(He walks and looks about.) Here is his Majesty.
He does not seek—until a father's care
Is shown his subjects—rest in solitude;
As a great elephant recks not of the sun
Until his herd is sheltered in the wood.
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.