King.  Well, I can only reproach this ring.

Clown (smiling).  And I will reproach this stick of mine.  Why are you crooked when I am straight?

King (not hearing him).

  How could you fail to linger
  On her soft, tapering finger,
  And in the water fall?

And yet

  Things lifeless know not beauty;
  But I—­I scorned my duty,
  The sweetest task of all.

Mishrakeshi.  He has given the answer which I had ready.

Clown.  But that is no reason why I should starve to death.

King (not heeding).  O my darling, my heart burns with repentance because I abandoned you without reason.  Take pity on me.  Let me see you again. (Enter a maid with a tablet.)

Maid.  Your Majesty, here is the picture of our lady. (She produces the tablet.)

King (gazing at it).  It is a beautiful picture.  See!

  A graceful arch of brows above great eyes;
  Lips bathed in darting, smiling light that flies
  Reflected from white teeth; a mouth as red
  As red karkandhu-fruit; love’s brightness shed
  O’er all her face in bursts of liquid charm—­
  The picture speaks, with living beauty warm.

Clown (looking at it).  The sketch is full of sweet meaning.  My eyes seem to stumble over its uneven surface.  What more can I say?  I expect to see it come to life, and I feel like speaking to it.

Mishrakeshi.  The king is a clever painter.  I seem to see the dear girl before me.

King.  My friend,

  What in the picture is not fair,
  Is badly done;
  Yet something of her beauty there,
  I feel, is won.

Mishrakeshi.  This is natural, when love is increased by remorse.

King (sighing).

  I treated her with scorn and loathing ever;
  Now o’er her pictured charms my heart will burst: 
  A traveller I, who scorned the mighty river. 
  And seeks in the mirage to quench his thirst.

Clown.  There are three figures in the picture, and they are all beautiful.  Which one is the lady Shakuntala?

Mishrakeshi.  The poor fellow never saw her beauty.  His eyes are useless, for she never came before them.

King.  Which one do you think?

Clown (observing closely).  I think it is this one, leaning against the creeper which she has just sprinkled.  Her face is hot and the flowers are dropping from her hair; for the ribbon is loosened.  Her arms droop like weary branches; she has loosened her girdle, and she seems a little fatigued.  This, I think, is the lady Shakuntala, the others are her friends.

King.  You are good at guessing.  Besides, here are proofs of my love.

  See where discolorations faint
  Of loving handling tell;
  And here the swelling of the paint
  Shows where my sad tears fell.