The Cap Being Finished, We Set Wine Out in Scholar Pak's Garden and Saw Off Yang Gongno on His Way to Pyeongju; I Drew the Character 黃 (hwang)冠成。置酒朴生園。餞梁平州公老。得黃字。

Yang, my teacher and my friend, is the broad, unbridled madman of Siming (四明). The thoroughbred, the older it grows, runs the harder; the crane, though it wastes thin, is dignified still. He has read more than a thousand volumes, yet, to his grief, has no purse with a coin in it. His mind is like a pond of ten thousand furrows — one can hardly dip it and take its measure. His far stride goes beyond the great stride; his fine writing overturns the 「Rhapsody on Changyang (長楊賦)」. Into the empty bowels that drink wine he pours rivers and seas into the cup. Though his body is hidden in a snail's shell of a house, his mind could fly the sky like the peng bird. I remember, long ago, beside the west of the city wall, when we saw each other our temples were already graying. Thrown to another, it startled like a pearl of night; entering his room, I smelled the fragrance of orchids. The north window where the clear wind blew was cool, and we shared a pillow and lay as in Fuxi's age. When the wine in my house first turned fragrant I called you, and we got drunk at sitting after sitting; when the moon over your house was like frost you called me, and bedded me on one couch. Together we rambled to Baengnyeonjang (白蓮莊); together we called on the singing girls of the Red Tower (紅樓). On the red leaves the autumn wind was cold; on the green willows the spring days were long. Hand in hand we strolled, and that was all we asked; this gladness is truly hard to forget. Now you have got a district, a corner of the sky away, where hills and waters are far off and blue. Spring grows late, your heart hurries to go back; at daybreak you mean to pack your baggage up. Scholar Pak is a fellow who loves an occasion; who would dare match his spirit and his gallantry? Coming in at the gate he said, ringing clear, that since you were leaving, we should see Yang off. Luckily this spring day has cleared, and the rank growth of the garden grove is already swept. Leading one another we went to the thatched hall, where the orioles warble like a reed-pipe. Flowers of every kind spread out red brocade, and on the tall trees a green banner flies. Gladness at its height turns back to grief; at the hour of parting the tears wet our clothes. The words I give you for the road are not thorough; I only ask that you carry hardness through with softness. If you truly taste these words deeply, why fear you will not be a Gong Sui (龔遂) or a Huang Ba (黃霸)?