Courtier. A servant of the Blessèd One he calls you, and this is praise.
Sansthānaka. Praise me shome more, monk!
Monk. You are virtuous! You are a brick!
Sansthānaka. Shee? He shays I'm virtuous. He shays I'm a brick. What do you think I am? a materialistic philosopher? or a watering-trough? or a pot-maker?[78]
Courtier. You jackass, he praises you when he says that you are virtuous, that you are a brick.
Sansthānaka. Well, shir, what did he come here for?
Monk. To wash this robe.
Sansthānaka. Confound the monk! My shishter's husband gave me the finesht garden there is, the garden Pushpakaranda. Dogs and jackals drink the water in thish pond. Now I'm an arishtocrat. I'm a man, and I don't even take a bath. And here you bring your shtinking clothes, all shtained with shtale bean-porridge, and wash 'em! I think one good shtroke will finish you.
P. 187.7]
Courtier. You jackass, I am sure he has not long been a monk.