KING.--Think you that a descendant of the mighty Puru could fix his
affections on an unlawful object?
Though, as men say, the offspring of the sage,
The maiden to a nymph celestial owes
Her being, and by her mother left on earth,
Was found and nurtured by the holy man
As his own daughter, in this hermitage;--
So, when dissevered from its parent stalk,
Some falling blossom of the jasmine, wafted
Upon the sturdy sunflower, is preserved
By its support from premature decay.
MATHAVYA [_smiling_].--This passion of yours for a rustic maiden, when
you have so many gems of women at home in your palace, seems to me very
like the fancy of a man who is tired of sweet dates, and longs for sour
tamarinds as a variety.
KING.--You have not seen her, or you would not talk in this fashion.
MATHAVYA.--I can quite understand it must require something surpassingly
attractive to excite the admiration of such a great man as you.
KING.--I will describe her, my dear friend, in a few words--
Man's all-wise Maker, wishing to create
A faultless form, whose matchless symmetry
Should far transcend Creation's choicest works,
Did call together by his mighty will,
And garner up in his eternal mind,
A bright assemblage of all lovely things:--
And then, as in a picture, fashion them
Into one perfect and ideal form.
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