Shakuntala.  Then, if you think best, make the good king take pity upon me.  If not, remember that I was. King.  Her words end all doubt.

Priyamvada (aside to ANUSUYA).  Anusuya, she is far gone in love and cannot endure any delay.

Anusuya.  Priyamvada, can you think of any scheme by which we could carry out her wishes quickly and secretly?

Priyamvada.  We must plan about the “secretly.”  The “quickly” is not hard.

Anusuya.  How so?

Priyamvada.  Why, the good king shows his love for her in his tender glances, and he has been wasting away, as if he were losing sleep.

King.  It is quite true.

  The hot tears, flowing down my cheek
    All night on my supporting arm
  And on its golden bracelet, seek
    To stain the gems and do them harm.

  The bracelet slipping o’er the scars
    Upon the wasted arm, that show
  My deeds in hunting and in wars,
    All night is moving to and fro.

Priyamvada (reflecting).  Well, she must write him a love-letter.  And I will hide it in a bunch of flowers and see that it gets into the king’s hand as if it were a relic of the sacrifice.

Anusuya.  It is a pretty plan, dear, and it pleases me.  What does Shakuntala say?

Shakuntala.  I suppose I must obey orders.

Priyamvada.  Then compose a pretty little love-song, with a hint of yourself in it.

Shakuntala.  I’ll try.  But my heart trembles, for fear he will despise me.

King.

  Here stands the eager lover, and you pale
    For fear lest he disdain a love so kind: 
  The seeker may find fortune, or may fail;
    But how could fortune, seeking, fail to find?

And again: 

  The ardent lover comes, and yet you fear
    Lest he disdain love’s tribute, were it brought,
  The hope of which has led his footsteps here—­
    Pearls need not seek, for they themselves are sought.

The two friends.  You are too modest about your own charms.  Would anybody put up a parasol to keep off the soothing autumn moonlight?

Shakuntala (smiling).  I suppose I shall have to obey orders. (She meditates.)

King.  It is only natural that I should forget to wink when I see my darling.  For

  One clinging eyebrow lifted,
    As fitting words she seeks,
  Her face reveals her passion
    For me in glowing cheeks.

Shakuntala.  Well, I have thought out a little song.  But I haven’t anything to write with.

Priyamvada.  Here is a lotus-leaf, glossy as a parrot’s breast.  You can cut the letters in it with your nails.

Shakuntala.  Now listen, and tell me whether it makes sense.

The two friends.  Please.