Mahabharata 3.36.18

3.36.18

śīladoṣādghṛṇāviṣṭa ānṛśaṃsyātparaṃtapa |
kleśāṃstitikṣase rājannānyaḥ kaścitpraśaṃsati || 18 ||

O repressor of all foes, O king, if a man slaying his injurer, goeth the very day into hell, that hell becometh heaven to him. O king, the pain one feeleth in having to suppress one's wrath is more burning than fire itself. Even now I burn with it and cannot sleep in the day or the night. This son of Pritha, called Vibhatsu, is foremost in drawing the bow-string. He certainly burneth with grief, though he liveth here like a lion in his den. This one that desireth to slay without aid all wielders of the bow on earth, represseth the wrath that riseth in his breast, like a mighty elephant. Nakula, Sahadeva, and old Kunti--that mother of heroes, are all dumb, desiring to please thee. And all our friends along with the Srinjayas equally desire to please thee. I alone, and Prativindhya's mother speak unto thee burning with grief. Whatever I speak unto thee is agreeable to all of them, for all of them plunged in distress, eagerly wish for battle. Then, O monarch, what more wretched a calamity can overtake us that our kingdom should be wrested from us by weak and contemptible foes and enjoyed by them? O king, from the weakness of thy disposition thou feelest shame in violating thy pledge. But, O slayer of foes, no one applaudeth thee for thus suffering such pain in consequence of the kindliness of thy disposition.