KING [_smiling_].--I was only thinking that I ought not to disregard a friend's request.
MÁTHAVYA.--Then may the King live forever! [_Moves off_.
KING.--Stay a moment, my dear friend. I have something else to say to you.
KING.--When you have rested, you must assist me in another business, which will give you no fatigue.
MÁTHAVYA.--In eating something nice, I hope.
KING.--You shall know at some future time.
MÁTHAVYA.--No time better than the present.
WARDER [_entering_].--What are your Majesty's commands?
KING.--O Raivataka! bid the General of the forces attend.
WARDER.--I will, Sire. [_Exit and reënters with the General_] Come forward, General; his Majesty is looking towards you, and has some order to give you.
GENERAL [_looking at the King_].--Though hunting is known to produce ill effects, my royal master has derived only benefit from it. For Like the majestic elephant that roams O'er mountain wilds, so does the King display A stalwart frame, instinct with vigorous life. His brawny arms and manly chest are scored By frequent passage of the sounding string; Unharmed he bears the mid-day sun; no toil His mighty spirit daunts; his sturdy limbs, Stripped of redundant flesh, relinquish nought Of their robust proportions, but appear In muscle, nerve, and sinewy fibre cased. [_Approaching the King_.] Victory to the King! We have tracked the wild beasts to their lairs in the forest. Why delay, when everything is ready?
KING.--My friend Máthavya here has been disparaging the chase, till he has taken away all my relish for it.
GENERAL [_aside to Máthavya_].--Persevere in your opposition, my good fellow; I will sound the King's real feelings, and humor him accordingly. [_Aloud_]. The blockhead talks nonsense, and your Majesty, in your own person, furnishes the best proof of it. Observe, Sire, the advantage and pleasure the hunter derives from the chase. Freed from all grosser influences, his frame Loses its sluggish humors, and becomes Buoyant, compact, and fit for bold encounter. 'Tis his to mark with joy the varied passions, Fierce heats of anger, terror, blank dismay, Of forest animals that cross his path. Then what a thrill transports the hunter's soul, When, with unerring course, his driven shaft Pierces the moving mark! Oh! 'tis conceit In moralists to call the chase a vice; What recreation can compare with this?