[S']AKOONTALÁ. [Angrily.
Dishonourable man, thou judgest of others by thine own evil heart. Thou, at least, art unrivalled in perfidy, and standest alone—a base deceiver in the garb of virtue and religion—like a deep pit whose yawning mouth is concealed by smiling flowers.
KING. [Aside.
Her anger, at any rate, appears genuine, and makes me almost doubt whether I am in the right. For indeed,
When I had vainly searched my memory,
And so with stern severity denied
The fabled story of our secret loves,
Her brows, that met before in graceful curves,
Like the arched weapon of the god of love,
Seemed by her frown dissevered; while the fire
Of sudden anger kindled in her eyes.
[Aloud.]
My good lady, Dushyanta's character is well known to all. I comprehend not your meaning.
[S']AKOONTALÁ.
Well do I deserve to be thought a harlot for having in the innocence of my heart, and out of the confidence I reposed in a Prince of Puru's race, entrusted my honour to a man whose mouth distils honey, while his heart is full of poison.
[Covers her face with her mantle, and bursts into tears.