KING. Oh! my dear Má[T.]Havya,
Was it a dream? or did some magic dire,
Dulling my senses with a strange delusion,
O'ercome my spirit? or did destiny,
Jealous of my good actions, mar their fruit,
And rob me of their guerdon? It is past,
Whate'er the spell that bound me. Once again
Am I awake, but only to behold
The precipice o'er which my hopes have fallen.
MÁ[T.]HAVYA.
Do not despair in this manner. Is not this very ring a proof that what has been lost may be unexpectedly found?
KING. [Gazing at the ring.
Ah! this ring, too, has fallen from a station not easily regained, and I offer it my sympathy. O gem,
The punishment we suffer is deserved,
And equal is the merit of our works,
When such our common doom. Thou didst enjoy
The thrilling contact of those slender fingers,
Bright as the dawn; and now how changed thy lot!
SÁNUMATÍ. [Aside.
Had it found its way to the hand of any other person, then indeed its fate would have been deplorable.