_King_. Well, I can only reproach this ring.

_Clown_ (_smiling_). And I will reproach this stick of mine. Why are you crooked when I am straight?

_King_ (_not hearing him_).

How could you fail to linger On her soft, tapering finger, And in the water fall?

And yet

Things lifeless know not beauty; But I--I scorned my duty, The sweetest task of all.

_Mishrakeshi_. He has given the answer which I had ready.

_Clown_. But that is no reason why I should starve to death.

_King_ (_not heeding_). O my darling, my heart burns with repentance because I abandoned you without reason. Take pity on me. Let me see you again. (_Enter a maid with a tablet_.)

_Maid_. Your Majesty, here is the picture of our lady. (_She produces the tablet_.)

_King_ (_gazing at it_). It is a beautiful picture. See!

A graceful arch of brows above great eyes; Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red As red karkandhu-fruit; love's brightness shed O'er all her face in bursts of liquid charm-- The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.

_Clown_ (_looking at it_). The sketch is full of sweet meaning. My eyes seem to stumble over its uneven surface. What more can I say? I expect to see it come to life, and I feel like speaking to it.

_Mishrakeshi_. The king is a clever painter. I seem to see the dear girl before me.

_King_. My friend,

What in the picture is not fair, Is badly done; Yet something of her beauty there, I feel, is won.

_Mishrakeshi_. This is natural, when love is increased by remorse.

_King_ (_sighing_).

I treated her with scorn and loathing ever; Now o'er her pictured charms my heart will burst: A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river.

And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst.

_Clown_. There are three figures in the picture, and they are all beautiful. Which one is the lady Shakuntala?

_Mishrakeshi_. The poor fellow never saw her beauty. His eyes are useless, for she never came before them.

_King_. Which one do you think?

_Clown_ (_observing closely_). I think it is this one, leaning against the creeper which she has just sprinkled. Her face is hot and the flowers are dropping from her hair; for the ribbon is loosened. Her arms droop like weary branches; she has loosened her girdle, and she seems a little fatigued. This, I think, is the lady Shakuntala, the others are her friends.

_King_. You are good at guessing. Besides, here are proofs of my love.

See where discolorations faint Of loving handling tell; And here the swelling of the paint Shows where my sad tears fell.

Chaturika, I have not finished the background. Go, get the brushes.

_Maid_. Please hold the picture, Madhavya, while I am gone.

_King_. I will hold it. (_He does so. Exit maid_.)

_Clown_. What are you going to add?

_Mishrakeshi_. Surely, every spot that the dear girl loved.

_King_. Listen, my friend.

The stream of Malini, and on its sands The swan-pairs resting; holy foot-hill lands Of great Himalaya's sacred ranges, where The yaks are seen; and under trees that bear Bark hermit-dresses on their branches high, A doe that on the buck's horn rubs her eye.

_Clown_ (_aside_). To hear him talk, I should think he was going to fill up the picture with heavy-bearded hermits.

_King_. And another ornament that Shakuntala loved I have forgotten to paint.

_Clown_. What?

_Mishrakeshi_. Something natural for a girl living in the forest.

_King_.

The siris-blossom, fastened o'er her ear, Whose stamens brush her cheek; The lotus-chain like autumn moonlight soft Upon her bosom meek.

_Clown_. But why does she cover her face with fingers lovely as the pink water-lily? She seems frightened. (_He looks more closely_.) I see. Here is a bold, bad bee. He steals honey, and so he flies to her lotus-face.

_King_. Drive him away.

_Clown_. It is your affair to punish evil-doers.

_King_. True. O welcome guest of the flowering vine, why do you waste your time in buzzing here?

Your faithful, loving queen, Perched on a flower, athirst, Is waiting for you still, Nor tastes the honey first.

_Mishrakeshi_. A gentlemanly way to drive him off!

_Clown_. This kind are obstinate, even when you warn them.

_King_ (_angrily_). Will you not obey my command? Then listen:

'Tis sweet as virgin blossoms on a tree, The lip I kissed in love-feasts tenderly; Sting that dear lip, O bee, with cruel power, And you shall be imprisoned in a flower.

_Clown_. Well, he doesn't seem afraid of your dreadful punishment.

(_Laughing. To himself_.) The man is crazy, and I am just as bad, from a.s.sociating with him.

_King_. Will he not go, though I warn him?