SRI AUROBINDO
Collected Plays and Short Stories
Part Two
Prince of Edur
Rana Curran, Prince of Edur, of the Rahtore clan.
Visaldeo, a Brahmin, his minister; formerly in the service of the Gehelote Prince of Edur.
Haripal, a Rajpoot noble, General of Edur; formerly in the service of the Gehelote Prince.
Bappa, son of the late Gehelote Prince of Edur, in refuge among the Bheels.
Sungram,
Prithuraj, young Rajpoot refugees, companions of Bappa.
Kodal, a young Bheel, foster brother and lieutenant of Bappa.
Canaca, the King's jester of Cashmere.
Pratap, Rao of Ichalgurh, a Chouhan noble.
Menadevi, wife of Curran; a Chouhan princess, sister of the King of Ajmere.
Comol Cumary, daughter of Rana Curran and Menadevi.
Coomood Cumary, daughter of Rana Curran by a concubine.
Nirmol Cumary, daughter of Haripal, friend of Comol Cumary.
Ishany, a Rajpoot maiden, in attendance on Comol Cumary.
The palace in Edur. The forests about Dongurh.
The palace in Edur.
Rana Curran, Visaldeo.
He is at Delsa then?
So he has written.
Send out a troop for escort, yielding him
Such honour as his mighty birth demands.
Let him be lodged for what he is, a Prince
Among the mightiest.
You have chosen then?
You'll give your daughter, King, to this Cashmerian?
My brother from Ajmere writes to forbid me,
Because he's Scythian, therefore barbarous.
A Scythian? He is Cashmere's mighty lord
Who stretches out from those proud Himalayan hills
His giant arms to embrace the North.
But still
A Scythian.
Whom many Aryan monarchs crouch to appease
When he but shakes his warlike lance. A soldier
And conqueror, — what has the earth more noble?
And he is of the great Cushanian stock
That for these centuries bestride the hills
Against all comers. World-renowned Asoca
Who dominated half our kingly East,
Sprang from a mongrel root.
Rana, you'll wed
Your daughter to Prince Toraman.
I'm troubled
By Ajmere's strong persistence. He controls
Our Rajpoot world and it were madly done
To offend him.
That's soon avoided. Send your daughter out
To your strong fort among the wooded hills,
Dongurh; there while she walks among the trees,
Let the Cashmerian snatch her to his saddle
In the old princely way. You have your will
And the rash Chouhan has his answer.
Visaldeo,
You are a counsellor! Call the queen hither;
I'll speak to her.
What is it but a daughter? One mere girl
And in exchange an emperor for my ally.
You sent for me, my lord!
How many summers might our daughter count,
Mena?
Sixteen, my lord.
She flowers apace
And like a rose in bloom expects the breeze
With blushing petals. We can delay no longer
Her nuptial rites.
The Rao of Ichalgurh
Desires her. He's a warrior and a Chouhan.
A petty baron! O my dearest lady,
Rate not your child so low. Her rumoured charm
Has brought an emperor posting from the north
To woo her.
Give me the noble Rajpoot blood,
I ask no more.
The son of great Cashmere
Journeys to Edur for her.
Your royal will
Rules her and me.
And yet, my lord, a child
Of Rajpoot princes might be better mated;
So much I'll say.
You are your brother's sister.
He says he will not have a Scythian wed her.
He cherishes the lofty Chouhan pride.
You know, my lord, we hold a Rajpoot soldier
Without estate or purse deserves a queen
More than a crowned barbarian.
You are all
As narrow as the glen where you were born
And live immured. No arrogance can match
The penniless pride of mountaineers who never
Have seen the various world beyond their hills.
Your petty baron who controls three rocks
For all his heritage, exalts himself
O'er monarchs in whose wide domains his holding's
An ant-hill, and prefers his petty line
To their high dynasties; — as if a mountain tarn
Should think itself more noble than the sea
To which so many giant floods converge.
Our tarns are pure at least; if small, they hold
Sweet water only; but your seas are brackish.
