Tukaram, Poem 1059

It is no pleasure to me—why do they bring their ill-omened faces here? The flavour of my thoughts is spoiled, O Narayana, when I see a row of scoundrels before me. A dog goes about with a mouth as filthy as hell; he defiles sweet food. Tuka says, He who shows no deference to the saints and abuses them, abuse him for a guilty scoundrel.