GRANDFATHER. My King has a thunderbolt within a lotus
painted on his flag.

KUMBHA. But every one is saying, the King is out in this
festival: every one.

GRANDFATHER. Why, so he is, of course: but he has no heralds, no
army, no retinue, no music bands or lights to accompany him.

KUMBHA. So none could recognise him in his incognito, it seems.

GRANDFATHER. Perhaps there are a few that can.

KUMBHA. And those that can recognise him--does the King grant
them whatever they ask for?

GRANDFATHER. But they never ask for anything. No beggar will
ever know the King. The greater beggar appears like the King to
the eyes of the lesser beggar. O fool, the man that has come out
to-day attired in crimson and gold to beg from you--it is him
whom you are trumpeting as your King! ... Ah, there comes my
mad friend! Oh come, my brothers! we cannot spend the day in
idle wrangling and prating--let us now have some mad frolic, some
wild enjoyment!

[Enter the MAD FRIEND, who sings]

/*
Do you smile, my friends? Do you laugh, my brothers? I roam
in search of the golden stag! Ah yes, the fleet-foot vision