Sāṭimattiya

In the past you had faith, today you have none. What’s yours is yours alone— I’ve done nothing wrong. Faith is impermanent, fickle: or so I have seen. Passions wax and wane: why would a sage waste away on that account? The meal of a sage is cooked bit by bit in this family or that. I’ll walk for alms, for my legs are strong.