Of yore 'twas my one earnest prayer unto heaven

from the ranks of ascetics no more to be barred,

But now that such glory to me has been given,

O why should the form of my visage be marred?

The end is accomplished, my task is now done,

The prince once my foe is no longer estranged,

But now that the fame I so envied has been won,

O why should the form of my visage be changed?

When joy turns to sorrow, and weal becomes woe,

Patient souls even pleasure may soring from their pain,

But no such distinction of feeling they know,

When the calm of nirvana poor mortals attain.

- Jataka Tales