Clown. And then you said—--
King. Then I put this engraved ring on her finger, and said to her—--
Clown. Well, what?
King.
Count every day one letter of my name;
Before you reach the end, dear,
Will come to lead you to my palace halls
A guide whom I shall send, dear.
Then, through my madness, it fell out cruelly. Mishrakeshi. It was too charming an agreement to be frustrated by fate.
Clown. But how did it get into a carp's mouth, as if it had been a fish-hook?
King. While she was worshipping the Ganges at Shachitirtha, it fell.
Clown. I see.
Mishrakeshi. That is why the virtuous king doubted his marriage with poor Shakuntala. Yet such love does not ask for a token. How could it have been?