Page:Little Clay Cart (Ryder 1905).djvu/148

112 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.

[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.

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.

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,