HERMIT. [Raising his hand.
This deer, O King, belongs to our hermitage. Kill it not! kill it not!
Now heaven forbid this barbed shaft descend
Upon the fragile body of a fawn,
Like fire upon a heap of tender flowers!
Can thy steel bolts no meeter quarry find
Than the warm life-blood of a harmless deer?
Restore, great Prince, thy weapon to its quiver.
More it becomes thy arms to shield the weak,
Than to bring anguish on the innocent.
KING.
'Tis done.
[Replaces the arrow in its quiver.
HERMIT.
Worthy is this action of a Prince, the light of Puru's race[12].
Well does this act befit a Prince like thee,
Right worthy is it of thine ancestry.
Thy guerdon be a son of peerless worth,
Whose wide dominion shall embrace the earth.
BOTH THE OTHER HERMITS. [Raising their hands.