[S']AKOONTALÁ makes an effort to rise.
KING.
Nay, trouble not thyself, dear maiden.
Move not to do me homage; let thy limbs
Still softly rest upon their flowery couch;
And gather fragrance from the lotus-stalks,
Bruised by the fevered contact of thy frame.
ANASÚYÁ.
Deign, gentle Sir, to seat yourself on the rock on which our friend is reposing.
[The KING sits down. [S']AKOONTALÁ is confused.
PRIYAMVADÁ.
Any one may see at a glance that you are deeply attached to each other. But the affection I have for my friend prompts me to say something of which you hardly require to be informed.