My friend Maitreya! Oh, this cruel blow!
My wife, thou issue of a spotless strain!
My Rohasena! Here am I, laid low
By sternest fate; and thou, thou dost not know
That all thy childish games are played in vain.
Thou playest, heedless of another's pain!(ix. 29)
Voices behind the scenes. My father! Oh, my friend!
Chārudatta. [Listens. Mournfully.] You are a leader in your own caste. I would beg a favor at your hands.
Headsmen. From our hands you would receive a favor?
Chārudatta. Heaven forbid! Yet a headsman is neither so wanton nor so cruel as King Pālaka. That I may be happy in the other world, I ask to see the face of my son.
Headsmen. So be it.
A voice behind the scenes. My father! oh, my father! [Chārudatta hears the words, and mournfully repeats his request.]
Headsmen. Citizens, make way a moment. Let the noble Chārudatta look upon the face of his son. [Turning to the back of the stage.] This way, sir! Come on, little boy!
P. 261.15]