When anger surges, they drive it out, 
as with medicine a snake’s spreading venom. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They’ve cut off greed entirely, 
like a lotus plucked flower and stalk. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They’ve cut off craving entirely, 
drying up that swift-flowing stream. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They’ve swept away conceit entirely, 
as a fragile bridge of reeds by a great flood. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

In future lives they find no core, 
as an inspector of fig trees finds no flower. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They hide no anger within, 
gone beyond any kind of existence. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

Their mental vibrations are cleared away, 
internally clipped off entirely. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have not run too far nor run back, 
but have gone beyond all this proliferation. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have not run too far nor run back, 
for they know that nothing in the world is what it seems. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have not run too far nor run back, 
knowing nothing is what it seems, free of greed. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have not run too far nor run back, 
knowing nothing is what it seems, free of lust. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have not run too far nor run back, 
knowing nothing is what it seems, free of hate. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have not run too far nor run back, 
knowing nothing is what it seems, free of delusion. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have no underlying tendencies at all, 
and are rid of unskillful roots, 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They have nothing born of distress at all 
to make them to return to the near shore. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

No snarl grows in them at alll, 
that would shackle them to a new life. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin. 

They’ve given up the five hindrances, 
untroubled, rid of indecision, free of thorns. 
Such a mendicant sheds the near shore and the far, 
as a serpent its old worn-out skin.