MATHAVYA.—­I trust you have laid in a good stock of provisions, for I see you intend making this consecrated grove your game-preserve, and will be roaming here in quest of sport for some time to come.

KING.—­You must know, my good fellow, that I have been recognized by some of the inmates of the hermitage.  Now I want the assistance of your fertile invention, in devising some excuse for going there again.

MATHAVYA.—­There is but one expedient that I can suggest.  You are the King, are you not?

KING.—­What then?

MATHAVYA.—­Say you have come for the sixth part of their grain, which they owe you for tribute.

KING.—­No, no, foolish man; these hermits pay me a very different kind
of tribute, which I value more than heaps of gold or jewels; observe,
    The tribute which my other subjects bring
    Must moulder into dust, but holy men
    Present me with a portion of the fruits
    Of penitential services and prayers—­
    A precious and imperishable gift.

A VOICE [behind the scenes].—­We are fortunate; here is the object of our search.

KING [listening],—­Surely those must be the voices of hermits, to judge by their deep tones.

WARDER [entering],—­Victory to the King! two young hermits are in waiting outside, and solicit an audience of your Majesty.

KING.—­Introduce them immediately.

WARDER.—­I will, my liege. [Goes out, and reenters with two young
Hermits.] This way, Sirs, this way.

          [Both the Hermits look at the King

FIRST HERMIT.—­How majestic is his mien, and yet what confidence it
inspires!  But this might be expected in a king whose character and
habits have earned for him a title only one degree removed from that of
a Saint. 
    In this secluded grove, whose sacred joys
    All may participate, he deigns to dwell
    Like one of us; and daily treasures up
    A store of purest merit for himself,
    By the protection of our holy rites. 
    In his own person wondrously are joined
    Both majesty and saintlike holiness:—­
    And often chanted by inspired bards,
    His hallowed title of “Imperial Sage”
    Ascends in joyous accents to the skies.

SECOND HERMIT.—­Bear in mind, Gautama, that this is the great Dushyanta, the friend of Indra.

FIRST HERMIT.—­What of that?

SECOND HERMIT.—­Where is the wonder if his nervous arm,
    Puissant and massive as the iron bar
    That binds a castle-gateway, singly sways
    The sceptre of the universal earth,
    E’en to its dark-green boundary of waters? 
    Or if the gods, beholden to his aid
    In their fierce warfare with the powers of hell,
    Should blend his name with Indra’s in their songs
    Of victory, and gratefully accord
    No lower meed of praise to his braced bow,
    Than to the thunders of the god of heaven?