PRIYAMVADÁ.--Did you not observe how the King betrayed his liking by the tender manner in which he gazed upon her, and how thin he has become the last few days, as if he had been lying awake thinking of her? KING [_looking at himself_].--Quite true! I certainly am becoming thin from want of sleep:-- As night by night in anxious thought I raise This wasted arm to rest my sleepless head, My jewelled bracelet, sullied by the tears That trickle from my eyes in scalding streams, Slips towards my elbow from my shrivelled wrist. Oft I replace the bauble, but in vain; So easily it spans the fleshless limb That e'en the rough and corrugated skin, Scarred by the bow-string, will not check its fall. PRIYAMVADÁ [_thoughtfully_].--An idea strikes me, Anasúyá. Let Śakoontalá write a love-letter; I will conceal it in a flower, and contrive to drop it in the King's path. He will surely mistake it for the remains of some sacred offering, and will, in all probability, pick it up. ANASÚYÁ.--A very ingenious device! It has my entire approval; but what says Śakoontalá? ŚAKOONTALÁ.--I must consider before I can consent to it. PRIYAMVADÁ.--Could you not, dear Śakoontalá, think of some pretty composition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of your love? ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Well, I will do my best; but my heart trembles when I think of the chances of a refusal. KING [_with rapture_].--Too timid maid, here stands the man from whom Thou fearest a repulse; supremely blessed To call thee all his own. Well might he doubt His title to thy love; but how couldst thou Believe thy beauty powerless to subdue him? PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--You undervalue your own merits, dear Śakoontalá. What man in his senses would intercept with the skirt of his robe the bright rays of the autumnal moon, which alone can allay the fever of his body? ŚAKOONTALÁ [_smiling_].--Then it seems I must do as I am bid. [_Sits down and appears to be thinking._] KING.--How charming she looks! My very eyes forget to wink, jealous of losing even for an instant a sight so enchanting. How beautiful the movement of her brow, As through her mind love's tender fancies flow! And, as she weighs her thoughts, how sweet to trace The ardent passion mantling in her face! ŚAKOONTALÁ.--Dear girls, I have thought of a verse, but I have no writing-materials at hand. PRIYAMVADÁ.--Write the letters with your nail on this lotus leaf, which is smooth as a parrot's breast. ŚAKOONTALÁ [_after writing the verse_].--Listen, dear friends, and tell me whether the ideas are appropriately expressed. PRIYAMVADÁ AND ANASÚYÁ.--We are all attention. ŚAKOONTALÁ [_reads_].-- I know not the secret thy bosom conceals, Thy form is not near me to gladden my sight; But sad is the tale that my fever reveals, Of the love that consumes me by day and by night.