Story No. 3

I once saw a devout man caught in love for someone: he had neither the patience to endure it nor the strength to speak of it. However much blame he faced and whatever penalties he paid, he would not give up his passion, and he said: I will not let go of the hem of your robe, even if you strike me with a sharp sword. After you there is no shelter, no refuge; so if I flee, it is to you alone I flee. So I scolded him and said: what became of your fine mind, that your base desire won out? He sank into thought for a while, then said: Wherever the king of love arrives, the strong arm of piety has no place to stand. How can a helpless man keep his innocence when he has sunk into the mire up to his neck?