--My dear friend, suggest some relief for my
misery.
MATHAVYA.--Come, come, cheer up; why do you give way? Such weakness is
unworthy of you. Great men never surrender themselves to uncontrolled
grief. Do not mountains remain unshaken even in a gale of wind?
KING.--How can I be otherwise than inconsolable, when I call to mind the
agonized demeanor of the dear one on the occasion of my disowning her?
When cruelly I spurned her from my presence,
She fain had left me; but the young recluse,
Stern as the Sage, and with authority
As from his saintly master, in a voice
That brooked not contradiction, bade her stay.
Then through her pleading eyes, bedimmed with tears,
She cast on me one long reproachful look,
Which like a poisoned shaft torments me still.
SANUMATI [_aside_].--Alas! such is the force of self-reproach following
a rash action. But his anguish only rejoices me.
MATHAVYA.--An idea has just struck me. I should not wonder if some
celestial being had carried her off to heaven.
KING.--Very likely. Who else would have dared to lay a
finger on a wife, the idol of her husband? It is said that Menaka, the
nymph of heaven, gave her birth.
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