Now, Charioteer, see me kill the deer.
[Takes aim.
A VOICE [behind the scenes].—Hold, O King! this deer belongs to our hermitage. Kill it not! kill it not!
CHARIOTEER [listening and looking].—Great King, some hermits have stationed themselves so as to screen the antelope at the very moment of its coming within range of your arrow.
KING [hastily].—Then stop the horses.
CHARIOTEER.—I obey.[Stops the chariot.
Enter a Hermit, and two others with him.
HERMIT [raising his hand].—This deer, O King, belongs to our hermitage. Kill it not! kill it not!
Now heaven forbid this barbèd shaft descend
Upon the fragile body of a fawn,
Like fire upon a heap of tender flowers!
Can thy steel bolts no meeter quarry find
Than the warm life-blood of a harmless deer?
Restore, great Prince, thy weapon to its quiver;
More it becomes thy arms to shield the weak,
Than to bring anguish on the innocent.
KING.—'Tis done. [Replaces the arrow in its quiver.