They lived happily in the past, the monks who were Gotama’s disciples. Without wishes, they sought their alms. Without wishes, their dwellings. Knowing inconstancy with regard to the world, they made an end of suffering.
[But these,] making themselves hard to maintain, like headmen in a village, eating, eating, lie down infatuated in others’ homes.
Placing my hands over my heart to the Saṅgha, I speak of some, hurled down, without protection, like hungry ghosts. Those who live heedlessly: My words touch on them. Those who live heedfully: I pay them homage.
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