_Sansthānaka._ [_Girds up his loins._] Wait a minute, Vasantasenā, wait a minute. I want to murder you. _Courtier._ You will kill her before my eyes? [_He seizes him by the throat._] _Sansthānaka._ [_Falls to the ground._] Shir, you 're murdering your mashter. [_He loses consciousness, but recovers._] I always fed him fat with meat, And gave him butter too, to eat; Now for the friend in need I search; Why does he leave me in the lurch? 28 [_After reflection._] Good! I have an idea. The old jackal gave her a hint by shaking his head at her. Sho I 'll shend him away, and then I 'll murder Vasantasenā. That's the idea. [_Aloud._] Shir, I was born in a noble family as great as a wine-glass. How could I do that shin I shpoke about? I jusht shaid it to make her love me. P. 209.3] _Courtier._ Why should you boast of this your noble birth? 'T is character that makes the man of worth; But thorns and weeds grow rank in fertile earth. 29 _Sansthānaka._ She 's ashamed to confessh her love when you 're here. Please go. My shervant Sthāvaraka has gone too after getting a beating. He may be running away. Catch him, shir, and come back with him. _Courtier._ [_Aside._] Vasantasenā is too proud to own. While I am near, her love for one so crude; So now I leave her here with him alone; Love's confidences long for solitude. 30 [_Aloud._] Very well. I go. _Vasantasenā._ [_Seizing the hem of his garment._] Did I not throw myself upon your protection? _Courtier._ Do not fear, Vasantasenā. Jackass, Vasantasenā is a pledge, committed to your hand. _Sansthānaka._ All right. Jusht let her be committed to my hand. It 's a pledge that I 'll execute. _Courtier._ Are you honest? _Sansthānaka._ Honesht. _Courtier._ [_Takes a few steps._] No! If I go, the wretch might kill her. I will conceal myself for a moment, and see what he intends to do. [_He stands apart._] _Sansthānaka._ Good! I 'll murder her. But no! Perhaps thish tricky trickshter, thish Brahman, thish old jackal, has gone and hidden himshelf; he might raise a howl like the jackal he is. I 'll jusht do thish to deceive him. [_He gathers flowers and adorns himself._] Vasantasenā, my love, my love! Come! _Courtier._ Yes, he has turned lover. Good! I am content. I will go. [_Exit._ [127.12. S. _Sansthānaka._ I 'll give you gold, I 'll call you shweet; My turbaned head adores your feet. Why not love me, my clean-toothed girl? Why worship such a pauper churl? 31 _Vasantasenā._ How can you ask? [_She bows her head and recites the following verses._] O base and vile! O wretch! What more? Why tempt me now with gold and power? The honey-loving bees adore The pure and stainless lotus flower. 32