_Courtier._ Stop beating the poor fellow. Leave him alone. Let him go. _Sansthānaka._ Jusht wait a minute, while I take counshel. _Courtier._ With whom? _Sansthānaka._ With my own heart. _Courtier._ Poor fellow! Why didn't he escape? _Sansthānaka._ Blesshèd little heart, my little shon and mashter, shall the monk go, or shall the monk shtay? [_To himself._] Neither go, nor shtay. [_Aloud._] Well, shir, I took counshel with my heart, and my heart shays-- _Courtier._ Says what? _Sansthānaka._ He shall neither go, nor shtay. He shall neither breathe up, nor breathe down. He shall fall down right here and die, before you can shay "boo." _Monk._ Buddha be praised! I throw myself upon your protection. _Courtier._ Let him go. [114.24. S. _Sansthānaka._ Well, on one condition. _Courtier._ And what is that? _Sansthānaka._ He musht shling mud in, without making the water dirty. Or better yet, he musht make the water into a ball, and shling it into the mud. _Courtier._ What incredible folly! The patient earth is burdened by So many a fool, so many a drone, Whose thoughts and deeds are all awry-- These trees of flesh, these forms of stone. 6 [_The monk makes faces at Sansthānaka._] _Sansthānaka._ What does he mean? _Courtier._ He praises you. _Sansthānaka._ Praise me shome more! Praise me again! [_The monk does so, then exit._] _Courtier._ See how beautiful the garden is, you jackass. See yonder trees, adorned with fruit and flowers, O'er which the clinging creepers interlace; The watchmen guard them with the royal powers; They seem like men whom loving wives embrace. 7 _Sansthānaka._ A good deshcription, shir. The ground is mottled with a lot of flowers; The blosshom freight bends down the lofty trees; And, hanging from the leafy tree-top bowers, The monkeys bob, like breadfruit in the breeze. 8 _Courtier._ Will you be seated on this stone bench, you jackass? _Sansthānaka._ I am sheated. [_They seat themselves._] Do you know, shir, I remember that Vasantasenā even yet. She is like an inshult. I can't get her out of my mind. _Courtier._ [_Aside._] He remembers her even after such a repulse. For indeed, The mean man, whom a woman spurns, But loves the more; The wise man's passion gentler burns, Or passes o'er. 9 P. 190.16] _Sansthānaka._ Shome time has passhed, shir, shince I told my shervant Sthāvaraka to take the bullock-cart and come as quick as he could. And even yet he is not here. I 've been hungry a long time, and at noon a man can't go a-foot. For shee! The shun is in the middle of the shky, And hard to look at as an angry ape; Like Gāndhārī, whose hundred shons did die, The earth is hard dishtresshed and can't eshcape. 10 _Courtier._ True.