Yes, Vizier, let us go at once. (To the King.) When he is making such a fuss about a tiny matter like this, it is best to pacify him first and then return to you afterwards.
Pundit, I am afraid that, some day, you will leave my royal protection altogether, and retire to the forest.
King, so long as I find contentment in a King's palace, it is as good as a hermitage for my peace of mind. I must now leave you, King. Vizier, let us go.
[The Vizier and Pundit go out.
Oh, dear me! Whatever shall I do? Here's the Poet coming. I am afraid he'll make me break all my good resolutions.—Oh, my grey hairs, cover my ears, so that the Poet's allurements may not enter.
Why, King, what's the matter? I hear you want to send away your Poet.
What have I to do with poets, when poetry brings me this parting message?
Look at this behind my ear. Don't you see it?
See what? Grey hairs? Why, King, don't you worry about that.