Well, well; tomorrow send your little princess
To Dongurh, there to dwell till we decide
If great Cashmere shall have her. Visaldeo,
Give ten good lances for her escort.
Only ten!
Rana, the queen is right.
The Bheels are out among the hills; they have
A new and daring leader and beset
All wayside wealth with swarms of humming arrows.
The lord of Edur should not fear such rude
And paltry caterans. When they see our banner
Advancing o'er the rocks, they will avoid
Its peril. Or if there's danger, take the road
That skirts the hills. Ten lances, Visaldeo!
My blood shall never mingle with the Scythian.
I am a Chouhan first and next your wife,
Edur. What means this move to Dongurh, Visaldeo?
Ten lances at her side! It were quite easy
To take her from them, even for a Cashmerian.
I understand. The whole of Rajasthan
Would cry out upon Edur, were this marriage
Planned openly to soil their ancient purity.
The means to check this shame?
Lady, I am
The Rana's faithful servant.
So remain.
I'll send a horse to Ichalgurh this hour.
There may be swifter snatchers than the Scythian.
Or swifter even than any in Ichalgurh.
I too have tidings to send hastily.
The women's apartments in the palace at Edur.
Comol Cumary, Coomood Cumary.
Tomorrow, Coomood, is the feast of May.
Sweetheart, I wish it were the feast of Will.
I know what I would will for you.
What, Coomood?
A better husband than your father'll give you.
You mean the Scythian? I will not believe
That it can happen. My father's heart is royal;
The blood that throbs through it he drew from veins
Of Rajpoot mothers.
But the brain's too politic.
A merchant's mind into his princely skull
Slipped in by some mischance, and it will sell you
In spite of all the royal heart can say.
He is our father, therefore blame him not.
I blame his brain, not him. Sweetheart, remember
Whomever you may marry I shall claim
Half of your husband.
If't be the Scythian, you may have
The whole uncouth barbarian with Cashmere
In the bad bargain.
We will not let him have you.
We'll find a mantra that shall call Urjoon
From Eden's groves to wed you; great Dushyanta
Shall leave Shacoontala for these wide eyes
Which you have stolen from the antelope
To gaze men's hearts out of their bodies with,
You lovely sorceress; or we'll have Udaian
To ravish you into his rushing car,
Edur's Vasavadatta. We'll bring crowding
The heroes of romance out of the past
For you to choose from, sweet, and not a Scythian
In all their splendid ranks.
But my poor Coomood,
Your hero of romance will never look at you,
Finding my antelope eyes so beautiful.
I will marry him
By sleight of hand and never let him know.
For when the nuptial fire is lit and when
The nuptial bond is tied, I'll slip my raiment's hem
Into the knot that weds your marriage robes
And take the seven paces with you both
Weaving my life into one piece with yours
For ever.
News, princess, news! What will you give me for a sackful of news?
Two switches and a birchrod. A backful for your sackful!
I will empty my sack first, if only to shame you for your base ingratitude. To begin with what will please you best, Prince Toraman is arrived. I hear he is coming to see and approve of you before he makes the venture; it is the Scythian custom.
He shall not have his Scythian custom. In India it is we girls who have the right of choice.
He will not listen. These Scythians stick to their customs as if it were their skin; they will even wear their sheepskins in midsummer in Agra.
Then, Nirmol, we will show you to him for the Princess Comol Cumary and marry you off into the mountains. Would you not love to be the Queen of Cashmere?
I would not greatly mind. They say he is big as a Polar bear and has the sweetest little pugnose and cheeks like two fat pouches. They say too he carries a knout in his hand with which he will touch up the bride during the ceremony as a promise of what she may expect hereafter; it is the Scythian custom. Oh, I envy you, Princess.
Nirmol, in sober earnest I will beat you.
Strike but hear! For I have still news in my sack. You must gather your traps; we are to start for Dongurh in an hour. What, have I made your eyes smile at last?
Beat me in earnest, if it is not. Visaldeo himself told me.
