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338. Peril :
That damsel, wandering for your sake (i.e. in order to find you out and meet you) in the village abounding in dogs, (also, ruffians), will certainly) be (some time) bitten (devoured) as she moves from house to house, like a wooden piece moving from one square to another on the dice-board in dice-play).
339. Mud-decoration :
Why are you (still) washing away this decoration of mud) given to you by him (i.e. by your lover) and quite unobjectionable in the (current) Phālguna festival, although it has been (already) washed by the profuse perspiration gushing out from your jar-like breasts?
340. The bee's fastidiousness :
If the bee, greedy for drinking (the nectar of flowers), desires to imbibe a different floral juice every time, that is the fault of the juice-less flowers and not at all of the bee.
341. Magnificent reception :
Oh young man, scattering (the glances from) her lotus-like eyes on to the street, she looks out for you as you are approaching, and while doing so she leans with her breasts against the door-frame (of her residence) in such a way that her breasts appear like two auspicious (water-filled) jars placed at the entrance (of the residence) (to welcome you).
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342. Have mercy on her:
She has wept as long and as one (possibly) can; she is as much emaciated as it is possible for the body to be emaciated; the poor damsel has sighed until her sighs have come to an end.
343. Real life and real death :
When out of a (loving) couple, who have grown up (i.e. who have spent their days) in the midst of commonly shared joys and sorrows and whose flove has become deep-rooted over a long time, one dies, that one (really) lives, while the other (who survives) is (really) dead.
344. Deterrent :
Do not weep, young girl. The first spray of mango-leaves, adorned with the first buds of the season, and placed on the mouth (top) of the (auspicious water-filled) jar at the time of your dear one's departure, will restrain him from undertaking the intended journey.
345. His mere sight dissolves my anger :
The jealous anger, which my female friends had somehow smuggled into my heart getting a suitable opportunity, vanished at the (mere) sight of my dear consort, like a a clandestine paramour.
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