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The angry terrors of Compassionate Heaven, |
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Extend through this lower world; |
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[The king's] counsels and plans are crooked and bad; -- |
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When will he stop [in the course]? |
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Counsels which are good he will not follow, |
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And those which are not good he employs, |
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When I look at his counsels and plans, |
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I am greatly pained. |
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Now they agree, and now they defame one another; -- |
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The case is greatly to be deplored. |
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If a counsel be good, |
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They all are found opposing it. |
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If a counsel be bad, |
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They all are found according with it. |
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When I look at such counsels and plans, |
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What will they come to? |
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Our tortoises are wearied out, |
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And will not tell us anything about the plans. |
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The counsellors are very many, |
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But on that account nothing is accomplished. |
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The speakers fill the court, |
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But who dares to take any responsibility on himself? |
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We are as if we consulted [about a journey] without taking a step in advance, |
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And therefore did not get on on the road. |
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Alas! our formers of plans, |
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Do not take the ancients for their pattern, |
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And do not regulate them by great principles. |
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They only hearken to shallow words, |
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And quarrel about shallow words, |
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They are like one taking counsel with wayfarers about building a house. |
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Which will consequently never come to completion. |
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Although the kingdom be unsettled, |
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There are some who are wise, and others who are not. |
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Although the people may not be numerous, |
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Some have perspicacity, some have counsel, |
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Some have gravity, and some have orderliness. |
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But we are going on like the stream flowing from a spring, |
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And will sink together in a common ruin. |
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They dare not without weapons attack a tiger; |
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They dare not without a boat cross the He. |
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They know one thing, |
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But they only know that one. |
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We should be apprehensive and careful, |
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As if we were on the brink of a deep gulf, |
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As if we were treading on thin ice. |
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Small is the cooing dove, |
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But it flies aloft up to heaven. |
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My heart is wounded with sorrow, |
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And I think of our forefathers. |
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When the dawn is breaking, and I cannot sleep, |
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The thoughts in my breast are of our parents. |
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Men who are grave and wise, |
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Though they drink, are mild and masters of themselves; |
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But those who are benighted and ignorant, |
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Are devoted to drink, and more so daily. |
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Be careful, each of you, of your deportment; -- |
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What Heaven confers, [when once lost], is not regained. |
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In the midst of the plain there is pulse, |
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And the common people gather it. |
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The mulberry insect has young ones, |
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And the sphex carries them away. |
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Teach and train your sons, |
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And they will become good as you are. |
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Look at the wagtail, |
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Flying, and at the same time twittering. |
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My days are advancing; |
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Your months are going on. |
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Rising early and going to sleep late, |
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Do not disgrace those who gave you birth. |
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The greenbeaks come and go, |
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Pecking up grain about the stack-yard. |
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Alas for the distressed and solitary, |
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Deemed fit inmates for the prisons! |
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With a handful of grain I go out and divine, |
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How I may be able to become good. |
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We must be mild, and humble, |
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As if we were perched on trees. |
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We must be anxious and careful, |
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As if we were on the brink of a valley. |
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We must be apprehensive and cautious, |
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As if we were treading upon thin ice. |
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With flapping wings the crows, |
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Come back, flying all in a flock. |
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Other people all are happy, |
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And I only am full of misery. |
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What is my offence against Heaven? |
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What is my crime? |
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My heart is sad; -- |
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What is to be done? |
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The way to Zhou should be level and easy, |
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But it is all overgrown with rank grass. |
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My heart is wounded with sorrow, |
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And I think till I feel as if pounded [all over]. |
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I lie down undressed, and sigh continually; |
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Through my grief I am growing old. |
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My heart is sad; -- |
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It puts me in pain like a headache. |
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Even the mulberry trees and the Zi, |
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Must be regarded with reverence: |
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But no one is to be looked up to like a father; |
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No one is to be depended on like a mother. |
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Have I not a connection with the hairs [of my father]? |
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Did I not dwell in the womb [of my mother]? |
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O Heaven who gave me birth! |
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How was it at such an inauspicious time? |
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Luxuriant grow those willows, |
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And the cicadas [on them] go hui-hui. |
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Deep looks the pool, |
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And abundantly grow the rushes and reeds [about it], |
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[But] I am like a boat adrift, -- |
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Where it will go you know not. |
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My heart is sad; -- |
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I have not leisure to lie down [even] undressed. |
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The stag is running away, |
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But his legs move slowly. |
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The pheasant crows in the morning, |
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Seeking his mate. |
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I am like a ruined tree, |
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Stript by disease of all its branches. |
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My heart is sad; -- |
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How is it that no one knows me? |
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Look at the hare seeking protection; -- |
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Some one will step in before and save it. |
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One the road there is a dead man; |
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Some one will bury him. |
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[But] such is the heart of our sovereign, |
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That there is nothing he cannot bear to do. |
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My heart is sad, |
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So that my tears are falling down. |
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Our sovereign believes slanders, |
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As readily as he joins in the pledge cup. |
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Our sovereign is unkind, |
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And does not leisurely examine into things. |
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The tree-fellers follow the lean of the tree; |
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The faggot-cleavers follow the direction of the grain; |
