Recitative. He presses and pushes his head on the ground and sinks into tears of despair.
Yuranosuke. Here, Heiyemon, my forgetting to take that rusty sword of mine
was a presage that I should torture this fellow to death with it. Torture him without killing him.
Heiyemon. Very well, sir.
Recitative. No sooner does he draw the sword than he jumps and flies at Kudayu and cuts him about; but the gashes are only a few inches long. He strikes him until no part of his body is left unwounded.
Kudayu. Heiyemon, Okaru, plead for me.
Recitative. He clasps his hands to them. How unsightly is it for him to bow and entreat Teraoka, whom formerly he despised as an ashigaru!
Yuranosuke. If we kill him here, it will be difficult to explain it away. Pretend he is drunk and take him home.
Recitative. His haori is thrown upon him to hide his wounds. Here Yazama, Senzaki, and Takemori, who have been listening in secret, suddenly open the sliding-door.