Tukaram, Poem 3612

The wicked man has no pleasure in the worship of Hari; he delights in lecherous songs. He sheds tears over the smallest coin that he presents to a Bramhana; but for sensual pleasures he is willing to be fleeced. He will not give a beggar a rag a span broad; but he bestows rich shawls on play-actors. Spit on his face, says Tuka; he goes to find out what hell is like!