Let
Sakoontala 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.
ANASUYA.--A very ingenious device! It has my entire approval; but what
says Sakoontala?
SAKOONTALA.--I must consider before I can consent to it.
PRIYAMVADA.--Could you not, dear Sakoontala, think of some pretty
composition in verse, containing a delicate declaration of your love?
SAKOONTALA.--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?
PRIYAMVADA AND ANASUYA.--You undervalue your own merits, dear
Sakoontala. 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?
SAKOONTALA [_smiling_].
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