Portress. Your Majesty, the hermits seem to be happy. They give you gracious looks.
King (observing SHAKUNTALA). Ah!
Who is she, shrouded in the veil
That dims her beauty's lustre,
Among the hermits like a flower
Round which the dead leaves cluster?
Portress. Your Majesty, she is well worth looking at.
King. Enough! I must not gaze upon another's wife.
Shakuntala (laying her hand on her breast. Aside). Oh, my heart, why tremble so? Remember his constant love and be brave.
Chaplain (advancing). Hail, your Majesty. The hermits have been received as Scripture enjoins. They have a message from their teacher. May you be pleased to hear it.
King (respectfully). I am all attention.
The two pupils (raising their right hands). Victory, O King.
King (bowing low). I salute you all.