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[But] he lets alone the guilty, |
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And imputes guilt to me. |
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There is nothing higher than a mountain; |
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There is nothing deeper than a [great] spring. |
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Our sovereign should not lightly utter his words, |
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Lest an ear be laid close to the wall. |
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Do not approach my dam; |
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Do not remove my basket. |
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My person is rejected; -- |
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Of what use is it to care for what may come after? |
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O vast and distant Heaven, |
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Who art called our parent, |
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That without crime or offence, |
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I should suffer from disorders thus great! |
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The terrors of great Heaven are excessive, |
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But indeed I have committed no crime. |
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[The terrors of] great Heaven are very excessive, |
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But indeed I have committed no offence. |
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Disorder then comes to the birth, |
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When the first untruth is received. |
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Its further increase, |
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Is from our sovereign's believing the slanderers. |
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If he were to be angry [with them], |
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The disorder would probably quickly be abated; |
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If he were to show his joy [in the good], |
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The disorder would probably quickly cease. |
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Our sovereign makes frequent covenants, |
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And the disorders are thereby increased. |
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He believes the scoundrels, |
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And the disorders thereby grow into oppression. |
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Their words are very sweet, |
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And the disorders thereby advance. |
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They do not discharge their duties, |
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But only create distress to the king. |
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Very grand is the ancestral temple; -- |
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A true sovereign made it. |
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Wisely arranged are the great plans; -- |
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Sages determined them. |
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What other men have in their minds, |
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I can measure by reflection. |
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Swiftly runs the crafty hare, |
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But it is caught by the hound. |
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Trees of soft wood, easily wrought, |
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Are planted by wise men. |
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The words of way-farers that come and go, |
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Can be discriminated by the mind. |
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Their easy and grand words, |
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[Only] issue from their mouths. |
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Their artful words, like organ-tongues, |
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Show how unblushing are their faces. |
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Who are they? |
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They [are like men who] dwell on the banks of the river; |
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And they have neither strenghth nor courage, |
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While yet they rear the steps of disorder! |
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With legs ulcerated and swollen, |
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What courage can you have? |
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You form plans great and many, |
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But your followers about you are few. |
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What man was that? |
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His mind is full of dangerous devices. |
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Why did he approach my dam, |
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Without entering my gate? |
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Of whom is he a follower? |
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I venture to say, -- of Bao. |
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Those two follow each other in their goings; -- |
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Which of them wrought me this calamity? |
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Why came he to my dam, |
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Without entering to condole with me? |
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Our former relations were different from the present, |
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When he will have nothing to do with me. |
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What man was it? |
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Why came he to the path inside my gate? |
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I heard his voice, |
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But did not see his person. |
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He is not ashamed before men; |
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He does not stand in awe of Heaven. |
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What man was it? |
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He is like a violent wind. |
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Why came he not from the north? |
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Or why not from the south? |
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Why did he approach my dam, |
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Doing nothing but perturb my mind? |
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You go along slowly, |
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And yet you have not leisure to stop! |
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You go along rapidly, |
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And yet you have leisure to grease your wheels! |
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If you would come to me but once! -- |
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Why am I kept in a state of expectation? |
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If on your return you entered my house, |
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My heart would be relieved. |
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When on your return you do not enter it, |
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It is hard to understand your denial. |
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If you would come to me but once, |
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It would set me at rest. |
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The elder of us blew the porcelain whistle, |
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And the younger blew the bamboo flute; |
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I was as if strung on the same string with you. |
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If indeed you do not understand me, |
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Here are the three creatures [for sacrifice], |
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And I will take an oath to you. |
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If you were an imp or a water-bow, |
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You could not be got at. |
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But when one with face and eyes stands opposite to another, |
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The man can be seen through and through. |
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I have made this good song, |
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To probe to the utmost your veerings and turnings. |
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A few elegant lines, |
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May be made out to be shell-embroidery. |
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Those slanderers, |
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Have gone to great excess. |
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A few diverging points, |
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May be made out to be the southern Sieve. |
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Those slanderers! |
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Who devised their schemes for them? |
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With babbling mouths you go about, |
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Scheming and wishing to slander others, |
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[But] be careful of your words; -- |
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[People] will [yet] say that you are untruthful. |
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Clever you are, and ever changing. |
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In your schemes and wishes to slander. |
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They receive it [now] indeed, |
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But by and by it will turn to your own hurt. |
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The proud are delighted, |
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And the troubled are in sorrow. |
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O azure Heaven! O azure Heaven! |
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Look on those proud men, |
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Pity those troubled. |
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Those slanderers! |
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Who devised their schemes for them? |
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I would take those slanderers, |
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And throw them to wolves and tigers. |
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If these refused to devour them, |
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I would cast them into the north. |
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If the north refused to receive them, |
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I would throw them into the hands of great [Heaven]. |
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The way through the willow garden, |
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Lies near the acred height. |
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I, the eunuch Meng-zi, |
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Have made this poem. |
