gements had to be made for the state-departure of the
Chinese Ambassador.

What do you mean by his state-departure?

If it please Your Majesty, you did not grant him an interview. So
he----

Vizier! You surprise me. Is this the way you manage state
affairs? What has happened to you? Have you lost your senses?

Then, again. Sire, I was trying to find a way to pull down the
Poet's house. At first, no one would undertake it. Then, at last,
all the Pundits of the Royal School of Grammar and Logic came up
with their proper tools and set to work.

Vizier! Are you mad this morning? Pull down the Poet's house?
Why, you might as well kill all the birds in the garden and make
them up into a pie.

If it please Your Majesty, you need not be annoyed. We shan't have to
pull down the house after all; for the moment Sruti-bhushan heard it
was to be demolished, he decided to take possession of it himself.

What, Vizier! That's worse still. Why! The Goddess of Music would
break her harp in pieces against my head, if she even heard of
such a thing. No, that can't be.

Then, Your Majesty, there was another thing to be got through. We
had to deliver over the province of Kanchanpur to the Pundit.

No, Vizier! What a mess you are making. That must go to our Poet.

To me, King? No. My poetry never accepts reward.

Well, well. Let the Pundit have it.

And, last of all, Sire. I have issued orders to the soldiers to
disperse the crowd of famine-stricken people.

Vizier, you are doing nothing but blunder. The best way to
disperse the famished people is with food, not force.

(_Guard enters._)

May it please Your Royal Highness.

What's the matter, Guard?

May it please Your Royal Highness, here is Sruti-bhushan, the
Pundit, coming back with his _Book of Devotions_.

Oh, stop him, Vizier, stop him. He will undo everything. Don't
let him come upon me unawares like this. In a moment of weakness,
I may suddenly find myself out of my depths in the _Ocean of
Renunciation_. Poet! Don't give me time for that. Do something.
Do anything. Have you got anything ready to hand? Any play
toward? Any poem? Any masque? Any----

Yes, King. I have got the very thing. But whether it is a drama,
or a poem, or a play, or a masque, I cannot say.

Shall I be able to understand the sense of what you have written?

No, King, what a poet writes is not meant to have any sense.

What then?

To have the tune itself.

What do you mean? Is there