PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.—We are all attention.
ŚAKOONTALÁ [reads].—
I know not the secret thy bosom conceals,
Thy form is not near me to gladden my sight;
But sad is the tale that my fever reveals,
Of the love that consumes me by day and by night.
KING [advancing hastily towards her].—
Nay, Love does but warm thee, fair maiden—thy frame
Only droops like the bud in the glare of the noon;
But me he consumes with a pitiless flame,
As the beams of the day-star destroy the pale moon.
PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ [looking at him joyfully, and rising to salute him].—Welcome, the desire of our hearts, that so speedily presents itself!
[Śakoontalá 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.