ଶ୍ରୀମତ୍କାମାଚାର୍ଯରଚିତମମ୍ବାଭୁଜଙ୍ଗସ୍ତୋତ୍ର ପଞ୍ଚରତ୍ନମ୍

Five verses by Kamacharya, and unusually for a hymn they are a complaint, delivered with a straight face and a good deal of wit. My mind is a monkey, says the first, walking and rolling and leaping on the mountain that is the bride's breast; tie it up with the noose that is the line of bees of your sidelong glance. The second is the best of them. The elephant-faced one is yours and the six-faced one is yours, and so am I, so why will you not look at me? Your two eyes are always busy — then look at me with the third. The third presses the joke into an argument, asking what her fame would be worth if she did not; and the fourth says that if such pitiful speech has not thawed her, then her birth from the Cold Mountain was for nothing. Only the fifth goes straight, calling her the one cause of the world's making and keeping and unmaking.