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 associating with him.

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

Mishrakeshi.  Love works a curious change even in a brave man.

Clown (aloud).  It is only a picture, man.

King.  A picture?

Mishrakeshi.  I too understand it now.  But to him, thoughts are real experiences.

King.  You have done an ill-natured thing.

  When I was happy in the sight,
  And when my heart was warm,
  You brought sad memories back, and made
  My love a painted form.