To Dongurh! To the woods! It is three years
Since I was there. I wonder whether now
The woodland flowers into a sudden blush
Crimsoning at the sweet approach of Spring
As once it did against that moonèd white
Of myriad blossoms. We shall feel again,
Coomood, the mountain breezes kiss our cheeks
Standing on treeless ridges and behold
The valleys wind unnoticeably below
In threads of green.
It is the feast of May.
Shall we not dance upon the wind-blown peaks
And put the peacock's feather in our hair
And think we are in Brindabon the green?
With a snubnosed Scythian Krishna to lead the dance. But they say Krishna was neither Scythian nor Rajpoot but a Bheel. Well, there is another Krishna of that breed out who will make eighth-century Rookminnies of you if you dance too far into the forest, sweethearts.
You mean this boy-captain of robbers who makes such a noise in 
our little world?
Bappa they call him, do they not?
'Tis some such congregation of consonants. Now, which sort of husband would the most modern taste approve? — a coal-black sturdy young Bheel, his face as rugged as Rajputana, or a red and white snubnosed Scythian with two prosperous purses for his cheeks. There's a problem in aesthetics for you, Coomood.
A barbarous emperor or a hillside thief
Are equals in a Rajpoot maiden's eyes.
Yon mountain-peak or some base valley clod,
'Tis one to the heaven-sailing star above
That scorns their lowness.
Yes, but housed with the emperor the dishonour is lapped in cloth of gold; on the thief's hillside it is black, naked and rough, its primitive and savage reality. To most women the difference would be great.
Not to me. I wonder they suffer this mountain springald to presume so long.
Why, they sent out a captain lately to catch him, but he came back a head shorter than he went. But how do you fancy my news, sweethearts?
What, is your sack empty?
Your kingly father was the last to stalk out of it. I expect him here to finish my story.
Enter Rana Curran, Menadevi and Visaldeo.
Maid Comol, are you ready yet for Dongurh?
I heard of it this moment, sir.
Make ready.
Prince Toraman arrives. You blush, my lily?
There is a maiden's blush of bashfulness,
But there's her blush of shame too when her cheeks
Offended scorn a suitor far too base
Should bring such noble blood to flush their whiteness.
Maid Comol, which was yours?
I would learn that,
Father, from your high sovereign will. I am not
The mistress of my blushes.
Keep them for him,
Comol, for whom their sweetness was created.
Hearken, my little one, you are marked out
To reign an empress; 'tis the stars decree it
That in their calm irrevocable round
Weave all our fates. Then shrink not if thou hearest
The noise of battle round thy palanquin
Filling the hills, nor fear its rude event,
But veil thy cheeks in scarlet to receive
Thy warlike husband.
Father!
It is so.
Thou journeyest not to Dongurh but thy nuptials.
With Toraman?
With one whose lofty doom
Is empire. Keep this in thy joyous bosom
Throbbing in a sweet secrecy. Farewell.
When we foregather next, I hope to greet
My little empress.
Comol, what said he to thee?
What I unwillingly have heard. Mother,
Must I be mated to a barbarous stock?
No, child. When you shall hear the trumpet's din
Or clash of blades, think not 'tis Toraman,
But your dear mother's care to save her child
From shameful mating. Little sweetheart, go.
When I shall meet you next, you'll shine, a flower
Upon the proudest crest in Rajasthan,
No Scythian's portion. Visaldeo, prepare
Her going quickly.
What plots surround me? Nirmol,
Give me my sword with me.
I'll have a friend
To help me, should the world go wrong.
Our self,
Lady, is our best helper.
I believe it.
'Tis the valley road
That clings to the deep bases of the hills.
'Tis not the shortest.
The easiest, — to Cashmere.
The other's safer then for Dongurh?
At least
'Tis green and beautiful, and love may walk there
Unhindered.
Thou seemst to be my friend,
But I'll believe myself and no one else
Except my sword whose sharpness I can trust
Not to betray me. Come, girls, make we ready
For this planned fateful journey.
Let them keep
Our palanquins together. One fate for both,
Sweetheart.
If we must marry Toraman,
Coomood, it shall be in that shadowy country.
