Memorial Presenting the Book帝王韻紀進呈引表

The memorial of presentation (進呈引表) for the Jewang ungi.

Your subject Seunghyu speaks. Your subject has respectfully compiled the Jewang ungi, divided it into two volumes, and copied it out fair to present it. A petty scholar no larger than an ox's collar, who has grasped the old books only roughly, hopes with the last light of a firefly or a candle to help the brightness of the sun and the moon. Your subject Seunghyu is truly in awe and dread, and bows his head again and again.

Bowing low, your subject considers that our sovereign, His Majesty, is more flourishing than Zhou and more glorious than King Tang, and has taken the sister of Heaven as his queen. When have the Three Han ever seen such blessings gather at the Dragon Tower (龍樓)? Truly it is a thing hard to hear of in a hundred generations, a meeting rare in ten thousand ages, and it has come together in a single hour.

Bowing low, your subject considers that he attended the edict of the bequeathed bow (遺弓) of the former reign and reported the good omen of the sun rising in mid-heaven, and that, following that bond, he escorted the royal carriage east and west and was appointed by leaps of rank to splendid and weighty posts. From the crown of his head to his heels the dew-like favor soaked into his body; though he plucked out every hair to count them, he could not count that favor. He meant to repay it as one mends a dragon robe with pure thread, but his lot was thin and he found himself at leisure instead. He sighs that he has no way to look upon Heaven, yet he rejoices that he has ground on which to pray for his sovereign's long years.

His heart goes back to Folong (佛隴) and his eyes cling to the book chest. By a bright window, among ten thousand scrolls, he wears away his weary days, and toward the ninefold palace he prays always for years that stay like spring and do not grow old.

Your subject considers further that this poor piece of writing is the work of his whole life. Though it be the chirping of an insect with no music to it, he offers it to add to the crane's longing devotion. So, of what emperors handed down and sovereigns received from ancient times to the present — for the Middle Kingdom, from Pangu to the Jurchen Jin (金), and for the Eastern Country, from Dangun to our own dynasty — he traced where the roots first rose, searched the books through, weighed what differed and what agreed, gathered the essentials, and then chanted them into song. The traces of how each received and handed on and stood up are as clear as pointing at one's own palm, and what was taken and what was cast away in all that was built upon them will show plainly in the mind.

Bowing low, your subject asks that Your Majesty graciously extend your sagely understanding and not throw away the writing because the man is lowly; that you lend for a moment the brightness of Li (离明) and grant the favor of reading it in the second watch of the night (乙夜); and that you send it out to be put into use, so that it may serve those who come after as encouragement and warning. Your subject is truly in awe and dread, and bows his head again and again, and speaks with respect.

The twenty-fourth year of Zhiyuan, the third month, on a day. Your subject Yi Seunghyu, a lay Buddhist of Dutasan.