FIRST ATTENDANT.—­You naughty child, why do you tease the animals?  Know you not that we cherish them in this hermitage as if they were our own children?  In good sooth, you have a high spirit of your own, and are beginning already to do justice to the name Sarva-damana (All-taming), given you by the hermits.

KING.—­Strange!  My heart inclines towards the boy with almost as much affection as if he were my own child.  What can be the reason?  I suppose my own childlessness makes me yearn towards the sons of others.

SECOND ATTENDANT.—­This lioness will certainly attack you if you do not release her whelp.

CHILD [laughing].—­Oh! indeed! let her come.  Much I fear her, to be sure. [Pouts his under-lip in defiance.

KING.—­The germ of mighty courage lies concealed
    Within this noble infant, like a spark
    Beneath the fuel, waiting but a breath
    To fan the flame and raise a conflagration.

FIRST ATTENDANT.—­Let the young lion go, like a dear child, and I will give you something else to play with.

CHILD.—­Where is it?  Give it me first.
          [Stretches out his hand.

KING [looking at his hand].—­How’s this?  His hand exhibits one of
those mystic marks which are the sure prognostic of universal empire. 
See! 
    His fingers stretched in eager expectation
    To grasp the wished-for toy, and knit together
    By a close-woven web, in shape resemble
    A lotus-blossom, whose expanding petals
    The early dawn has only half unfolded.

SECOND ATTENDANT.—­We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear Suvrata.  Be kind enough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a plaything belonging to Markandeya, one of the hermit’s children.  It is a peacock made of China-ware, painted in many colors.  Bring it here for the child.

FIRST ATTENDANT.—­Very well. [Exit.

CHILD.—­No, no; I shall go on playing with the young lion.

          [Looks at the female attendant and laughs.

KING.—­I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child. 
    How blessed the virtuous parents whose attire
    Is soiled with dust, by raising from the ground
    The child that asks a refuge in their arms! 
    And happy are they while with lisping prattle,
    In accents sweetly inarticulate,
    He charms their ears; and with his artless smiles
    Gladdens their hearts, revealing to their gaze
    His tiny teeth, just budding into view.

ATTENDANT.—­I see how it is.  He pays me no manner of attention. [Looking off the stage.] I wonder whether any of the hermits are about here. [Seeing the King.] Kind Sir, could you come hither a moment and help me to release the young lion from the clutch of this child, who is teasing him in boyish play?