Where, I hope, justice will have set right the balance between his nose and his cheeks. Girls, we are the prizes of this handicap and I am impatient to know which jockey wins.
The forest near Dongurh.
Bappa, Sungram, Prithuraj.
It is the secret friend from whom in childhood
I learned to wing my mounting thoughts aloft
High as an eagle's flight. I know the hand,
Though yet his name is hid from me.
Let's hear
The very wording.
“To the Sun's child, from Edur.
Comol Cumary, Edur's princess, goes
With her fair sister and a knot of lances
To Dongurh. Bappa, young lion of the hills,
Be as the lion in thy ranging; prey
Upon earth's mightiest, think her princesses
Meant only for thy spoil and serving-girls,
Her kings thy subjects and her lands thy prey.
Dare greatly and thou shalt be great; despise
Apparent death and from his lifted hand
Of menace pluck thy royal destinies
By warlike violence. Thus thy fathers did
From whose great blood thou springest, child of Kings.
Writes he that? The child of Kings!
He never spoke so plainly of your birth
Till now.
A kindling hint to fire our blood!
Two princesses and only a knot of swords
For escort? The gods themselves arrange this for us.
Bappa, you are resolved to court this peril?
Doubt you? Think how 'twill help our treasury.
The palanquins alone must be a mint
Of money and the girls' rich ornaments
Purchase half Rajasthan.
The immediate gain's
Princely, nor the mere capture perilous.
But afterwards the armèd wrath of Edur
Descends upon us in a thunder and whirlwind.
Are we yet strong enough to bear the shock?
Why, let it come. I shall rejoice to feel
The true and dangerous bite of war at last,
Not always play the mountain cateran's part,
To skulk among the hills and only assail
The weak and timid, or butcher distant force
With arrows. I long for open shocks of fight
And glorious odds and all the world for audience.
Sungram, I do not rashly take this step,
But with fixed policy. Unless we break
Edur's supreme contempt for our annoyance,
How can we bring him to the difficult hills?
So must we take the open where our Bheels
Will scatter from the massèd Rajpoot swords
Nor face their charging horsemen. But if we capture
Their princess, inconsiderate rage will hurl them
Into our very fastnesses to wear
Their strength out under our shafts. Then will I seize
At the right moment, they being few and weary,
Edur by force or guile and hold it fast
Though all the warlike world come up against me.
With Bheels?
I will invite all Rajpoot swords
That now are masterless and men exiled,
And desperate fortunes. So the iron hands
Join us and the adventurous hearts, to build
A modern seat of empire; minds like Sungram,
Wise to forecast and bold to execute,
Heroes like Prithuraj, who know not fear
Nor put a limit to their vaulting thoughts
Save death or unforgettable renown,
The Rajpoot's choice. Are we not strong enough?
We have a thousand hardy Bheels, expert
In mountain warfare, swift unerring bowmen,
We have ourselves to lead them, each worth thousands,
Sheva Ekling above us and in our hands
Our destiny and our swords.
They are enough.
Bappa, our scouts have come in. The prey is in the toils.
How many are they, Kodal?
Merely ten lances.
The servants and women they have sent round by the lower road; the escort with four palanquins come up through the hills.
They have run their heads into the noose.
We will draw it tight, Bappa, and choke them.
Is their escape
Impossible?
Bappa, a hundred Bheels surround the pass
By which alone they can return. Myself
Have posted them.
Beside the waterfall
Surround them, Sungram. Kodal, let there be
No random shafts to imperil by mischance
Our lovely booty.
Trust me for that, Bappa. We'll shoot through the twenty eyeballs of them and never even touch the white. Ten lances they are and ten arrows will stretch them flat; there shall be nothing left to be done but the burning. If I cannot do this, I am no Bheel, no Kodal and no foster-brother of Bappa.
Economise our strength. I will not lose
A single man over this easy capture.
Today begins our steep ascent to greatness.
The forest near Dongurh. By the waterfall.
Enter Captain and soldiers escorting Comol Cumary, Coomood, Nirmol and Ishany in palanquins.
