KING.--I don't understand you; speak more intelligibly.
MATHAVYA.--Ah, my dear friend, is yonder upright reed transformed into a
crooked plant by its own act, or by the force of the current?
KING.--The current of the river causes it, I suppose.
MATHAVYA.--Aye; just as you are the cause of my crippled limbs.
KING.--How so?
MATHAVYA.--Here are you living the life of a wild man of the woods in a
savage, unfrequented region, while your state affairs are left to shift
for themselves; and as for poor me, I am no longer master of my own
limbs, but have to follow you about day after day in your chases after
wild animals, till my bones are all crippled and out of joint. Do, my
dear friend, let me have one day's rest.
KING [_aside_].--This fellow little knows, while he talks in this
manner, that my mind is wholly engrossed by recollections of the
hermit's daughter, and quite as disinclined to the chase as his own.
No longer can I bend my well-braced bow
Against the timid deer; nor e'er again
With well-aimed arrows can I think to harm
These her beloved associates, who enjoy
The privilege of her companionship;
Teaching her tender glances in return.
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