kind of food. Sweetmeats are being constructed, cakes are being baked. [_To himself._] I wonder if I am to get a chance to wash my feet and an invitation to eat what I can hold. [_He looks in another direction._] There are courtezans and bastard pages, adorned with any number of jewels, just like Gandharvas[55] and Apsarases.[56] Really, this house is heaven. Tell me, who are you bastards anyway? [70.13. S. _Pages._ Why, we are bastard pages-- Petted in a stranger's court. Fed on stranger's food, Stranger's money makes us sport-- Not so very good. Stranger women gave us birth. Stranger men begot; Baby elephants in mirth, We're a bastard lot. 28 _Maitreya._ Show me the way, madam. _Maid._ Come, sir, and enter the sixth court.