satire to pathos, runs the story, with a breadth truly Shaksperian. Here we have philosophy:
The lack of money is the root of all evil. (i. 14)
And pathos:
My body wet by tear-drops falling, falling;
My limbs polluted by the clinging mud;
Flowers from the graveyard torn, my wreath appalling;
For ghastly sacrifice hoarse ravens calling,
And for the fragrant incense of my blood. (x. 3)
And nature description:
But mistress, do not scold the lightning. She is your friend,
This golden cord that trembles on the breast
Of great Airāvata; upon the crest
Of rocky hills this banner all ablaze;
This lamp in Indra's palace; but most blest
As telling where your most belovèd stays. (v. 33)
And genuine bitterness:
Pride and tricks and lies and fraud
Are in your face;
False playground of the lustful god,
Such is your face;
The wench's stock in trade, in fine,
Epitome of joys divine,
I mean your face—
For sale! the price is courtesy.
I trust you'll find a man to buy
Your face. (v. 36)
It is natural that Shūdraka should choose for the expression of matters so diverse that type of drama which gives the greatest scope to the author's creative power. This type is the so-called
