The mean man, whom a woman spurns,
But loves the more;
The wise man's passion gentler burns,
Or passes o'er. 9
Sansthānaka. Shome time has passhed, shir, shince I told my shervant Sthāvaraka to take the bullock-cart and come as quick as he could. And even yet he is not here. I've been hungry a long time, and at noon a man can't go a-foot. For shee!
The shun is in the middle of the shky,
And hard to look at as an angry ape;
Like Gāndhārī, whose hundred shons did die,
The earth is hard dishtresshed and can't eshcape. 10
Courtier. True.
The cattle all—their cuds let fall—
Lie drowsing in the shade;
In heated pool their lips to cool,
Deer throng the woodland glade;
A prey to heat, the city street
Makes wanderers afraid;
The cart must shun the midday sun,
And thus has been delayed. 11
Sansthānaka. Yesshir,
Fasht to my head the heated shun-beam clings;
Birds, flying creatures, alsho wingèd things
Resht in the branches of the trees, while men,
People, and pershons shigh and shigh again;
At home they tarry, in their houses shtay,
To bear the heat and burden of the day. 12
Well, shir, that shervant isn't here yet. I'm going to shing shomething to passh the time. [He sings.] There, shir, did you hear what I shang?
Courtier. What shall I say? Ah, how melodious!
