| Arjuna.
Krishna! as I behold, come here to shed Their common blood, yon
concourse of our kin, My members fail, my tongue dries in my mouth,
A shudder thrills my body, and my hair Bristles with horror; from my
weak hand slips Gandiv, the goodly bow; a fever burns My skin to
parching; hardly may I stand; The life within me seems to swim and
faint; Nothing do I foresee save woe and wail!
It is not good, O Keshav! nought of good
Can spring from mutual slaughter! Lo, I hate Triumph and domination,
wealth and ease, Thus sadly won! Aho! what victory Can bring
delight, Govinda! what rich spoils Could profit; what rule
recompense; what span Of life itself seem sweet, bought with such
blood?
Seeing that these stand here, ready to
die, For whose sake life was fair, and pleasure pleased, And power
grew precious:- grandsires, sires, and sons, Brothers, and
fathers-in-law, and sons-in-law, Elders and friends! Shall I deal
death on these Even though they seek to slay us? Not one blow, O
Madhusudan! will I strike to gain The rule of all Three Worlds;
then, how much less To seize an earthly kingdom! Killing these Must
breed but anguish, Krishna! If they be Guilty, we shall grow guilty
by their deaths; Their sins will light on us, if we shall slay Those
sons of Dhritirashtra, and our kin;
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