Set down the palanquins. Captain, make void
This region; here the princess would repose
Beside the murmuring waterfall awhile
And breathe into her heart the winds of Dongurh.
Exit Captain with soldiers and palanquin-bearers. The girls leave their palanquins.
Coomood, this is the waterfall we loved
To lean by, singing to the lyre the deeds
Our fathers wrought or listening silently
The soft continuous roar. Beyond that bend
We shall see Dongurh, — Dongurh, our delight
Where we were children, Coomood.
Comol, our tree's
All scarlet, as if splashed with crimson fire,
Just as of old.
O it is Spring, and this
Is Dongurh.
Girls, we must not linger long.
Our Scythian, missing us, may take the hills.
Purse-cheeks?
Oh, he has lifted Mera the servant-girl to his 
saddle-bow by now and is garlanding her Queen of Cashmere.
I wish I were there to be bridesmaid.
That was a sweet touch of thine, Nirmol. But the child deserves her promotion; she has served me willingly. A Scythian throne is no great wages for service to a Rajpoot princess.
How the hill gives you back your laughter, repeating
Its sweetness with delight, as if it had a soul
To love you.
We have shaken them off prettily by turning away through the hills. Alas! my royal father will not greet his little empress this journey, nor my lady mother scent her blossom on a Rajpoot crest. They must even put up with their poor simple Comol Cumary just as she was, — (aside) and as she will be until her heart finds its mate.
It is a sin, I tell you, Comol; I am mad when I think of it. Why, I came out to be abducted; I did not come for a quiet stroll through the woodlands. But I have still hopes of our Bheel cateran, our tangle-locked Krishna of the hill-sides; surely he will not be so ungallant as to let such sweet booty pass through his kingdom ungathered.
I would gladly see this same stripling and talk to him face to face who sets his Bheel arrows against our Rajpoot swords. He should be a man at least, no Scythian Toraman.
The presumptuous savage! it will earn him a stake yet for his last session.
Were I a man, I would burn these wasps from their nest and catch and crush them in my mailed gauntlet as they buzzed out into the open.
Bappa! Bappa! Ho Sheva Ekling!
Lances, lances, Rajpoots! Bearers, to the palanquins!
Bappa!
You'll have that talk with Bappa yet,
Comol.
Oh, let us flee! They swarm towards us.
Stand firm! Our gallant lances soon will prick
These bold hill-foxes to their lairs. Stand firm!
We should but fly into the mouth of danger.
Comol Cumary (climbing on to a rock)
You Gods! our Rajpoots all are overwhelmed
Before they used their weapons. What next, Ishany?
Shall we sit still to be made prisoners?
Get swiftly to your palanquin. The bearers
Run hither. Flee towards the valley road!
It may be that the swords of Ichalgurh
Range there already.
Shall I escape alone?
Ah, save the glory of Edur from disgrace
Of savage handling!
Enter the palanquin-bearers fleeing.
Halt! Take your princess, men,
And flee with her into the valley road.
The funeral fire in the mouth of your princess! Every man save himself.
Exit with most of the bearers.
Halt, halt! We have eaten and shall we not pay for the salt? Yes, even with our blood. We four will take her, if we are not cut into pieces first. Into the palanquin, lady.
Quick, Comol! or are you longing for your palaver with Tangle-locks?
What will become of us?
We shall become
Bheel housewives. After all, a Scythian throne
Was better.
We have our weapons to befriend us yet.
See, see, Ishany!
The Bheels are leaping down upon our rear.
Quick, bearers, bearers.
Whoever wants an arrow through his skull, let him move his shanks. Women, you are my brother Bappa's prisoners; we have need of some Rajpoot slave-girls for his kitchen. Take them, my children, and tie them.
Stab any who comes; let not these lumps of dirt
Insult your Rajpoot bodies with their fingers.
Shut your mouth, Rajpootny, or I will skewer your tongue to your palate with an arrow. Knock their daggers out of their hands.
He lays his hand on Nirmol's wrist.
Off, savage! I will have no tongue-skewerer for my husband.
