KING.
Alas! my dear Má[T.]Havya, why am I doomed to be the victim of perpetual disappointment?
Vain is the hope of meeting her in dreams,
For slumber night by night forsakes my couch;
And now that I would fain assuage my grief
By gazing on her portrait here before me,
Tears of despairing love obscure my sight.
SÁNUMATÍ. [Aside.
You have made ample amends for the wrong you did [S']akoontalá in disowning her.
CHATURIKÁ. [Entering.
Victory to the King! I was coming along with the box of colours in my hand—
KING.
What now?