Behold,
hast thou not seen how from heaven doth descend the mighty Yellow Flood,
rushing unto the sea, ne'er to return?
Behold,
hast thou not seen in grand halls the sad reflection on mirrors of aging hair,
morning's dark curls turning to evening's frost?
When fortune smiles, let us revel and roar,
and let no golden goblet face the moon empty.
Heaven forged my skills for purpose sure,
scattered riches shall gather once more.
Let us feast on mutton and beef with glee,
a pledge to drink thrice a hundred cups with thee.
Master Cen, Scholar Dan,
raise the goblet high,
let not the cups rest as we drink by and by.
With thee, a song I'll sing,
lend thine ear to words I bring.
Not drums nor royal jewels hold such allure,
rather would I drown in wine, from waking demure.
Since time of yore, all wise and hallowed men solitude kept,
only those who quaffed have their fame adept.
King Chen of old, in Pingle did feast,
with wine ten thousand measures released in jest.
Why speakest the host of lack and loss?
Let us procure more, for thy drink across.
Steeds adorned, robes of riches,
call forth youths to trade for wines which,
with thee, will end all ancient distresses.

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