The sage who would this form of artless grace
Inure to penance--thoughtlessly attempts
To cleave in twain the hard acacia's stem
With the soft edge of a blue lotus leaf.
Well! concealed behind this tree, I will watch her without raising her
suspicions. [_Conceals himself_.

SAKOONTALA.--Good Anasuya, Priyamvada has drawn this bark-dress too
tightly about my chest. I pray thee, loosen it a little.

ANASUYA.--I will. [_Loosens it_.

PRIYAMVADA [_smiling_].--Why do you lay the blame on me? Blame rather
your own blooming youthfulness which imparts fulness to your bosom.

KING.--A most just observation!
This youthful form, whose bosom's swelling charms
By the bark's knotted tissue are concealed,
Like some fair bud close folded in its sheath,
Gives not to view the blooming of its beauty.
But what am I saying? In real truth, this bark-dress, though ill-suited
to her figure, sets it off like an ornament.
The lotus with the Saivala entwined
Is not a whit less brilliant: dusky spots
Heighten the lustre of the cold-rayed moon:
This lovely maiden in her dress of bark
Seems all the lovelier. E'en the meanest garb
Gives to true beauty fresh attractiveness.

SAKOONTALA [_looking before her_].--Yon Kesara-tree beckons to me with
its young shoots, which, as the breeze waves them to and fro, appear
like slender fingers. I will go and attend to it. [_Walks towards it_.

PRIYAMVADA.--Dear Sakoontala, prithee, rest in that attitude one moment.

SAKOONTALA.--Why so?

PRIYAMVADA.--The Kesara-tree, whilst your graceful form bends about its
stem, appears as if it were wedded to some lovely twining creeper.

SAKOONTALA.--Ah! saucy girl, you are most appropriately named Priyamvada
("Speaker of flattering things").

KING.--What Priyamvada says, though complimentary, is nevertheless true.
Verily,
Her ruddy lip vies with the opening bud;
Her graceful arms are as the twining stalks;
And her whole form is radiant with the glow
Of youthful beauty, as the tree with bloom.

ANASUYA.--See, dear Sakoontala, here is the young jasmine, which you
named "the Moonlight of the Grove," the self-elected wife of the
mango-tree. Have you forgotten it?

SAKOONTALA.--Rather will I forget myself. [_Approaching the plant and
looking at it_.] How delightful is the season when the jasmine-creeper
and the mango-tree seem thus to unite in mutual embraces! The fresh