To the wisdom of the wise
Constant household worries bring
Daily diminution, like
Winter breathed upon by spring.
After money disappears,
Keenest wisdom is at fault,
Choked by daily fuel and clothes,
Oil and butter, rice and salt.
Poor and paltry neighbors scarce
Waken sentiments of scorn,
Like the bubbles on a stream,
Ever dying, ever born.
Yet the rich have license for
All things vulgar and debased:
When the ocean bellows, none
Reprobate his faulty taste.
Having thus set his mind in order, he concluded: "Under these circumstances, I will abandon life by self-starvation. What can be made of this calamity—life without money?" With his resolve taken, he went to sleep.
Now as he slept, a trillion dollars appeared in the form of a Jain monk, and said: "Good merchant, do not lose interest. I am a trillion, earned by your ancestors. Tomorrow morning I will come to your house in this same form. Then you must club me on the head, so that I may turn to gold and prove inexhaustible."
On awaking in the morning, he spent some time pondering on his dream: "Let me think. Will this
