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a fresh ground of hope.—[Aloud.]—What virtuous monarch took his excellent mother by the hand?

Second Atten. Oh! I must not give celebrity to the name of a king who deserted his lawful wife.

Dushm. [Aside.] Ah! she means me.—Let me now ask the name of the sweet child's mother.—[Meditating.]—But it is against good manners to inquire concerning the wife of another man.

First Atten. Look, Servademana, look at the beauty of this bird, Sacontalávanyam.

Boy. [Looking eagerly round.] Sacontalá! Oh, where is my beloved mother?

[Both Attendants laugh.

First Atten. He tenderly loves his mother, and was deceived by an equivocal phrase.

Second Atten. My child, she meant only the beautiful shape and colours of this peacock.

Dushm. [Aside.] Is my Sacontalá then his mother? Or has that dear name been given to some other woman?—This conversation resembles the fallacious appearance of water in a desert, which ends in bitter disappointment to the stag parched with thirst.

Boy. I shall like the peacock if it can run and fly; not else.

[He takes it.

First Atten. [Looking round in confusion.] Alas, the child's amulet is not on his wrist!

Dushm. Be not alarmed. It was dropped