You shall not tell me otherwise, my dear

Rādhā:
You shall not tell me otherwise, my dear:
Little by little I came to know him better,
That Kānu is so cunning.

He made a sweetmeat of some knotty wood,
By smearing treacle on it:
Filling with poison a golden jar,
He added a layer of milk!

Yet surely Kān is good, and I am bad,
Because his words beguile me:
In heart and speech He is the same,
Matchless amidst a myriad.

The same flower that you cast away, the same you use
in prayer.
And with the same you string the bow:
Such is the quality of Kānu s speech.
The poet Vidyāpati avows.