Classic of Poetry

I ascend that northern hill, And gather the medlars. An officer, strong and vigorous, Morning and evening I am engaged in service. The king’s business is not to be slackly performed; And my parents are left in sorrow.

Under the wide heaven, All is the king’s land. Within the sea-boundaries of the land, All are the king’s servants. His great officers are unfair,— Making me serve thus as if I alone were worthy.

My four horses never halt; The king’s business allows no rest. They praise me as not yet old; They think few like me in vigour. While the backbone retains its strength, I must plan and labour in all parts of the kingdom.

Some enjoy their ease and rest, And some are worn out in the service of the State; Some rest and loll upon their couches, And some never cease marching about.

Some never hear a sound, And some are cruelly toiled; Some lazily roost, on their backs looking up, And some are all-bustled in the service of the king.

Some indulge long in pleasure and drinking, And some are miserable, in apprehension of blame; Some, at home and abroad, pass critical remarks, And some have everything to do.