147. Look at this dressed-up lump, covered with wounds, joined
together, sickly, full of many thoughts, which has no strength, no
hold!

148. This body is wasted, full of sickness, and frail; this heap of
corruption breaks to pieces, life indeed ends in death.

149. Those white bones, like gourds thrown away in the autumn, what
pleasure is there in looking at them?

150. After a stronghold has been made of the bones, it is covered with
flesh and blood, and there dwell in it old age and death, pride and
deceit.

151. The brilliant chariots of kings are destroyed, the body also
approaches destruction, but the virtue of good people never approaches
destruction,--thus do the good say to the good.

152. A man who has learnt little, grows old like an ox; his flesh
grows, but his knowledge does not grow.

153, 154. Looking for the maker of this tabernacle, I shall have to
run through a course of many births, so long as I do not find (him);
and painful is birth again and again. But now, maker of the
tabernacle, thou hast been seen; thou shalt not make up this
tabernacle again. All thy rafters are broken, thy ridge-pole is
sundered; the mind, approaching the Eternal (visankhara, nirvana), has
attained to the extinction of all desires.