Mishrakeshi.  There is no doubt of it.  This good king has wonderful power.

First maid.  A few days ago, sir, we were sent to his Majesty by his brother-in-law Mitravasu to decorate the garden.  That is why we have heard nothing of this affair.

Chamberlain.  You must not do so again.

The two maids.  But we are curious.  If we girls may know about it, pray tell us, sir.  Why did his Majesty forbid the spring festival? Mishrakeshi.  Kings are fond of celebrations.  There must be some good reason.

Chamberlain (to himself).  It is in everybody’s mouth.  Why should I not tell it? (Aloud.) Have you heard the gossip concerning Shakuntala’s rejection?

The two maids.  Yes, sir.  The king’s brother-in-law told us, up to the point where the ring was recovered.

Chamberlain.  There is little more to tell.  When his Majesty saw the ring, he remembered that he had indeed contracted a secret marriage with Shakuntala, and had rejected her under a delusion.  And then he fell a prey to remorse.

  He hates the things he loved; he intermits
  The daily audience, nor in judgment sits;
  Spends sleepless nights in tossing on his bed;
  At times, when he by courtesy is led
  To address a lady, speaks another name,
  Then stands for minutes, sunk in helpless shame.

Mishrakeshi.  I am glad to hear it.

Chamberlain.  His Majesty’s sorrow has forbidden the festival.

The two maids.  It is only right.

A voice behind the scenes.  Follow me.

Chamberlain (listening).  Ah, his Majesty approaches.  Go, and attend to your duties. (Exeunt the two maids.  Enter the king, wearing a dress indicative of remorse; the clown, and the portress.)

Chamberlain (observing the king).  A beautiful figure charms in whatever state.  Thus, his Majesty is pleasing even in his sorrow.  For

  All ornament is laid aside; he wears
    One golden bracelet on his wasted arm;
  His lip is scorched by sighs; and sleepless cares
    Redden his eyes.  Yet all can work no harm
  On that magnificent beauty, wasting, but
  Gaining in brilliance, like a diamond cut.

Mishrakeshi (observing the king).  No wonder Shakuntala pines for him, even though he dishonoured her by his rejection of her.

King (walks about slowly, sunk in thought).

  Alas!  My smitten heart, that once lay sleeping,
    Heard in its dreams my fawn-eyed love’s laments,
  And wakened now, awakens but to weeping,
    To bitter grief, and tears of penitence.

Mishrakeshi.  That is the poor girl’s fate.

Clown (to himself).  He has got his Shakuntala-sickness again.  I wish I knew how to cure him.