Do you not see also that the mirrors in our drawing-rooms beweep our hairs,
Which, black this morning, are now already white?
When one is dissatisfied pleasure takes wing;
The golden jug must not stand there motionless and untouched before the moon.
Heaven has given us talents to make use of—
Thus the money that we spend will always return to us.
Let us slay the sheep, let us roast beef for our pleasure.
When we meet, we will each empty three hundred glasses.
You, Master Kien, and you, Ten-Kiou—the literary man—
Lift your glasses without ceasing.