May it please Your Royal Highness.
What's the matter, Guard?
May it please Your Royal Highness, here is Sruti-bhushan, the Pundit, coming back with his Book of Devotions.
Oh, stop him, Vizier, stop him. He will undo everything. Don't let him come upon me unawares like this. In a moment of weakness, I may suddenly find myself out of my depths in the Ocean of Renunciation. Poet! Don't give me time for that. Do something. Do anything. Have you got anything ready to hand? Any play toward? Any poem? Any masque? Any——
Yes, King. I have got the very thing. But whether it is a drama, or a poem, or a play, or a masque, I cannot say.
Shall I be able to understand the sense of what you have written?
No, King, what a poet writes is not meant to have any sense.
What then?
To have the tune itself.
What do you mean? Is there no philosophy in it?