Chang-sut-yen—(Clasping Mandarin in his arms.) August one, the white moon lady slumbers in the chamber of Heaven, while I wait for you to light the path of my dreams.
Mandarin—Ancestors, save me!
Chang-sut-yen—We will make loud prayers to the tablets of our magnificently worthy ancestors after we embrace. Let me pluck you, and wear you across my heart, before your flower beauty fades.
Mandarin—(Recognizing him.) Miserable three footed dog, what maiden did you think to greet?
Chang-sut-yen—I press to my superb breast only your lily feet, honorable Cherry Blossom.
Mandarin—I am no Cherry Blossom.
Chang-sut-yen—You are all the Cherry Blossoms in the Garden of Earth, shedding perfume and petals with every sighing breeze.
Mandarin—I shed nothing but the light of Truth and Justice.
Chang-sut-yen—My heart cracks with love for you, and your tasks. At night when sleep seals the minds of other servants, I journey forth to count again your dazzling possessions. Your peach trees bend before me, and I am blinded. I beg to work for you until Death sews a black seam in my brain, and I go to my ancestors.
Mandarin—You have departed your unhappy wits. I give you to-morrow to offer gifts to the gods. Pursue sleep, and think not of my possessions, but rather of your venerable poverty. Your august brain is not large enough for Death to waste thread on. Thread is costly. Away with you, and rest.