有酒慵不酌，無異尊常空。
有琴慵不彈，亦與無弦同。
“Sa, sa,” like wind blowing the rain. The soft notes dying almost to nothing: “Ch’ieh, ch’ieh,” like the voice of ghosts talking. Now as glad as the magpie’s lucky song: Again bitter as the gibbon’s ominous cry.
家人告飯盡，欲炊慵不舂。
親朋寄書至，欲讀慵開封。
His ten fingers have no fixed note: Up and down--“kung,” chih, and yü.[54] And those who sit and listen to the tune he plays Of soul and body lose the mastery. And those who pass that way as he plays the tune,
嘗聞嵇叔夜，一生在慵中。
彈琴復鍛鐵，比我未爲慵。
Suddenly stop and cannot raise their feet. Alas, alas that the ears of common men Should love the modern and not love the old. Thus it is that the harp in the green window Day by day is covered deeper with dust.