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when they soil their bosoms with dust by lifting up their playful children, who charm them with inarticulate prattle, and show the white blossoms of their teeth, while they laugh innocently at every trifling occurrence.

Second Atten. [Raising her finger.] What! dost thou show no attention to me?—[Looking round.]—Are any of the hermits near?—[Seeing Dushmanta.]—Oh! let me request you, gentle stranger, to release the lion's whelp, who cannot disengage himself from the grasp of this robust child.

Dushm. I will endeavour.—[Approaching the Boy and smiling.]— Oh! thou, who art the son of a pious anchorite, how canst thou dishonour thy father, whom thy virtues would make happy, by violating the rules of this consecrated forest? It becomes a black serpent only, to infest the boughs of a fragrant sandal tree.

[The Boy releases the lion.

Second Atten. I thank you, courteous guest; but he notis not [sic] the son of an anchorite.

Dushm. His actions, indeed, which are conformable to his robustness, indicate a different birth; but my opinion arose from the sanctity of the place which he inhabits.—[Taking the Boy by the hand.]—[Aside.]—Oh! since it gives me such delight merely to touch the hand of this child, who is the hopeful scion of a family unconnected with mine, what rapture must be felt by the fortunate man from whom he sprang?