Shakuntala.  You must please ask the king’s pardon for the rude things we said when we were talking together.

The two friends (smiling).  Anybody who says it was rude, may ask his pardon.  Nobody else feels guilty.

Shakuntala.  Your Majesty, pray forgive what we said when we did not know that you were present.  I am afraid that we say a great many things behind a person’s back.

King (smiling).

  Your fault is pardoned if I may
    Relieve my weariness
  By sitting on the flower-strewn couch
    Your fevered members press.

Priyamvada.  But that will not be enough to satisfy him.

Shakuntala (feigning anger).  Stop!  You are a rude girl.  You make fun of me when I am in this condition.

Anusuya (looking out of the arbour).  Priyamvada, there is a little fawn, looking all about him.  He has probably lost his mother and is trying to find her.  I am going to help him.

Priyamvada.  He is a frisky little fellow.  You can’t catch him alone.  I’ll go with you. (They start to go.)

Shakuntala.  I will not let you go and leave me alone.

The two friends (smiling).  You alone, when the king of the world is with you! (Exeunt.)

Shakuntala.  Are my friends gone?

King (looking about).  Do not be anxious, beautiful Shakuntala.  Have you not a humble servant here, to take the place of your friends?  Then tell me: 

  Shall I employ the moistened lotus-leaf
  To fan away your weariness and grief? 
  Or take your lily feet upon my knee
  And rub them till you rest more easily?

Shakuntala.  I will not offend against those to whom I owe honour. (She rises weakly and starts to walk away.) King (detaining her).  The day is still hot, beautiful Shakuntala, and you are feverish.

  Leave not the blossom-dotted couch
    To wander in the midday heat,
  With lotus-petals on your breast,
    With fevered limbs and stumbling feet.

(He lays his hand upon her.)

Shakuntala.  Oh, don’t!  Don’t!  For I am not mistress of myself.  Yet what can I do now?  I had no one to help me but my friends.

King.  I am rebuked.

Shakuntala.  I was not thinking of your Majesty.  I was accusing fate.

King.  Why accuse a fate that brings what you desire?

Shakuntala.  Why not accuse a fate that robs me of self-control and tempts me with the virtues of another?

King (to himself).

  Though deeply longing, maids are coy
    And bid their wooers wait;
  Though eager for united joy
    In love, they hesitate.

  Love cannot torture them, nor move
    Their hearts to sudden mating;
  Perhaps they even torture love
    By their procrastinating.