But thorns and weeds grow rank in fertile earth. 29

_Sansthanaka._ She 's ashamed to confessh her love when you 're here.
Please go. My shervant Sthavaraka has gone too after getting a
beating. He may be running away. Catch him, shir, and come back
with him.

_Courtier._ [_Aside._]

Vasantasena is too proud to own.
While I am near, her love for one so crude;
So now I leave her here with him alone;
Love's confidences long for solitude. 30

[_Aloud._] Very well. I go.

_Vasantasena._ [_Seizing the hem of his garment._] Did I not throw
myself upon your protection?

_Courtier._ Do not fear, Vasantasena. Jackass, Vasantasena is a
pledge, committed to your hand.

_Sansthanaka._ All right. Jusht let her be committed to my hand.
It 's a pledge that I 'll execute.

_Courtier._ Are you honest?

_Sansthanaka._ Honesht.

_Courtier._ [_Takes a few steps._] No! If I go, the wretch might kill
her. I will conceal myself for a moment, and see what he intends
to do. [_He stands apart._]

_Sansthanaka._ Good! I 'll murder her. But no! Perhaps thish tricky
trickshter, thish Brahman, thish old jackal, has gone and hidden
himshelf; he might raise a howl like the jackal he is. I 'll jusht do
thish to deceive him. [_He gathers flowers and adorns himself._]
Vasantasena, my love, my love! Come!

_Courtier._ Yes, he has turned lover. Good! I am content. I will
go. [_Exit._

[127.12. S.

_Sansthanaka._

I 'll give you gold, I 'll call you shweet;
My turbaned head adores your feet.
Why not love me, my clean-toothed girl?
Why worship such a pauper churl? 31

_Vasantasena._ How can you ask? [_She bows her head and recites
the following verses._]

O base and vile! O wretch! What more?
Why tempt me now with gold and power?
The honey-loving bees adore
The pure and stainless lotus flower. 32

Though poverty may strike a good man low,
Peculiar honor waits upon his woe;
And 't is the glory of a courtezan
To set her love upon an honest man. 33

And I, who have loved the mango-tree, I cannot cling to the
locust-tree.

_Sansthanaka._ Wench, you make that poor little Charudatta into
a mango-tree, and me you call a locusht-tree, not even an acacia!
That 's the way you abuse me, and even yet you reme