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Lofty is that southern hill, |
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With its masses of rocks! |
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Awe-inspiring are you, O [Grand] master Yin, |
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And the people all look to you! |
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A fire burns in their grieving hearts; |
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They do not dare to speak of you even in jest. |
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The kingdom is verging to extinction; -- |
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How is it that you do not consider the state of things? |
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Lofty is that southern hill, |
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And vigorously grows the vegetation on it! |
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Awe-inspiring are you, O [Grand] master Yin, |
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But how is it that you are so unjust? |
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Heaven is continually redoubling its afflictions; |
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Deaths and disorder increase and multiply; |
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No words of satisfaction come from the people; |
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And yet you do not correct nor bemoan yourself! |
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The Grand-master Yin, |
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Is the foundation of our Zhou, |
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And the balance of the State is in his hands. |
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He should be keeping together the four quarters [of the kingdom]; |
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He should be aiding the Son of Heaven, |
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So as to preserve the people from going astray. |
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O unpitying great Heaven, |
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It is not right he should reduce us all to such misery! |
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Doing nothing himself personally, |
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The people have no confidence in him, |
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By making no inquiry, and no trial of their services, |
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He should not deal deceitfully with superior men. |
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By dismissing them on the requirement of justice, |
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Mean men would not be endangering [the common weal]; |
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And his mean relatives, |
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Would not be in offices of importance. |
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Great Heaven, unjust, |
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Is sending down these exhausting disorders. |
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Great Heaven, unkind, |
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Is sending down these great miseries. |
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Let superior men come [into office], |
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And that would bring rest to the people's hearts. |
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Let superior men do justly, |
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And the animosities and angers would disappear. |
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O unpitying, great Heaven, |
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There is no end to the disorder! |
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With every month it continues to grow, |
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So that the people have no repose. |
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I am as if intoxicated with the grief of my heart. |
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Who holds the ordering of the kingdom? |
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Not attending himself to the government, |
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The issue is toil and pain to the people. |
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I yoke my four steeds, |
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My four steeds, long-necked. |
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I look to the four quarters [of the kingdom]; |
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Distress is everywhere; there is nowhere I can drive to. |
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Now your evil is rampant, |
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And I see your spears. |
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Again you are pacified and friendly, |
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As if you were pledging one another. |
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From great Heaven is the injustice, |
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And our king has no repose. |
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[Yet] he will not correct his heart, |
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And goes on to resent endeavours to rectify him. |
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I, Jia-fu, have made this song, |
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To lay bare the king's disorders. |
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If you would but change your heart, |
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And nourish the myriad States! -- |