| 英譯： |
The emperor's city, a place of fame and profit:
from cockcrow on, no one relaxes.
I alone play the idler,
the sun high, hair as yet uncombed.
The clever and the clumsy differ in nature;
advancers and laggards go separate ways.
Luckily I've hit on a time of great peace
when the Son of Heaven loves scholars and learning.
With small talent, hard to perform great service:
I collate texts in the palace archives,
out of thirty days spend twenty at the office,
and so get to nurture my perversity and sloth.
A thatched roof, four or five rooms,
one horse, two hired men,
salary that runs to 16,000 cash－
it gets me through the month with some to spare.
I'm not pressed for clothing and food,
likewise little bothered with social affairs.
Thus I can follow youthful inclinations,
passing day after day in constant quietude.
But don't suppose I'm lacking in friends;
the bustler and the quiet one each has his own crowd.
There're seven or eight men of the Orchid Terrace
who do the same sort of work I do.
But on days off, I'm robbed of their talk and laughter;
morning and night I long to see a caller's carriage.
Who can find time from chores of collating,
loosen his belt, stretch out in my hut?
In front of the window there's bamboo for diversion,
outside the gate, a shop selling wine.
So what do I have to entertain you?
A few stalks in the background, one pot of brew.
|