In any case, what doubt can there be where a woman is concerned?
With one she tries the gossip's art;
Her glances with a second flirt;
She holds another in her heart:
Whom does she love enough to hurt?
And again:
The logs will glut the hungry fire,
The rivers glut the sea's desire,
And Death with life be glutted, when
The flirt has had enough of men.
No chance, no corner dark,
No man to woo;
Then, holy sage, you find
A woman true.
And once again:
The blunderhead who thinks:
'My love loves me,'
Is ever in her power;
A tame bird, he."
After all this lamentation, he withdrew his favor forthwith from Strong-Tooth. Not to make a long story of it, he forbade his entrance at court.
When Strong-Tooth saw that the monarch's favor was suddenly withdrawn, he thought: "Ah me! There is wisdom in the stanza:
Whom does not fortune render proud?
Whom does not death lay low?
To what roué do passions not
Bring never ceasing woe?
