Vizier! Are you mad this morning? Pull down the Poet's house? Why, you might as well kill all the birds in the garden and make them up into a pie.
If it please Your Majesty, you need not be annoyed. We shan't have to pull down the house after all; for the moment Sruti-bhushan heard it was to be demolished, he decided to take possession of it himself.
What, Vizier! That's worse still. Why! The Goddess of Music would break her harp in pieces against my head, if she even heard of such a thing. No, that can't be.
Then, Your Majesty, there was another thing to be got through. We had to deliver over the province of Kanchanpur to the Pundit.
No, Vizier! What a mess you are making. That must go to our Poet.
To me, King? No. My poetry never accepts reward.
Well, well. Let the Pundit have it.
And, last of all, Sire. I have issued orders to the soldiers to disperse the crowd of famine-stricken people.
Vizier, you are doing nothing but blunder. The best way to disperse the famished people is with food, not force.
(Guard enters.)