Sansthānaka. There's not a shmell of a shin in it.
Sthāvaraka. Then speak, master.
Sansthānaka. Murder Vasantasenā.
Sthāvaraka. Oh, master, be merciful! Unworthy as I am, I brought this worthy lady hither, because she mistook this bullock-cart for another.
Sansthānaka. You shlave, ain't I your mashter?
Sthāvaraka. Master of my body, not of my character. Be merciful, master, be merciful! I am afraid.
Sansthānaka. You're my shlave. Who are you afraid of?
Sthāvaraka. Of the other world, master.
Sansthānaka. Who is thish "other world"?
Sthāvaraka. Master, it is a rewarder of righteousness and sin.
Sansthānaka. What is the reward of righteoushness?
Sthāvaraka. To be like my master, with plenty of golden ornaments.
Sansthānaka. What is the reward of shin?
Sthāvaraka. To be like me, eating another man's bread. That is why I will do no sin.
Sansthānaka. Sho you won't murder her? [He beats him with all his might.]
Sthāvaraka. You may beat me, master. You may kill me, master. I will do no sin.
A luckless, lifelong slave am I,
A slave I live, a slave I die;
But further woe I will not buy,
I will not, will not sin. 25
Vasantasenā. Sir, I throw myself upon your protection.
Courtier. Pardon him, jackass! Well done, Sthāvaraka!
Does this poor, miserable slave