Release her, Kodal. Lay not thy Bheel hand
Upon a Rajpoot virgin. Maiden of Edur,
Expect no outrage. We are men who keep
Some tincture of manners yet, though savage hills
Harbour us and our looks and deeds are rugged
As the wild land we dwell in.
I grant you that.
If you are the master-jockey, the winners of this handicap are no such rank outsiders after all.
Because thou art a Rajpoot, must thou command me? To me, Bheels! Tie up these Rajpootnys, hand and leg like so many chickens. Heed not Sungram.
Mutineer!
Ishany (rapidly approaching the bearers)
Slip off unnoticed while they brawl; run, run!
We will do our man's best. Silently, men, and swiftly.
I boggle not for your sword, Rajpoot. Taste my arrows.
Exeunt bearers with Comol in the
palanquin. Bappa and Prithuraj enter
from the other side.
Now, what's the matter, Kodal?
Why, Bappa, these new servant-girls of yours will not come to heel; they talk proudly. Yet Sungram will not let me teach them manners, because, I think, they are his aunt's cousins.
They shall be obedient, Kodal. Leave them to me.
Remember Sungram's your commander, brother.
What, you, a soldier, and break discipline!
I am your soldier, Bappa. Sungram, you shall have your Rajpootny. I am a soldier, Rajpoot, and know my duty.
Is this the Bheel? the rough and uncouth outlaw?
He has a princely bearing. This is surely
A Rajpoot and of a high-seated blood.
Which of you's Edur's princess? Let her stand
Before me.
Who art thou that speak'st so proudly
As if a Rajpoot princess were thy slave,
Outlaw?
Whoe'er I am, you are in my hands,
My spoil and captives. Speak, which is the princess?
Out of thy grip and now almost in safety,
Chieftain, upon the valley road.
Coomood,
Thou hast betrayed thy sister by thy folly
And into vilest shame.
At least I'll share it.
Ay, so? these maidens are but three. Kodal,
Four palanquins were on the road, thou told'st me.
Sungram, give thy sword a twist in my guts. While I wrangled with thee, the best shikar of all has skedaddled.
Nay, mend it, — intercept the fugitive.
The other too has fled? but she's on foot.
Sungram and Prithuraj, lead these fair captives
Into their prison. I will go and seize
The runaways.
They are not for thee yet,
Hill-cateran, while I stand between.
O here's
A Rajpoot spirit.
Foolish girl, canst thou
Oppose the storm-blast with a dove's white wings?
As he goes out, she strikes at him with a
dagger; he seizes her wrist and puts her by.
Thou hast a brave but headstrong spirit, maiden.
It is no savages to whom your Fates
Are kind, but men of Rajpoot blood and nurture.
He lays his hand on her wrist.
You take it in these hills
Before the asking, as it seems.
Thou useless helper.
Very useless, maiden.
When help is needed, ask it of my sword.
You play the courteous brigand. I shall need
No help to cast myself out of the reach
Of villains' courtesies.
Prithuraj (lifting her in his arms)
'Tis not so easy.
Must I then teach you you're a prisoner?
Come, be more patient. You shall yet be glad
Of the sweet violence today we do you.
Must we follow in the same order?
By your leave, no. I turn eleven stone or thereabouts.
I will not easily believe it. Will you suffer me to test the measure?
I fear you would prove an unjust balance; so I will even walk, if you will help me over the rough places. It seems you were not Krishna after all?
Why, take me for brother Balaram then. Is not your name Revaty?
It is too early in the day for a proposal; positively I will not say either yes or no till the evening. On, Balaram! I follow.
The forest near Dongurh.
Enter bearers with Comol Cumary in the palanquin.
Courage, brothers, courage! We are almost out of the wood.
Enter Kodal, leaping down from a thicket in front.
But it is too soon to hollo. Stop, you plain-frogs, or you shall gutturalize your last croak.
Put down the palanquin; we are taken. Great emperor of Bheels, be merciful.
Stand still, rogues. I must first haul the runaway Rajpootny out of her dog-box.
As he approaches the palanquin, the bearer
strikes him down suddenly and throws his bows
and arrows down the hill-side.
