And as she entered it there, Anīkaratta arrived at the city. Then in the longhouse, Sumedhā well developed the perception of impermanence.

As she investigated in meditation, Anīkaratta quickly climbed the stairs. His limbs adorned with gems <j>and honey-yellow gold, he begged Sumedhā with cupped palms:

“As a royal there is command, wealth, authority, and the happiness of possessions. Enjoy sensual pleasures while you’re still young! Sensual pleasures are hard to find in the world!

I’ve handed royalty to you—enjoy riches, give gifts! Don’t be sad; your parents are upset.”

Sumedhā, having no use for sensual pleasures, and having done away with delusion, <j>spoke right back: “Do not take pleasure in sensuality! See the danger in sensual pleasures!

Mandhātā, king of four continents, foremost in enjoying sensual pleasures, died unsated, his desires unfulfilled.

Were the seven jewels to rain from the sky all over the ten directions, there would be no sating of sensual pleasures: people die insatiable.

Like a butcher’s knife and chopping board, sensual pleasures are like a cobra’s head. They burn like a fire-brand, they resemble a skeleton.

Sensual pleasures are impermanent and unstable, they’re full of suffering, a terrible poison; like a hot iron ball, the root of gloom, their fruit is pain.