A History of Sanskrit Literature c8.58

c8.58

*Downward they fall, then nimbly leaping upward,*
*They overpower the man with hands, though handless.*
*Cast on the board like magic bits of charcoal,*
*Though cold themselves, they burn the heart to ashes.*

*It pains the gambler when he sees a woman,*
*Another’s wife, and their well-ordered household:*
*He yokes these brown steeds early in the morning,*
*And, when the fire is low, sinks down an outcast.*

*“Play not with dice, but cultivate thy cornfield;*
*Rejoice in thy goods, deeming them abundant:*
*There are thy cows, there is thy wife, O gambler.”*
*This counsel Savitṛi the kindly gives me.*