Chapter LXVIII

_Krishna:_ Your high round breasts--like golden cups--
And curving eyes, have stolen my wits away:
O lady fair, forbear your bitter fury,
And give the frenzied bee his draught of honey!

I clasp your hands, my fair sweet girl,
Be not so cruel, have pity on my lot:
How many times must I advise you
I may no more sustain the sting of love!

_Vidyāpati says: You know full well._
_That hope deferred is worse than death._

LXIX.

_Dutikā:_ Hearken, O Mādhava: Rādhā is waxen wilful,--
How carefully and in how many ways I warned her.
And yet the beauty gave no answer!

The lovely creature when she hears your name,
Covers her ears with her hands:
She who thought that your love was for ever new.
Now will not even hear you speak!

I laid before her a lock of your hair.
Flowers and grass and pan:
But the wrathful face of a lily she would not turn,--
She sat unmoved, with face averted.

_This heart of yours forsooth, is lightning's very essence,--_
_How shall I soothe your fury?_
_Vidyāpati says: A kind word would be fitting;_
_But you yourself be still, O Kāna._

LXX.

_Rādhā:_ At last, my dear, I see how Kāna is uncouth:
An axe of brass, useless for any work,
A layer of tinsel over it!

Albeit I showed him angry eyes, how came it that the mountains
Slipped in two thick roads?
Taking the shālmal for the sandal, he clasped it close,--
But there was a thorny dart!

He who has spent his life amongst the beasts,
What can he know of Rati's ways?
This is a night of nectar, but I spent it vainly
With yonder boorish Herdsman!

_Vidyāpati says: Hearken, young woman:_
_He is not ever a boor!_
_You are uncouth yourself, your trade is herding too,_
_You cannot lay such blame on Hari!_

LXXI.

_Rādhā:_ There bloomed a flower of golden shene,
My hope was high the fruit would be a gem,
I fed its roots with streams of milk;
I saw no fruit, and all was vanity!

I am the simple daughter of a cowherd,
And this unworthy love is worse than death;
What woe, Alas, has Fate afflicted me,--
For hope of gain, I lost my all!

_This is Vidyāpati' s conclusion:_
_You cannot make a dogs tail straight._

LXXII.

_Krishna:_ The sun is in the East, the tide of night has ebbed,
The moon is merging in the sky.
The water-lily closed,--and even so, my lady fair,
Your lily-face is shut.

A lily-face, two lotus-eyes,
And lips of honey.
All your body flower-wrought,--
Why is your heart of stone?

Your hands are wasted, and you wear no bracelets,
Even a garland is a weary burden:
And yet you will not cast away your mountain load of pride--
What wicked ways are yours!

_Now leave these wrongs, give Hari bliss, my fair,_
_Now with the dawn, give over wrath:_
_Rājā Shivasimha Rūpanārāyana,_
_Says Vidyāpati!_