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All ye officers, |
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Reverently hearken to it. |
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Gently blows the east wind; -- |
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The wind followed by the rain. |
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In the time of fear and dread, |
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It was all I and you. |
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In your time of rest and pleasure, |
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You have turned and cast me off. |
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Gently blows the east wind; -- |
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And the wind is followed by the tornado. |
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In the time of fear and dread, |
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You placed me in your breast. |
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In your time of rest and pleasure, |
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You have cast me off like an abandoned thing. |
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Gently blows the east wind; -- |
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And on the rock-covered tops of the hills. |
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There is no grass which is not dying, |
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No tree which is not withering. |
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You forget my great virtues, |
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And think of my small faults. |
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Long and large grows the e; -- |
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It is not the e but the hao. |
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Alas! alas! my parents, |
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With what toil ye gave me birth! |
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Long and large grows the e; -- |
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It is not the e but the wei. |
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Alas! alas! my parents, |
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With what toil and suffering ye gave me birth! |
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When the pitcher is exhausted, |
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It is the shame of the jar. |
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Than to live an orphan, |
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It would be better to have been long dead. |
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Fatherless, who is there to rely on? |
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Motherless, who is there to depend on? |
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When I go abroad, I carry my grief with me; |
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When I come home, I have no one to go to. |
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O my father, who begat me! |
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O my mother, who nourished me! |
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Ye indulged me, ye fed me, |
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Ye held me up, ye supported me, |
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Ye looked after me, ye never left me, |
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Out and in ye bore me in your arms. |
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If I would return your kindness, |
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It is like great Heaven, illimitable, |
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Cold and bleak is the Southern hill; |
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The rushing wind is very fierce. |
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People all are happy; -- |
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Why am I alone thus miserable? |
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The Southern hill is very steep; |
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The rushing wind is blustering. |
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People all are happy; -- |
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I alone have been unable to finish [my duty]. |
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Well loaded with millet were the dishes, |
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And long and curved were spoons of thorn-wood. |
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The way to Zhou was like a whetstone, |
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And straight as an arrow. |
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[So] the officers trod it, |
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And the common people looked on it. |
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When I look back and think of it, |
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My tears run down in streams. |
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In the States of the east, large and small, |
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The looms are empty. |
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Thin shoes of dolichos fibre, |
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Are made to serve to walk on the hoar-frost. |
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Slight and elegant gentlemen, |
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Walk along that road to Zhou. |
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Their going and coming, |
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Makes my heart ache. |
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Ye cold waters, issuing variously from the spring, |
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Do not soak the firewood I have cut. |
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Sorrowful I awake and sigh; -- |
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Alas for us toiled people! |
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The firewood has been cut; -- |
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Would that it were conveyed home! |
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Alas for us the toiled people! |
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Would that we could have rest! |
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The sons of the east, |
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Are only summoned [to service], without encouragement; |
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While the sons of the west, |
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Shine in splendid dresses. |
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The sons of boatmen, |
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Have furs of the bear and grisly bear. |
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The sons of the poorest families, |
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Form the officers in public employment. |
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If we present them with spirits, |
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They do not look on them as liquor. |
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If we give them long girdle-pendants with their stones, |
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They do not think them long enough. |
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There is the milky way in heaven, |
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Which looks down on us in light; |
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And the three stars together are the Weaving Sisters, |
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Passing in a day through seven stages [of the sky]. |
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Although they go through their seven stages, |
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They complete no bright work for us. |
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Brilliant shine the Draught Oxen, |
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But they do not serve to draw our carts. |
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In the east there is Lucifer; |
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In the west there is Hesperus; |
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Long and curved is the Rabbit Net of th esky; -- |
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But they only occupy their places. |
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In the south is the Sieve, |
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But it is of no use to sift. |
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In the north is the Ladle, |
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But it lades out no liquor. |
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In the south is the Sieve, |
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Idly showing its mouth. |
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In the north is the Ladle, |
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Raising its handle in the west. |
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In the fourth month comes summer, |
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And in the sixth month the heat begins to decrease. |
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Were not my forefathers men? |
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How can they endure that I should be [thus]? |
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The autumn days become cold, |
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And the plants all decay. |
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Amid such distress of disorder and dispersion, |
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Whither can I betake myself? |
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The winter days are very fierce, |
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And the storm blows in rapid gusts. |
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People all are happy; |
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Why do I alone suffer this misery? |
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On the mountain are fine trees, -- |
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Chestnut trees and plum trees. |
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Of their degenerating into ravening thieves, |
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I know not the evil cause. |
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Look at the water of that spring, |
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Sometimes clear, sometimes muddy. |
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I am every day coming into contact with misfortune; |
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How can I be happy? |
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Grandly flow the Jiang and the Han, |
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Regulators of the southern States. |
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Worn out as I am with service, |
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He yet takes no notice of me. |
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I am not an eagle nor a hawk, |
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Which flies aloft to heaven. |
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I am not a sturgeon, large or small, |
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Which can dive and hide in the deep. |
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On the hills are the turtle-foot and thorn ferns; |
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In the marshes are the medlar and the yi. |
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I, an officer, have made this song, |
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To make known my plaint. |