On the Twenty-Fifth of the Seventh Month the Abbot of Seonbeopsa Sets Out a Farewell Feast, Invites Me, and Asks for a Poem七月二十五日。善法寺堂頭設餞見邀。乞詩。
初秋暑熱尙如火。徹屋炎光乾裂瓦。我居湫隘無可奈。但嚼渠渠居大廈。紵衫流汗慵閑坐。薤簟膠身嫌久臥。忽聞碧眼特邀我。出郭徐驅果下馬。傍樹崎嶇踏落菓。幽禽飛起驚人唾。已看黃稻蝦鬚嚲。更見斑瓜狸首亞。穿雲撥霧度平野。遙望靑靑山一朶。靑山之曲款精舍。金碧樓高光激射。吾師戒行高天下。十笏房中方解夏。許容吾輩恣遊冶。坦率風襟如子寡。百罰深盃吾豈怕。園蔬野菜酒堪佐。醉中狂態誰復罵。終日叫呼喉不嗄。初來但欲暫偸暇。美景漸佳如啖蔗。如予被詔朝天者。如此名山無幾過。更坐殷勤傾數斝。淸風郞月眞無價。憑師愼勿爲燃樺。我本卜晝不卜夜。况師不以毛皮迓。留之不惡歸亦可。臨行一笑何須謝。
The heat of early autumn is still like fire, and a blaze that bores through the house dries the tiles till they crack. There is nothing to be done about the low, cramped place where I live, and I only chew over the line about "dwelling in a lofty great house." Sweat runs down my ramie jacket, so I am too listless even to sit idle; the rush mat clings to my body, so I hate to lie down for long. Then I heard that the blue-eyed monk was calling for me in particular, and I went out of the town walls, driving a fruit-tree pony (果下馬) slowly along. On the rough path beside the trees I trod on fallen fruit, and a hidden bird flew up, startled at the sound of a man spitting. Already I saw the yellow rice hanging down like shrimp whiskers, and then saw the mottled melons ranked like the heads of wildcats. Piercing the clouds and parting the mist, I crossed the broad fields and looked far off at a single cluster of green, green hills. In a bend of the green hills there is a trim retreat, with gold and green pavilions so high that the light comes shooting off them. Our monk's keeping of the precepts stands high in all the world, and in a room the size of ten tablets (笏) he has just now ended the summer retreat. He allows us to roam here to our hearts' content; few men have a manner as unconstrained as yours. As for a hundred forfeit cups, deep ones, why should I shrink from them? Garden greens and field herbs are ample for the wine. Who would scold a man again for his madness in drink? I can shout all day long without my throat going hoarse. When I first came I meant only to steal a short while away, but the lovely scenery grows better and better, like chewing sugarcane. A man like me, who has received an edict and goes off to court, will not pass by such a famous hill many times. I sit down again and warmly tip back a few more cups: the clear breeze and the bright moon truly have no price. I beg you, master, do not light the wedding candles — by nature I divine only the daytime and never the night. How much more, when you do not receive us for outward show, so that staying is not bad and going home is good as well. I leave with a single laugh — how else could I give thanks?
Interlinear notes 1
上聲
It is in the rising tone (上聲).