Maitreya. How could we expect such a piece of luck? She put her lotus-tender hands to her brow,[62] 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;