Quick! Let us be off while he's stunned.
Enter Bappa and Coomood, followed by Bheels.
Your sister cannot overstep the pass,
Which is beset and ambushed. Ho, there, halt!
Put down the palanquin. Insensate fools,
Invite not death.
The Bheels crowd in and surround the bearers.
Only stunned, Bappa.
The hillside was a trifle harder than my head.
Plain-frog, thou didst that trick handsomely.
Give me thy paw, fellow.
Take these men prisoners and keep them safely.
Remove your men; and, Kodal, guard the road
Barring all rescue.
Exit Kodal and Bheels with the bearers.
Out of the palanquin.
Comol, Comol.
Dear fugitive from fate's arrest you're taken.
How was it?
I told him of your flight.
You'll leave me all alone to wed a Bheel?
You'll break our compact? I have dragged you back
To servitude.
Nay, let me see my captor then.
For if you smile, my Coomood, I must be
Out of misfortune's reach.
Where is this mountain thief who wars with Kings
And lays his hands on Edur's princesses
As if his trunk were an immortal piece
And he unhangable?
I am the man,
Bappa, the outlaw.
This Bappa! this the Bheel?
Why, Coomood, it was Krishna after all.
Monarch of caterans, I am Edur's princess,
Comol Cumary. Why didst thou desire me?
O who would not desire thee, glorious virgin?
Thou art the rose of Rajasthan and I
Will wear thee on my crest.
'Twas prophesied me.
But roses, King of thieves, have thorns, and see!
Thinkst thou that pretty toy
Will save thee from me?
It will do its best.
And if you take me still, 'tis at your peril.
I am a dangerous creature to possess.
I will embrace the peril as a bride
If in thy shape it dwell.
I swear I pity you.
You rush upon you know not what.
Come now,
If 'tis a gentle serving-girl you need,
Here is my sister, Coomood, who can cook
Divinely. Take her. Let me walk on to Dongurh.
Believe her not,
'Tis she's a Droupadie; and who possesses her
Is fated to be Emperor of the West.
Nay, you are twin sweet roses on one stalk
And I will pluck you both, O flowers of Edur.
Why did thy men beset me, mountaineer?
At first 'twas policy
And some desire of thy imperial ransom.
But now I've seen thee, I will hold thee fast.
You shall not have me, sir, till you have fought
And beaten me. You shall not get me cheaply.
I am a swashbuckler. Bheel, I can fight.
Marvel, thou mayst and with great ease be victor
If thou but use thy soft and shining eyes
To dazzle me out of all possibility
Of sound defence.
Come, measure swords, on guard!
Thou wilt persist then in this pretty folly?
Halt, halt! I will not fight except on terms.
You'll yield yourself my prisoner, Bheel, and free
My maidens, when I've drubbed you handsomely?
If when I've conquered, you will utterly
Surrender your sweet self into my arms,
Princess of Edur.
Take me if you can.
Thus then I take you.
Foul play! foul play!
It was not fair to rob me of my sword.
Call you this fighting? I'll not yield myself.
Thou hast no choice.
I was not fairly won.
Avaunt! this is mere highway robbery.
Virgin, this is the moment
For which thy loveliness was born, alas.
What will you do with me?
I'll carry thee,
A hungry lion, to my secret lair
Among the mighty hills, where none shall come
To save thee from me, O my glorious prey,
Bright antelope of Edur!
Will you play
With the young lion, Comol, and chafe his mood?
Now you are borne down by his heavy mane
And lie beneath his huge and tawny chest,
Trembling and silent.
Princess, —
May I walk on
To Dongurh?
No, thou mayst not. Follow me.
Hold fast my arm, nor, princess, fear to hang
Thy whole sleight weight on me up these abrupt
And breathless places, for the high ascent
Is steep and rough to our uncouth abodes.
Descent's for your small feet impossible,
Coomood, from your green prison on the heights.
There Spring shall wall you in with flowers and make
Her blossoming creepers chains for your bright limbs
Softly forbidding you, when you'ld escape.
Comol, tomorrow is the feast of May.
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