Watching Jin Gongdo Tend His Garden, I Took Dongpo's Rhymes and Gave Him This觀晉生公度理園。取東坡詩韻贈之。

The spring wind blows a passing shower apart, and wet mist coils low and tangles about the bank where spring is sought. The mad wanderer of Longxi (隴西) grows old and more foolish still, and hired servants and peddler women look down on him even so. His drunken temples are tangled, and he is too lazy to comb them; he lies at the south window like a corpse, and morning encroaches upon noon. Of late he has declined and broken off his old acquaintance, and allows himself to be familiar only with the elders of the village. How many times have the roses opened and fallen of themselves, while the oriole sings and the black swallow dances. Mumbling, he enjoys nothing but the song that beats upon an earthen crock; why should he groan at the labour of hugging a water jar? He says of himself that heaven and earth are one inn; how much more this house — who is its master? The eastern garden is buried in grass and has never once been opened, and the red flowers of spring, screened by leaves, can hardly be charming. I envy you, who alone admire the old gardener of former days, guarding the bamboo, raising the flowers, banking up the soil again and again. Need the planting of melons be Shao Ping's (邵平) Dongling? Does learning to farm make one an old field hand like Fan Chi (樊遲)? The peach and plum you planted with your own hands have all become shade, covering the house and lowering the wall till one mistakes the place. The stealing of wine you leave to the young man next door, and the throwing of the shuttle you leave to the woman next door. On a clear bright day you stroll among the green sedge, and laugh at me bent like a crane's neck at my poem-making window. You call me over and we pour three or four cups together, and you pick the fragrant greens yourself and boil them with your own hands. The wine ripens and the shouting grows loud, and the idle bird on the branch is startled by our drunken talk. Adrift, I have fallen low and no one knows me, and I call out my own name with my mouth, like the scops owl. Only by withdrawing and hiding does one get the savour of living secluded; eating one's fill and singing drunk, one drums upon one's belly. Looking down and looking up in your company is pleasure enough; why be lofty and alone and learn from Chaofu (巢父) and Xu You (許由)? Do not let Master Wei (韋郞) be made to remember Old Zhang (張老): he sought Tiantan (天壇) in vain, and the road was long and blocked. I hope that you will tend your garden and carry on Yu Yi (庾翼); how should the getting of a seal of office not be given by heaven?