Thanking Elder Sin (申大丈) for Teaching My Son Jing謝申大丈敎授愚息澄。

The third child of our house is called Jing, and his nature cannot be carved, being like rotten wood. Though his years are full grown he does not understand writing: this is a rice-sack that has vainly been filled with millet. Of exchanging sons to teach them I have heard from of old, but there was no one to lift the cover off the vinegar-fly. The Elder, though great in years, is finer still in learning, and like Xiaoxian (孝先) he has a well-filled belly like a case of classics. His bones are clear and his spirit bright, his eyes like mirrors, and he copies out the Five Classics in characters the size of a fly's head to read them. When a young child comes and asks, he does not dare refuse, so that learners make a grove of it and there is a schoolroom in his house. Sparrows vie to attach themselves and fly after the luan and the phoenix, and the moth-grub has had the luck to meet the mason-wasp's blessing. He does not loathe that my child's edge is blunt, but sets his hand to grinding and polishing, counting on cutting jade. I am moved by your generous intent, but with what shall I repay it? I only wish you long life, and that the hair at your temples turn black again. I hear that in the state of Lu there was a Master Shen (申公), who stayed at home and taught, the older he grew the more earnestly. The Han sovereign valued learning and summoned him by rush-wheeled carriage, and at eighty he at last ate the stipend of a grandee. How should the master's house not be of his descendants? He would shake out his ancestor's bearing and greatly restore it. To be summoned with bolts of silk and jade laid upon them is not too late, and the glory and honor of his late years may soon be foretold.