Such the divine, the wondrous prototype,
Whence her fair shape was moulded into being.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

If that's the case, she must indeed throw all other beauties into
the shade.

KING.

To my mind she really does.

This peerless maid is like a fragrant flower,
Whose perfumed breath has never been diffused;
A tender bud, that no profaning hand
Has dared to sever from its parent stalk;
A gem of priceless water, just released
Pure and unblemished from its glittering bed.
Or may the maiden haply be compared
To sweetest honey, that no mortal lip
Has sipped; or, rather, to the mellowed fruit
Of virtuous actions in some former birth[37],
Now brought to full perfection? Lives the man
Whom bounteous heaven has destined to espouse her?

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Make haste, then, to her aid; you have no time to lose, if you
don't wish this fruit of all the virtues to drop into the mouth
of some greasy-headed rustic of devout habits.

KING.

The lady is not her own mistress, and her foster-father is not at
home.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Well, but tell me, did she look at all kindly upon you?

KING.

Maidens brought up in a hermitage are naturally
shy and reserved; but for all that
She did look towards me, though she quick withdrew
Her stealthy glances when she met my gaze;
She smiled upon me sweetly, but disguised
With maiden grace the secret of her smiles.
Coy love was half unveiled; then, sudden checked
By modesty, left half to be divined.

MA[T.]HAVYA.

Why, of course, my dear friend, you never could seriously expect
that at the very first sight she would fall over head ears in
love with you, and without more ado come and sit in your lap.

KING.

When we parted from each other, she betrayed
her liking for me by clearer indications, but still with the
utmost modesty.
Scarce had the fair one from my presence passed,
When, suddenly, without apparent cause,
She stopped; and, counterfeiting pain, exclaimed,
'My foot is wounded by this prickly grass,'
Then, glancing at me tenderly, she feigned
Another charming pretext for delay,
Pretending that a bush had caught her robe
And turned as if to disentangle it.

MA[T.]HAVYA

I trust you have laid in a good stock of provisions,
for I see you intend making this consecrated grove your
game-preserve, and will be roaming here in quest of sport for
some time to come.