The Too Yuen

Caught is the pheasant in the net,
That vainly for the hare is set.
So those who duty promptly do
Find cause their loyal zeal to rue,
While one whose ends are base and mean
Contrives from harm himself to screen.
When I was in my youthful prime,
Without commotion passed the time ;
But since those happy days were o’er,
Numerous the ills that press us sore :—
I would that I might sleep, and rise no more!

Caught is the pheasant in the snare,
Avoided by the cautious hare.
So those who duty promptly do
Find cause their loyal zeal to rue,
While one whose ends are base and mean
Contrives from harm himself to screen.
When I was in my youthful prime,
No strange events e’er marked the time ;
But now those days have passed away,
And sorrows meet us day by day :—
Would that I might sleep, and sleep for aye!

Into the trap the pheasant flies,
Which the hare shuns with cautious eyes.
So those who duty promptly do
Find cause their loyal zeal to rue,
While one whose ends are base and mean
Contrives from harm himself to screen.
When I was in my youthful prime,
No toilsome tasks distressed the time ;
But in these latter days of life,
Our miseries are waxen rife :—
O for the sleep unbroke by sound of strife!