Sansthānaka. How can you tell, shir?
Courtier. It doesn't take much to tell that, See!
His hair is newly shorn; the brow still white;
The rough cloak has not yet the shoulder scarred;
He wears it awkwardly; it clings not tight;
And here above, the fit is sadly marred.5
Monk. True, servant of the Blessèd One. I have been a monk but a short time.
Sansthānaka. Then why haven't you been one all your life? [He beats him.]
Monk. Buddha be praised!
Courtier. Stop beating the poor fellow. Leave him alone. Let him go.
Sansthānaka. Jusht wait a minute, while I take counshel.
Courtier. With whom?
Sansthānaka. With my own heart.