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Bring
up
the
great
bull
buffaloes
,
the
blue-skinned
herd
bulls
with
the
angry
eyes
.
Drive
them
to
and
fro
as
I
order
.
Sleepest
thou
still
,
Shere
Khan
?
Wake
,
oh
,
wake
!
Here
come
I
,
and
the
bulls
are
behind
.
Rama
,
the
King
of
the
Buffaloes
,
stamped
with
his
foot
.
Waters
of
the
Waingunga
,
whither
went
Shere
Khan
?
He
is
not
Ikki
to
dig
holes
,
nor
Mao
,
the
Peacock
,
that
he
should
fly
.
He
is
not
Mang
the
Bat
,
to
hang
in
the
branches
.
Little
bamboos
that
creak
together
,
tell
me
where
he
ran
?
Ow
!
He
is
there
.
Ahoo
!
He
is
there
.
Under
the
feet
of
Rama
lies
the
Lame
One
!
Up
,
Shere
Khan
!
Up
and
kill
!
Here
is
meat
;
break
the
necks
of
the
bulls
!
Hsh
!
He
is
asleep
.
We
will
not
wake
him
,
for
his
strength
is
very
great
.
The
kites
have
come
down
to
see
it
.
The
black
ants
have
come
up
to
know
it
.
There
is
a
great
assembly
in
his
honor
.
Alala
!
I
have
no
cloth
to
wrap
me
.
The
kites
will
see
that
I
am
naked
.
I
am
ashamed
to
meet
all
these
people
.
Lend
me
thy
coat
,
Shere
Khan
.
Lend
me
thy
gay
striped
coat
that
I
may
go
to
the
Council
Rock
.
By
the
Bull
that
bought
me
I
made
a
promise
--
a
little
promise
.
