Raised his joined hands in suppliant guise
Flew to the door, and rooted there
Stood like the tree that grants each prayer.[638]
And Lakshmaṇ saw, and, fiercely moved,
With angry speech the king reproved:
“Famed is the prince who loves the truth,
Whose soul is touched with tender ruth,
Who, liberal, keeps each sense subdued,
And pays the debt of gratitude.
But all unmeet a king to be,