Portress.  Yes, your Majesty. (She starts to go.)

King.  Wait a moment.

Portress (turning back).  Yes, your Majesty. King.  After all, what does it matter whether he have issue or not?

  Let King Dushyanta be proclaimed
  To every sad soul kin
  That mourns a kinsman loved and lost,
  Yet did not plunge in sin.

Portress.  The proclamation shall be made. (She goes out and soon returns.) Your Majesty, the royal proclamation was welcomed by the populace as is a timely shower.

King (sighing deeply).  Thus, when issue fails, wealth passes, on the death of the head of the family, to a stranger.  When I die, it will be so with the glory of Puru’s line.

Portress.  Heaven avert the omen!

King.  Alas!  I despised the happiness that offered itself to me.

Mishrakeshi.  Without doubt, he has dear Shakuntala in mind when he thus reproaches himself.

King.

  Could I forsake the virtuous wife
  Who held my best, my future life
  And cherished it for glorious birth,
  As does the seed-receiving earth?

Mishrakeshi.  She will not long be forsaken.

Maid (to the portress).  Mistress, the minister’s report has doubled our lord’s remorse.  Go to the Cloud Balcony and bring Madhavya to dispel his grief.

Portress.  A good suggestion. (Exit.)

King.  Alas!  The ancestors of Dushyanta are in a doubtful case.

  For I am childless, and they do not know,
  When I am gone, what child of theirs will bring
  The scriptural oblation; and their tears
  Already mingle with my offering.

Mishrakeshi.  He is screened from the light, and is in darkness.

Maid.  Do not give way to grief, your Majesty.  You are in the prime of your years, and the birth of a son to one of your other wives will make you blameless before your ancestors. (To herself.) He does not heed me.  The proper medicine is needed for any disease. King (betraying his sorrow).  Surely,

  The royal line that flowed
  A river pure and grand,
  Dies in the childless king,
  Like streams in desert sand.

(He swoons.)

Maid (in distress).  Oh, sir, come to yourself.

Mishrakeski.  Shall I make him happy now?  No, I heard the mother of the gods consoling Shakuntala.  She said that the gods, impatient for the sacrifice, would soon cause him to welcome his true wife.  I must delay no longer.  I will comfort dear Shakuntala with my tidings.

(Exit through the air.)

A voice behind the scenes.  Help, help!

King (comes to himself and listens).  It sounds as if Madhavya were in distress.