Presented to His Excellency Jo Yeongin上趙令公永仁

With gifts that are wrongly both brisk and blunt, I early set my name on the roll of the examinations, yet though eight frosts have suddenly changed about, I have not won a single office. Now I humbly meet with Your Excellency the Chancellor of my Gate of Grace (恩門), who holds the weighty authority of the Board of Selection (銓部) and has become the bright mirror of the company of scholars; and truly it is hard to draw myself in, so of a sudden I would seek to stretch out. Before a bright mirror I am ashamed that fair and foul are so easily told apart, yet beneath a great bellows the keen and the blunt are melted together without distinction. I beg you to gather up this scrubby little shrub and let it be tried in the office of zither and song.

Zhongjing (仲經) upheld the sacred Han, and Zhao Jing (趙憬) aided the sovereign of Tang. The root being great, the jewelled branches flourish; the source being deep, the jade streams run long. Treading the tortoise, he was born with outstanding gifts; painting the deer, he early took the auspicious sign. His brush-edge is heavy as a thousand gyun; the river of his mind is broad as ten thousand acres. The flying dragon was early seen to advantage; the majestic phoenix suddenly soared high. He is the soul of the star Munseong (文星) above the sky, and in the human world a light that begrudges the sun. Settling doubts, he lifts up the thunderbolt; discoursing on affairs, he shakes out the ring of jade. Attending the king, he climbs the Blue-Chain Gate; sealing documents, he bows to the black pouch. From the Jade Gate (璧門) he advances to the Gallery Road (閣道); at the North Pole he guards the star Munchang (文昌). Being an iron pillar, the Bright Hall stands firm; being a wall of metal, he fends off the enemy state. Hopes turn back to Duke Pei of Jin (裴晉公), and reliance on him weighs as on Guo of Fenyang (郭汾陽). With a great hand he seasons the cauldron of Yin; with a crimson heart he mends the robe of Shun. In appraising men he is as Xu Shao and Guo Tai; in loving guests he is like Lord Pingyuan and Lord Mengchang. Keen vessels are cast with a golden mallet; long timbers are measured on a jade balance. How should a sunken pearl have its lustre pared away? The hidden chrysanthemums vie in spreading their fragrance. There is here a lonely body with nothing to lean on, cast aside into idleness now more than ten years. At a tender age I first bound my hair in tufts, and shouldered provisions to go and study far away. Wetting my brush I plied lead and wooden tablet; spreading the classics I faced the pale-yellow volumes. Quietly I shut the door of Sun Jing (孫敬), and sitting, wore through the couch of Guan Ning (管寧). Even a mute instrument could be tuned; and the poems that were lost I sought to supply. Mounting the altar I seized Shen Quanqi and Xie Lingyun; grinding down the ramparts I overthrew Ban Gu and Yang Xiong. In the examinations I passed quickly, year upon year; my name and lustre showed forth in a single day. Never had I swallowed ink-water; I managed only to win the gilded broth. I was about to strike the tiered heavens; how could I have thought I would fall half-way along the road? In wind and wave I staggered at the last, and the River of Heaven grew faint and far instead. Instead I leap and sink like the frog in the well, and vainly search the covered pit of the deer. From the bottom of the valley my crying overflows; stiff-necked, I loathe the side of the gate. Though there be water, who will wet the carp? The forks being many, I have lost the sheep at last. It is much like the tongue-clucking of Yin Hao (殷浩); dare I compare it to the hurrying of Confucius? My merit I have heaped and entrusted to a grave of writings; my straits are dragged by the mast that sends off ghosts. At bottom it comes, they say, of a meagre lot, but half of it comes also of feigning madness. In all things I have gone through three breakings; my empty name is shamed before the seven weavings. Long ago I heard that a bright mirror shines, and reaches even what is hidden under an overturned tub. And indeed you set down the son of the icy district, and once called me a hall of the Powder Department (粉省). My joy ran so deep I would leap up and dance; my tears came, and wiped away, flowed again. In Yan Valley (燕谷) I think of the warming tune, and Wuyan (無鹽) wastes her pains on fine adornment. The balance-beam has now come into your hand, and creation holds a whole great field to itself. The more do I stretch my neck and gaze, now at last expecting wings to be fitted to me. Bathed in fragrance I shake off my grime anew; ground though I am blunt, I slowly take an edge. Your youngest son is truly as jade, and in the pure court early wore the yellow cord. Luckily I received the favour of your green-eyed glance, and presumptuously faced the worthy of the white brows. In the days of binding up our hair we first knew each other, and talking of our hearts we swore not to forget. How often were we steeped in the scent of the orchid room, and together broke off the fragrance of the cassia bough? On brocade mats I once attended behind him, and on the flowered embankment we walked in a row together. Of myself I called him the Bao Shu (鮑叔) who knows me, the Zixia (子夏) who madly led me and raised me up. Wrongly I lagged behind the three thousand shoes, and now fifteen frosts have shifted. On reed-grass you yourself worked embroidery, and set tile and brick beside the jade. Pitying this clustered, drooping shape of mine, you turned a compassionate heart toward me at last. Often you made your golden promise weigh, and would lend me brilliantly the praise of the dragon robe. Today, how great is my good fortune! In my heart I am quietly elated of myself. Our private bond is truly not shallow, yet what hindrance is there either to the public way (公道)? It is well that you should try your hand on the clear zither, and do not shrink from the harm done to fine brocade. Truly a busy district would be hard for me to bear, and it just suits to entrust me with an out-of-the-way one. What I hope for most is the East Sea where the great turtle is, and what I think of too is the north where the wild geese go. In straits and fleeing, how should one choose one's tree? A ravenous mouth need not look for bream. Leaping and leaping, my sad crying is urgent; anxious and anxious, I am busy knocking upward in reverence.