Chārudatta. What! did she not accept the necklace?
Maitreya. How could we expect such a piece of luck? She put her lotus-tender hands to her brow,[1] and took it.
Chārudatta. Then why do you say "went wrong"?
Maitreya. Why not, when we lost a necklace that was the pride of the four seas for a cheap golden casket, that was stolen before we had a bite or a drink out of it?
Chārudatta. Not so, my friend.
She showed her trust in leaving us her treasure;
The price of confidence has no less measure. 7
Maitreya. Now look here! I have a second grievance. She tipped her friend the wink, covered her face with the hem of her dress, and laughed at me. And so, Brahman though I am, I hereby fall on my face before you and beg you not to have anything more to do with this courtezan. That sort of society does any amount of damage. A courtezan is like a pebble in your shoe. It hurts before you get rid of it. And one thing more, my friend. A courtezan, an elephant, a scribe, a mendicant friar, a swindler, and an ass where these dwell, not even rogues are born.
Chārudatta. Oh, my friend, a truce to all your detraction! My poverty of itself prevents me. For consider:
The horse would gladly hasten here and there,
But his legs fail him, for his breath departs.
So men's vain wishes wander everywhere,
Then, weary grown, return into their hearts. 8
Then too, my friend:
If wealth is thine, the maid is thine,
For maids are won by gold;
[Aside. And not by virtue cold. Aloud.]
But wealth is now no longer mine,
And her I may not hold. 9
- ↑ A gesture of respect.
