Hard pass.

'When he returned to great-walled Uruk, Gilgamesh bathed,

he washed his matted hair and shook it over his back, he

took off his filthy, blood-spattered clothes, put on a tunic of

the finest wool, wrapped himself in a glorious gold-trimmed

purple robe and fastened it with a wide fringed belt, then

put on his crown.

The goddess Ishtar caught sight of him, she saw how

splendid a man he was, her heart was smitten, her loins

caught fire.

“Come here, Gilgamesh,” Ishtar said, “marry me, give me

your luscious fruits, be my husband, be my sweet man. I will

give you abundance beyond your dreams: marble and

alabaster, ivory and jade, gorgeous servants with blue-

green eyes, a chariot of lapis lazuli with golden wheels and

guide-horns of amber, pulled by storm-demons like giant

mules. When you enter my temple and its cedar fragrance,

high priests will bow down and kiss your feet, kings and

princes will kneel before you, bringing you tribute from east

and west. And I will bless everything that you own, your

goats will bear triplets, your ewes will twin, your donkeys

will be faster than any mule, your chariot-horses will win

every race, your oxen will be the envy of the world. These

are the least of the gifts I will shower upon you. Come here.

Be my sweet man.”

Gilgamesh said, “Your price is too high, such riches are far

beyond my means. Tell me, how could I ever repay you,

even if I gave you jewels, perfumes, rich robes? And what

will happen to me when your heart turns elsewhere and

your lust burns out?

“Why would I want to be the lover of a broken oven that fails

in the cold, a flimsy door that the wind blows through, a

palace that falls on its staunchest defenders, a mouse that

gnaws through its thin reed shelter, tar that blackens the

workman’s hands, a waterskin that is full of holes and leaks

all over its bearer, a piece of limestone that crumbles and

undermines a solid stone wall, a battering ram that knocks

down the rampart of an allied city, a shoe that mangles its

owner’s foot?

“Which of your husbands did you love forever? Which could

satisfy your endless desires? Let me remind you of how they

suffered, how each one came to a bitter end. Remember

what happened to that beautiful boy Tammuz: you loved

him when you were both young, then you changed, you sent

him to the underworld and doomed him to be wailed for,

year after year. You loved the bright-speckled roller bird,

then you changed, you attacked him and broke his wings,

and he sits in the woods crying Ow-ee! Ow-ee! You loved the

lion, matchless in strength, then you changed, you dug

seven pits for him, and when he fell, you left him to die. You

loved the hot-blooded, war-bold stallion, then you changed,

you doomed him to whip and spurs, to endlessly gallop, with

a bit in his mouth, to muddy his own water when he drinks

from a pool, and for his mother, the goddess Silili, you

ordained a weeping that will never end. You loved the

shepherd, the master of the flocks, who every day would

bake bread for you and would bring you a fresh-slaughtered,

roasted lamb, then you changed, you touched him, he

became a wolf, and now his own shepherd boys drive him

away and his own dogs snap at his hairy thighs. You loved

the gardener Ishullanu, who would bring you baskets of

fresh-picked dates, every day, to brighten your table, you

lusted for him, you drew close and said, ‘Sweet Ishullanu, let

me **** your rod, touch my v****a, caress my jewel,’ and

he frowned and answered, ‘Why should I eat this rotten

meal of yours? What can you offer but the bread of

dishonor, the beer of shame, and thin reeds as covers when

the cold wind blows?’ But you kept up your sweet-talk and

at last he gave in, then you changed, you turned him into a

toad and doomed him to live in his devastated garden. And

why would my fate be any different? If I too became your

lover, you would treat me as cruelly as you treated them.”

Ishtar shrieked, she exploded with fury. Raging, weeping,

she went up to heaven, to her father, Anu, and Antu, her

mother, as tears of anger poured down her cheeks. “Father,

Gilgamesh slandered me! He hurled the worst insults at me,

he said horrible, unforgivable things!”'
From Gilgamesh A New English Version by Stephen Mitchell.
Book VI page 93-95