[127.12. S.
Sansthānaka.
I 'll give you gold, I 'll call you shweet;
My turbaned head adores your feet.
Why not love me, my clean-toothed girl?
Why worship such a pauper churl?31
Vasantasenā. How can you ask? [She bows her head and recites the following verses.]
O base and vile! O wretch! What more?
Why tempt me now with gold and power?
The honey-loving bees adore
The pure and stainless lotus flower.32
Though poverty may strike a good man low,
Peculiar honor waits upon his woe;
And 't is the glory of a courtezan
To set her love upon an honest man.33
And I, who have loved the mango-tree, I cannot cling to the locust-tree.
Sansthānaka. Wench, you make that poor little Chārudatta into a mango-tree, and me you call a locusht-tree, not even an acacia! That 's the way you abuse me, and even yet you remember Chārudatta.
Vasantasenā. Why should I not remember him who dwells in my heart?