King.  I will restore it on one condition.

Shakuntala.  What condition?

King.  That I may myself place it where it belongs.

Shakuntala (to herself).  What can I do? (She approaches.)

King.  Let us sit on this stone bench. (They walk to the bench and sit down.)

King (taking SHAKUNTALA’S hand).  Ah!

  When Shiva’s anger burned the tree
    Of love in quenchless fire,
  Did heavenly fate preserve a shoot
    To deck my heart’s desire?

Shakuntala (feeling his touch).  Hasten, my dear, hasten.

King (joyfully to himself).  Now I am content.  She speaks as a wife to her husband. (Aloud.) Beautiful Shakuntala, the clasp of the bracelet is not very firm.  May I fasten it in another way?

Shakuntala (smiling).  If you like.

King (artfully delaying before he fastens it).  See, my beautiful girl!

  The lotus-chain is dazzling white
  As is the slender moon at night. 
  Perhaps it was the moon on high
  That joined her horns and left the sky,
  Believing that your lovely arm
  Would, more than heaven, enhance her charm.

Shakuntala.  I cannot see it.  The pollen from the lotus over my ear has blown into my eye.

King (smiling).  Will you permit me to blow it away?

Shakuntala.  I should not like to be an object of pity.  But why should I not trust you? King.  Do not have such thoughts.  A new servant does not transgress orders.

Shakuntala.  It is this exaggerated courtesy that frightens me.

King (to himself).  I shall not break the bonds of this sweet servitude. (He starts to raise her face to his.  SHAKUNTALA resists a little, then is passive.)

King.  Oh, my bewitching girl, have no fear of me.

(SHAKUNTALA darts a glance at him, then looks down.  The king raises her face.  Aside.)

  Her sweetly trembling lip
    With virgin invitation
  Provokes my soul to sip
    Delighted fascination.

Shakuntala.  You seem slow, dear, in fulfilling your promise.

King.  The lotus over your ear is so near your eye, and so like it, that I was confused. (He gently blows her eye.)

Shakuntala.  Thank you.  I can see quite well now.  But I am ashamed not to make any return for your kindness.

King.  What more could I ask?

  It ought to be enough for me
    To hover round your fragrant face;
  Is not the lotus-haunting bee
    Content with perfume and with grace?

Shakuntala.  But what does he do if he is not content?

King.  This!  This! (He draws her face to his.)