Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) 東國李相國集 · Yi Gyubo · Compiled 1241 (Goryeo, 28th year of King Gojong); revised and enlarged 1251 · 1 passages · 139 Chinese characters · reading time 1.3 min
Dongguk Isangguk Jip (Collected Works of Minister Yi of the Eastern Country) Former Collection, Book 14 The collected writings of Yi Gyubo of Goryeo, gathered and cut in woodblock by his son Yi Ham in 1241 and revised and enlarged by his grandson Yi Ikbae in 1251. It holds poems and rhapsodies, memorials and reports sent up to the king, records written for temples and pagodas, stele and tomb inscriptions, letters and prefaces, and the state letters that passed to and from the Mongols during the invasions. The Lay of King Dongmyeong, which sings the founder of Goguryeo, stands in volume 3 of the first collection, and the daily life of a man who called himself the White Cloud Layman — with his wine, his zither and his verse — fills the later collection. The book closes with the last poem he wrote as his eyes failed and he laid down the brush, and with the dirge and tomb inscription others made for him after his death.
The spider, taking the season of autumn,
is skilled at weaving its net along the eaves.
Walking on feet like a crab's legs it slings out its thread,
as swift as a shuttle going to and fro.
The children sweep it away with a pole,
and the remaining scraps fly off on the wind.
In a moment it has woven and made it again,
so fine that it is hard even to look at.
A flying cicada is caught by mistake
and vainly makes the sound of a spinning wheel.
A butterfly too comes and is tangled,
and flutters and flutters, struggling in vain.
I have always hated the net-spinning insect,
and I call a servant to loose them and let them go.
Of all things that have blood and breath,
which does not nourish its mouth and belly?
Among the great, the tiger and the bear
pick out beasts to seize and lick their own paws;
among the small, the hen and her chicks
peck at worms in the dunged earth.
Such things are not one or two,
so why do I hate your way alone?
Craft and contrivance are what I shrink from,
and who can match you in contrivance?
You spit out thread finer than the silkworm's
and do not spare the floss in your belly.
With this you lure the foolish insects;
how should they not be deceived?