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Headsmen. HEN think no longer of the pain;

In just a second you'll be slain.

We understand the fashions new

To fetter you and kill you too.

In chopping heads we never fail,

Nor when the victim we impale.

Out of the way, gentlemen, out of the way! This is the noble Chārudatta.

The oleander on his brow,

In headsmen's hands you see him now;

Like a lamp whose oil runs nearly dry,

His light fades gently, ere it die.

Chārudatta. [Gloomily.]

My body wet by tear-drops falling, falling;

My limbs polluted by the clinging mud;

Flowers from the graveyard torn, my wreath appalling;

For ghastly sacrifice hoarse ravens calling,

And for the fragrant incense of my blood.

Headsmen. Out of the way, gentlemen, out of the way!

Why gaze upon the good man so?

The ax of death soon lays him low.

Yet good men once sought shelter free,

Like birds, upon this kindly tree.

Come, Chārudatta, come!

Chārudatta. Incalculable are the ways of human destiny, that I am come to such a plight!

Red marks of hands in sandal paste

O'er all my body have been placed;