LXII.
Dūtikā: One little moment of a day you keep your youth,—
The days are floating by:
Evil and good, these two will travel at your side,—
The only final gain is what you give to others.
Beauty, you have had part in killing Hari,
All day and night he thinks of only you,—
This is his hour of separation!
In sorrow's sea he swims or sinks,—
Show him your globéd breasts:
O worthy fair one, Gokula's Lord preserve,
And win the praise of the Triple Worlds!
Of a myriad lovers, whosoever looks on Kāna,
Deems that day is blest:
Frenzied is Hari by reason of your fury
The poet Vidyāpati avows.
LXIII.
Rādhā: You shall not tell me otherwise, my dear:
Little by little I came to know him better,
That Kānu is so cunning.
He made a sweetmeat of some knotty wood,
By smearing treacle on it:
Filling with poison a golden jar,
He added a layer of milk!
Yet surely Kān is good, and I am bad,
Because his words beguile me:
In heart and speech He is the same,
Matchless amidst a myriad.
The same flower that you cast away, the same you use in prayer.
And with the same you string the bow:
Such is the quality of Kānu s speech.
The poet Vidyāpati avows.