In truth, I hesitate to announce the coming of Kanva’s pupils to the king.  For he has this moment risen from the throne of justice.  But kings are never weary.  For

  The sun unyokes his horses never;
  Blows night and day the breeze;
  Shesha upholds the world forever: 
  And kings are like to these.

(He walks about.  Enter the king, the clown, and retinue according to rank.) King (betraying the cares of office).  Every one is happy on attaining his desire—­except a king.  His difficulties increase with his power.  Thus: 

  Security slays nothing but ambition;
    With great possessions, troubles gather thick;
  Pain grows, not lessens, with a king’s position,
    As when one’s hand must hold the sunshade’s stick.

Two court poets behind the scenes.  Victory to your Majesty.

First poet.

  The world you daily guard and bless,
  Not heeding pain or weariness;
    Thus is your nature made. 
  A tree will brave the noonday, when
  The sun is fierce, that weary men
  May rest beneath its shade.

Second poet.

  Vice bows before the royal rod;
  Strife ceases at your kingly nod;
    You are our strong defender. 
  Friends come to all whose wealth is sure,
  But you, alike to rich and poor,
    Are friend both strong and tender.

King (listening).  Strange!  I was wearied by the demands of my office, but this renews my spirit.

Clown.  Does a bull forget that he is tired when you call him the leader of the herd?

King (smiling).  Well, let us sit down. (They seat themselves, and the retinue arranges itself.  A lute is heard behind the scenes.)

Clown (listening).  My friend, listen to what is going on in the music-room.  Some one is playing a lute, and keeping good time.  I suppose Lady Hansavati is practising.

King.  Be quiet.  I wish to listen.

Chamberlain (looks at the king).  Ah, the king is occupied.  I must await his leisure. (He stands aside.)

A song behind the scenes.

  You who kissed the mango-flower,
    Honey-loving bee,
  Gave her all your passion’s power,
    Ah, so tenderly!

  How can you be tempted so
  By the lily, pet? 
  Fresher honey’s sweet, I know;
  But can you forget?

King.  What an entrancing song!

Clown.  But, man, don’t you understand what the words mean?

King (smiling).  I was once devoted to Queen Hansavati.  And the rebuke comes from her.  Friend Madhavya, tell Queen Hansavati in my name that the rebuke is a very pretty one.

Clown.  Yes, sir. (He rises.) But, man, you are using another fellow’s fingers to grab a bear’s tail-feathers with.  I have about as much chance of salvation as a monk who hasn’t forgotten his passions.