Page:Little Clay Cart (Ryder 1905).djvu/156

120 Courtier. Certainly. Anything, unless it be a sin.

Sansthānaka. There's not a shmell of a shin in it, shir. Not a per- fume!

Courtier. Speak, then.

Sansthānaka. Murder Vasantasenā.

Courtier. [Stopping his ears.]

A tender lady, gem of this our city,

A courtezan whose love was stainless ever—

If I should kill her, sinless, without pity,

What boat would bear me on the gloomy river?

Sansthānaka. I'll give you a boat. And beshides, in thish deserted garden, who'll shee you murdering her?

Courtier. The regions ten, the forest gods, the sky,

The wind, the moon, the sun whose rays are light,

Virtue, my conscience—these I cannot fly,

Nor earth, that witnesses to wrong and right.

Sansthānaka. Well then, put your cloak over her and murder her.

Courtier. You fool! You scoundrel!

Sansthānaka. The old hog is afraid of a shin. Never mind. I'll pershuade Sthāvaraka, my shlave. Sthāvaraka, my little shon, my shlave, I'll give you golden bracelets.

Sthāvaraka. And I'll wear them.

Sansthānaka. I'll have a golden sheat made for you.

Sthāvaraka. And I'll sit on it.

Sansthānaka. I'll give you all my leavings.

Sthāvaraka. And I'll eat them.

Sansthānaka. I'll make you the chief of all my shervants.

Sthāvaraka. Master, I'll be the chief.

Sansthānaka. You only have to attend to what I shay.

Sthāvaraka. Master, I will do anything, unless it be a sin.