As onward and onward the chariot flies,
  The small flashes large to my dizzy eyes. 
  What is cleft in twain, seems to blur and mate;
  What is crooked in nature, seems to be straight. 
  Things at my side in an instant appear
  Distant, and things in the distance, near.

A voice behind the scenes.  O King, this deer belongs to the hermitage, and must not be killed.

Charioteer (listening and looking).  Your Majesty, here are two hermits, come to save the deer at the moment when your arrow was about to fall.

King (hastily).  Stop the chariot.

Charioteer.  Yes, your Majesty. (He does so.  Enter a hermit with his pupil.)

Hermit (lifting his hand).  O King, this deer belongs to the hermitage.

  Why should his tender form expire,
  As blossoms perish in the fire? 
  How could that gentle life endure
  The deadly arrow, sharp and sure?

  Restore your arrow to the quiver;
    To you were weapons lent
  The broken-hearted to deliver,
    Not strike the innocent.

King (bowing low).  It is done. (He does so.)

Hermit (joyfully).  A deed worthy of you, scion of Puru’s race, and shining example of kings.  May you beget a son to rule earth and heaven.

King (bowing low).  I am thankful for a Brahman’s blessing.

The two hermits.  O King, we are on our way to gather firewood.  Here, along the bank of the Malini, you may see the hermitage of Father Kanva, over which Shakuntala presides, so to speak, as guardian deity.  Unless other deities prevent, pray enter here and receive a welcome.  Besides,

  Beholding pious hermit-rites
    Preserved from fearful harm,
  Perceive the profit of the scars
    On your protecting arm.

King.  Is the hermit father there?

The two hermits.  No, he has left his daughter to welcome guests, and has just gone to Somatirtha, to avert an evil fate that threatens her.

King.  Well, I will see her.  She shall feel my devotion, and report it to the sage.

The two hermits.  Then we will go on our way. (Exit hermit with pupil.)

King.  Charioteer, drive on.  A sight of the pious hermitage will purify us.

Charioteer.  Yes, your Majesty. (He counterfeits motion again.)

King (looking about).  One would know, without being told, that this is the precinct of a pious grove.

Charioteer.  How so? King.  Do you not see?  Why, here

  Are rice-grains, dropped from bills of parrot chicks
  Beneath the trees; and pounding-stones where sticks
  A little almond-oil; and trustful deer
  That do not run away as we draw near;
  And river-paths that are besprinkled yet
  From trickling hermit-garments, clean and wet.