King. That I may myself place it where it belongs.
Shakuntala (to herself). What can I do? (She approaches.)
King. Let us sit on this stone bench. (They walk to the bench and sit down.)
King (taking SHAKUNTALA'S hand). Ah!
When Shiva's anger burned the tree
Of love in quenchless fire,
Did heavenly fate preserve a shoot
To deck my heart's desire?
Shakuntala (feeling his touch). Hasten, my dear, hasten.
King (joyfully to himself). Now I am content. She speaks as a wife to her husband. (Aloud.) Beautiful Shakuntala, the clasp of the bracelet is not very firm. May I fasten it in another way?
Shakuntala (smiling). If you like.
King (artfully delaying before he fastens it). See, my beautiful girl!
The lotus-chain is dazzling white
As is the slender moon at night.
Perhaps it was the moon on high
That joined her horns and left the sky,
Believing that your lovely arm
Would, more than heaven, enhance her charm.