[Enter Chārudatta and Maitreya.]
Maitreya.
How beautiful the old garden Pushpakaranda is.
Chārudatta. You are quite right, my friend. For see!
The trees, like merchants, show their wares;
Each several tree his blossoms bears,
While bees, like officers, are flitting,
To take from each what toll is fitting.1
Maitreya. This simple stone is very attractive. Pray be seated.
Chārudatta. [Seats himself.] How Vardhamānaka lingers, my friend!
Maitreya. I told Vardhamānaka to bring Vasantasenā and come as quickly as he could.
Chārudatta. Why then does he linger?
Is he delayed by some slow-moving load?
Has he returned with broken wheel or traces?
Obstructions bid him seek another road?
His bullocks, or himself, choose these slow paces?2