Shakuntala (to herself). I would never leave him if I could help myself.
Priyamvada. Why don't you go now?
Shakuntala. I am not your servant any longer. I will go when I like.
King (looking at SHAKUNTALA. To himself). Does she feel toward me as I do toward her? At least, there is ground for hope.
Although she does not speak to me,
She listens while I speak;
Her eyes turn not to see my face,
But nothing else they seek.
A voice behind the scenes. Hermits! Hermits! Prepare to defend the creatures in our pious grove. King Dushyanta is hunting in the neighbourhood.
The dust his horses' hoofs have raised,
Red as the evening sky,
Falls like a locust-swarm on boughs
Where hanging garments dry.
King (aside). Alas! My soldiers are disturbing the pious grove in their search for me.
The voice behind the scenes. Hermits! Hermits! Here is an elephant who is terrifying old men, women, and children.
One tusk is splintered by a cruel blow
Against a blocking tree; his gait is slow,
For countless fettering vines impede and cling;
He puts the deer to flight; some evil thing
He seems, that comes our peaceful life to mar,
Fleeing in terror from the royal car.