His fingers stretched in eager expectation
To grasp the wished-for toy, and knit together
By a close-woven web, in shape resemble
A lotus-blossom, whose expanding petals
The early dawn has only half unfolded.
SECOND ATTENDANT.—We shall never pacify him by mere words, dear Suvratá. Be kind enough to go to my cottage, and you will find there a plaything belonging to Márkándeya, one of the hermit's children. It is a peacock made of China-ware, painted in many colors. Bring it here for the child.
FIRST ATTENDANT.—Very well. [Exit.
CHILD.—No, no; I shall go on playing with the young lion. [Looks at the female attendant and laughs.
KING.—I feel an unaccountable affection for this wayward child.
How blessed the virtuous parents whose attire
Is soiled with dust, by raising from the ground
The child that asks a refuge in their arms!
And happy are they while with lisping prattle,
In accents sweetly inarticulate,
He charms their ears; and with his artless smiles
Gladdens their hearts, revealing to their gaze
His tiny teeth, just budding into view.
ATTENDANT.—I see how it is. He pays me no manner of attention. [Looking off the stage.] I wonder whether any of the hermits are about here. [Seeing the King.] Kind Sir, could you come hither a moment and help me to release the young lion from the clutch of this child, who is teasing him in boyish play?
KING [approaching and smiling].—Listen to me, thou child of a mighty saint.
Dost thou dare show a wayward spirit here?
Here, in this hallowed region? Take thou heed
Lest, as the serpent's young defiles the sandal,
Thou bring dishonor on the holy sage,
Thy tender-hearted parent, who delights
To shield from harm the tenants of the wood.
ATTENDANT.—Gentle Sir, I thank you; but he is not the saint's son.