KING.—A bee! drive off the impudent insect, will you?
MÁTHAVYA.—That's your business. Your royal prerogative gives you power over all offenders.
KING.—Very true. Listen to me, thou favorite guest of flowering plants; why give thyself the trouble of hovering here? See where thy partner sits on yonder flower, And waits for thee ere she will sip its dew.
SÁNUMATÍ [aside].—A most polite way of warning him off!
MÁTHAVYA.—You'll find the obstinate creature is not to be sent about his business so easily as you think.
KING.—Dost thou presume to disobey? Now hear me—
An thou but touch the lips of my beloved,
Sweet as the opening blossom, whence I quaffed
In happier days love's nectar, I will place thee
Within the hollow of yon lotus cup,
And there imprison thee for thy presumption.
MÁTHAVYA.—He must be bold indeed not to show any fear when you threaten him with such an awful punishment. [Smiling, aside.] He is stark mad, that's clear; and I believe, by keeping him company, I am beginning to talk almost as wildly. [Aloud.] Look, it is only a painted bee.
KING.—Painted? impossible!
SÁNUMATÍ [aside].—Even I did not perceive it; how much less should he?