SECOND

Scene.--A Plain on the Skirts of the Forest

_Enter the Jester, Mathavya, in a melancholy mood_.

MATHAVYA [_sighing_].--Heigh-ho! what an unlucky fellow I am! worn to a
shadow by my royal friend's sporting propensities. "Here's a deer!"
"There goes a boar!" "Yonder's a tiger!" This is the only burden of our
talk, while in the heat of the meridian sun we toil on from jungle to
jungle, wandering about in the paths of the woods, where the trees
afford us no shelter. Are we thirsty? We have nothing to drink but the
foul water of some mountain stream, filled with dry leaves which give it
a most pungent flavor. Are we hungry? We have nothing to eat but roast
game, which we must swallow down at odd times, as best we can. Even at
night there is no peace to be had. Sleeping is out of the question, with
joints all strained by dancing attendance upon my sporting friend; or if
I do happen to doze, I am awakened at the very earliest dawn by the
horrible din of a lot of rascally beaters and huntsmen, who must needs
surround the wood before sunrise, and deafen me with their clatter. Nor
are these my only troubles. Here's a fresh grievance, like a new boil
rising upon an old one! Yesterday, while we were lagging behind, my
royal friend entered yonder hermitage after a deer; and there, as
ill-luck would have it? caught sight of a beautiful girl, called
Sakoontala, the hermit's daughter. From that moment, not another thought
about returning to the city! and all last night, not a wink of sleep did
he get for thinking of the damsel. What is to be done? At any rate, I
will be on the watch for him as soon as he has finished his toilet.
[[_Walking and looking about_.] Oh! here he comes, attended by the
Yavana women with bows in their hands, and wearing garlands of wild
flowers. What shall I do? I have it. I will pretend to stand in the
easiest attitude for resting my bruised and crippled limbs.
[_Stands leaning on a staff_.

_Enter King Dushyanta, followed by a retinue in the manner described_.

KING.--True, by no easy conquest may I win her,
Yet are my hopes encouraged by her mien.
Love is not yet triumphant; but, methinks,
The hearts of both are ripe for his delights.
[_Smiling_.] Ah! thus does the lover delude himself; judging of the
state of his loved one's feelings by his own desires. But yet,
The stolen glance with half-averted eye,
The hesitating gait, the quick rebuke
Addressed to he