Again Following the Rhymes of Vice Minister Yi's Reply復次韻李侍郞見和

Who would dare spy upon this land as though to split a melon? Crossing the river and passing the ridge, he has set up the halberds of Heaven. The Director of the Secretariat (中書令) opened the way wide, rose up seizing the hour, and used many a stratagem to make an end of the strong barbarians. Already the nation's majesty is spread abroad, and lightning and hail fly; seated, he looks on the robbers next door as on insects and moths. Of the lingering filth of foxes and wildcats there is none today, and the ghosts' remaining breath is no more than this much of an exorcism. Again he has set the foundations at Ganghwa and carried on the generations, so surely there will be no hearing of barbarian songs on the elm-tree frontier. Upholding and exalting the king's authority, he stands as a hedge and guards it, and his bounty reaches the people, who keep their own nests whole. His merit and his name, covering a whole age, stand this high; so what is thrown away if at times he takes his pleasure? Cleanly the great hall has been thrown wide and made ready, and in even rows the colored curtains are hung high. Silver candles burn bright, their light rippling like the moon, and jade hairpins catch one another, their shadows shaking like waves. The musicians draw their fingers together and strike the birchwood clappers in clusters, and the beauties set their shoulders in a row, gathering their embroidered shoes. The revel about the wine jar calls for Kong of Beihai (孔北海), and the coming and going of the young girls is a thing to ask of Dongpo (東坡). For loveliness, there are singing girls of an age to wear the hairpin, but for quickness of wit, the children with the milk-smell are lovelier still. Hearing that you had suddenly offered up a fine new song, though it was morning, I still carried last night's wine. Passed from hand to hand among men, it became a thousand bushels of pearls, and to you it must have been the sight of a single whirl of the sea. Knowing that he sent down a basket in requital for your phoenix brush — how many bolts of silk have come from the mermaid's shuttle? Writing like brocade spread upward and reached even the royal screen, and, called in at the flowering palace gate, the silk hangings were drawn back. He himself sent down the feast board and suffered you to be deep in drink, and let your cap and your girdle-jades fall out of order as they would. Giving away all the vessels of gold, they heap up like a hill; and did you drink only the jade cups dry, like a river? Why do the envious guests flush in the face? The friends you keep cannot but answer with the sound of congratulation. I, rejoicing richly in this sense of our knowing one another, stain coarse vine paper and of a sudden chant once more.