The Book of Poetry: Book IX. The Odes of Wei: VI. Fa T‘an

The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876] 2K‘an-k‘an upon the sandalwood The woodman's strokes resound, Then by the river's side he lays What fit for spokes is found; The while the river onward flows, Its waters clear and smooth. You work not so, O Wei's great men, From me now hear the truth.— You sow no seed; no harvest tasks Your dainty fingers stain; And yet each boasts three million sheaves;— Whence gets he all that grain? You never join the hunt's halloo, Nor brave its ventures bold; Yet lo! your wide courtyards display Those boars of three years old. I must conclude that woodman rude A man of higher style. To eat the bread of idleness He feels would stamp him vile. p. 124 3K‘an-k‘an resound the woodman's strokes Upon the sandalwood; Then on the river's lip he lays What for his wheels is good; The while the river onward flows, Soft rippled by the wind. That you don't work, O Wei's great men, Is thus brought to my mind. You sow no seed; no harvest tasks Your soft hands undertake; Yet grain each boasts, three hundred bins;— Who his that grain did make? You never join the hunt's halloo, Your feeble courage fails; Yet lo! your wide courtyards display Large strings of slaughtered quails. I must conclude that woodman rude A man of higher style. To eat the bread of idleness He feels would stamp him vile.