In the Tenth Month, Great Thunder, Hail, and Wind十月。大雷雹與風。
孟冬之月日在房。純陰用事渾無陽。雷公此時震皷鏜。聲若劃裂天中央。電火夜掣金蛇光。人面尙可分毫芒。雨脚緣霤傾銀潢。雹如雞子中者傷。風拔庭前大樹僵。掀搖屋宇將飛揚。我時方睡三更强。忽然夢罷心茫茫。不敢安坐起彷徨。還跪拱手向彼蒼。天公威怒固有常。春以雷霆秋以霜。此怒反時那易量。萬人一心皆震惶。吾皇求理甚遑遑。天又譴告理莫詳。古者周虎與殷湯。修德解轉災爲祥。願君更愼刑政張。雖有變異僅如痒。▣▣▣▣▣▣▣行且去矣身還康。
In the first month of winter the sun stands in the Chamber star (房星), and pure yin takes charge of affairs with no yang at all. The thunder god at this time beats his drum, boom upon boom, and the sound seems to score and tear the middle of the sky. The lightning at night draws out a light like a golden snake, bright enough to tell apart the very hair-tips on a man's face. The rain pours along the eaves and tips over the River of Heaven, and the hail is like hen's eggs: whoever is struck is hurt. The wind pulls up the great tree before the courtyard and lays it over, and shakes the house as though it would blow it away. I at that time, past the third watch, was deep in sleep and woke suddenly from my dream with my mind adrift. Not daring to sit at ease, I rose and paced about, then knelt again, joined my hands, and faced that blue sky. Heaven's majesty and anger have a constancy of their own: in spring it acts by thunder, in autumn by frost. But this anger goes against the season — how should it be easily measured? Ten thousand people with one heart all tremble and are afraid. The king is pressing hard in his search for good government, yet Heaven also rebukes and warns him, and the reason cannot be known. In the old days King Xuan of Zhou and King Tang of Yin knew how to cultivate virtue and turn disaster into a good omen. I beg the king to be careful once again in meting out punishment and government: though there be strange calamities, they will amount to no more than an itch. ▣▣▣▣▣▣▣ and once it has gone, the body will be at ease again.