Courtier. What incredible folly!
The patient earth is burdened by
So many a fool, so many a drone,
Whose thoughts and deeds are all awry—
These trees of flesh, these forms of stone.6
[The monk makes faces at Sansthānaka.]
Sansthānaka. What does he mean?
Courtier. He praises you.
Sansthānaka. Praise me shome more! Praise me again! [The monk does so, then exit.]
Courtier. See how beautiful the garden is, you jackass.
See yonder trees, adorned with fruit and flowers,
O'er which the clinging creepers interlace;
The watchmen guard them with the royal powers;
They seem like men whom loving wives embrace.7
Sansthānaka. A good deshcription, shir.
The ground is mottled with a lot of flowers;
The blosshom freight bends down the lofty trees;
And, hanging from the leafy tree-top bowers,
The monkeys bob, like breadfruit in the breeze.8