ŚAKOONTALÁ.—My child, ask the deity that presides over thy destiny.
KING [falling at Śakoontalá's feet].—Fairest of women, banish from thy mind
The memory of my cruelty; reproach
The fell delusion that overpowered my soul,
And blame not me, thy husband; 'tis the curse
Of him in whom the power of darkness reigns,
That he mistakes the gifts of those he loves
For deadly evils. Even though a friend
Should wreathe a garland on a blind man's brow,
Will he not cast it from him as a serpent?
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—Rise, my own husband, rise. Thou wast not to blame. My own evil deeds, committed in a former state of being, brought down this judgment upon me. How else could my husband, who was ever of a compassionate disposition, have acted so unfeelingly? [The King rises.] But tell me, my husband, how did the remembrance of thine unfortunate wife return to thy mind?
KING.—As soon as my heart's anguish is removed, and its wounds are healed, I will tell thee all.
Oh! let me, fair one, chase away the drop
That still bedews the fringes of thine eye;
And let me thus efface the memory
Of every tear that stained thy velvet cheek,
Unnoticed and unheeded by thy lord,
When in his madness he rejected thee.
[Wipes away the tear.
ŚAKOONTALÁ [seeing the signet-ring on his finger].—Ah! my dear husband, is that the Lost Ring?
KING.—Yes; the moment I recovered it, my memory was restored.
ŚAKOONTALÁ.—The ring was to blame in allowing itself to be lost at the very time when I was anxious to convince my noble husband of the reality of my marriage.
KING.—Receive it back, as the beautiful twining plant receives again its blossom in token of its reunion with the spring.