Page:Little Clay Cart (Ryder 1905).djvu/49

P. 24.7] Courtier. Heaven forbid! A garden creeper, mistress Vasantasenā, should not be robbed of its blossoms. Say no more about the jewels.

Vasantasenā. What is then your desire?

Sansthānaka. I'm a man, a big man, a regular Vāsudeva. You musht love me.

Vasantasenā. [Indignantly.] Heavens! You weary me. Come, leave me! Your words are an insult.

Sansthānaka. [Laughing and clapping his hands.] Look, mashter, look! The courtezan's daughter is mighty affectionate with me, isn't she? Here she says "Come on! Heavens, you're weary. You're tired!" No, I haven't been walking to another village or another city. No, little mishtress, I shwear by the gentleman's head, I shwear by my own feet! It's only by chasing about at your heels that I've grown tired and weary.

Courtier. [Aside.] What! is it possible that the idiot does not understand when she says "You weary me"? [Aloud.] Vasantasenā, your words have no place in the dwelling of a courtezan,

Which, as you know, is friend to every youth;

Remember, you are common as the flower

That grows beside the road; in bitter truth,

Your body has its price; your beauty's dower

Is his, who pays the market's current rate:

Then serve the man you love, and him you hate.

And again:

The wisest Brahman and the meanest fool

Bathe in the selfsame pool;

Beneath the peacock, flowering plants bend low,

No less beneath the crow;

The Brahman, warrior, merchant, sail along

With all the vulgar throng.

You are the pool, the flowering plant, the boat;

And on your beauty every man may dote.