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O mother, it is indeed as you say. Would that the Prince might be saved!

Ah! oh! These joint-racking pangs were not felt by me before, through the excess of pleasure, which I felt in doing good to another, but now they begin to hem me round.

[He sinks in a dying state.

Alas! my son, why this posture?

Alas! alas! Why does he talk thus? (Beating her breast.) Help! help! My child is dying!

Ah! my husband, you appear in a hurry to leave us.

O Śankhachúda! place my hands together.

Alas! the world is robbed of its master.

O father, O mother! This is my last salutation. These limbs retain no consciousness—my ear hears no sound, however distinct the articulation—alas! my eye