Face haggard, turning yellow and puffy,
Waist, bent like a drawn bow.
Lying on his side next to a small lit lamp,
He holds the pipe as his family fortune goes down its hole.
Look at him:
Soon he will be six feet underground.
Lazy, remiss, he won't move even if you drag him.
He's about to meet King Yimlo at Hell's tenth palace.

In all earnestness, I speak to all my sisters:
Why be so easily discouraged?
From now on, superior talents will arise among us women;
Men and women will have equal rights, and that will not change!
Won't that be wonderful?
A life without oppression!
We can choose our own mate, be he a wise man or a fool,
Even our parents can't interfere with us anymore!

I married an emancipated woman,
Who flexes her tigress might,
What can I do about harmony in the bedroom?
She has no fear of lectures from the pillow side.
For her, they are so much wind.
She talks back all the more.
It's a repeat of the lioness roaring at the eastern riverbank.
O, how did that Gwaiseung ever have any fun?

With a mere glance at the fur coat,
Courtesy and hospitality are accorded in earnest,
Regardless of one's vulgarity or sophistication;
So what if you are learned and civil?
Who is to know?
A blue garb is simply despicable.
So, even if you face poverty and an empty rice bowl,
You must by all means put up a front with a few items of smart apparel.

Sons and grandsons are dearest to one's heart.
Yet money is a foundation of life.
A hundred thousand dollars in a money belt will enable you to survive;
Even the filiality of a crow is no comparison.
Remember, by all means:
Profits and privileges are all in your possession.
A son may be illustrious and outstanding,
But you and your money should never have a separation!

It is too late to hear a nightingale?
Tut, tut, tut, . . . some bird sings, —
That's quite enough, my friend.

The jar is sealed:
Memories — mourners — close the tomb,
Turn from the unechoing gloom
Into the sounding day:
Soul, freed and healed,
Away!
The jar is sealed.

When the cooling tyre contracts
Round the felloe of the wheel,
Do not spokes that once were boughs
In close-knitting fibres feel
A glow in being ironbound
In unity secure and round
For conquest of untravelled ground?

Suppose the stars
Fall and break? — Do they ever sound
Like my own love song?

Thank God! there is always a Land of Beyond
For us who are true to the trail;
A vision to seek, a beckoning peak,
A farness that never will fail;
A pride in our soul that mocks at a goal,
A manhood that irks at a bond,
And try how we will, unattainable still,
Behold it, our Land of Beyond!