They who pervert the king's true bent,
The white crow's part who play,
Have slain their thousands innocent,
And slay, and slay, and slay. 41
My friend Maitreya, go, greet the mother of my son in my name for the last time. And keep my son Rohasena free from harm.
Maitreya. When the root is cut away, how can the tree be saved?
Chārudatta. No, not so.
When man departs to worlds above,
In living son yet liveth he;
Bestow on Rohasena love
No less than that thou gavest me. 42
Maitreya. Oh, my friend! I will prove myself your friend by continuing the life that you leave unfinished.
Chārudatta. And let me see Rohasena for a single moment.
Maitreya. I will. It is but fitting.
Judge. My good beadle, remove this man. [The beadle does so.] Who is there? Let the headsmen receive their orders. [The guardsmen loose their hold on Chārudatta, and all of them go out.]
Beadle. Come with me, sir.
Chārudatta. [Mournfully repeats the verse, page 146, beginning "My friend Maitreya!" Then, as if speaking to one not present.]
If you had proved my conduct by the fire,
By water, poison, scales, and thus had known
That I deserved that saws should bite my bone,
My Brahman's frame, more could I not desire.
You trust a foeman, slay me thus? 'Tis well.
With sons, and sons' sons, now you plunge to hell! 43
I come! I come! [Exeunt omnes.
