KING [gazing at Sakoontala.  Aside].—­What charms are here revealed
before mine eyes! 
    Truly no blemish mars the symmetry
    Of that fair form; yet can I ne’er believe
    She is my wedded wife; and like a bee
    That circles round the flower whose nectared cup
    Teems with the dew of morning, I must pause
    Ere eagerly I taste the proffered sweetness.
          [Remains wrapped in-thought.

WARDER.—­How admirably does our royal master’s behavior prove his regard for justice!  Who else would hesitate for a moment when good fortune offered for his acceptance a form of such rare beauty?

SARNGARAVA.—­Great King, why art thou silent?

KING.—­Holy men, I have revolved the matter in my mind; but the more I think of it, the less able am I to recollect that I ever contracted an alliance with this lady.  What answer, then, can I possibly give you when I do not believe myself to be her husband, and I plainly see that she is soon to become a mother?

SAKOONTALA [aside].—­Woe! woe!  Is our very marriage to be called in question by my own husband?  Ah me! is this to be the end of all my bright visions of wedded happiness?

SARNGARAVA.—­Beware! 
    Beware how thou insult the holy Sage! 
    Remember how he generously allowed
    Thy secret union with his foster-child;
    And how, when thou didst rob him of his treasure,
    He sought to furnish thee excuse, when rather
    He should have cursed thee for a ravisher.

SARADWATA.—­Sarngarava, speak to him no more.  Sakoontala, our part is performed; we have said all we had to say, and the King has replied in the manner thou hast heard.  It is now thy turn to give him convincing evidence of thy marriage.

SAKOONTALA [aside].—­Since his feeling towards me has undergone a complete revolution, what will it avail to revive old recollections?  One thing is clear—­I shall soon have to mourn my own widowhood. [Aloud.] My revered husband—­[Stops short.] But no—­I dare not address thee by this title, since thou hast refused to acknowledge our union.  Noble descendant of Puru!  It is not worthy of thee to betray an innocent-minded girl, and disown her in such terms, after having so lately and so solemnly plighted thy vows to her in the hermitage.

KING [stopping his ears].—­I will hear no more.  Be such a crime far
from my thoughts! 
    What evil spirit can possess thee, lady,
    That thou dost seek to sully my good name
    By base aspersions? like a swollen torrent,
    That, leaping from its narrow bed, overthrows
    The tree upon its bank, and strives to blend
    Its turbid waters with the crystal stream?

SAKOONTALA.—­If, then, thou really believest me to be the wife of another, and thy present conduct proceeds from some cloud that obscures thy recollection, I will easily convince thee by this token.