Our wandering eyes are sated with the dancer’s skill. Our ears are weary with the sound of “kung” and “shang.”[21] Our host is silent and sits doing nothing: All the guests go on to places of amusement. * * * * * On long benches the sportsmen sit ranged Round a cleared room, watching the fighting-cocks. The gallant birds are all in battle-trim: They raise their tails and flap defiantly. Their beating wings stir the calm air: Their angry eyes gleam with a red light. Where their beaks have struck, the fine feathers are scattered: With their strong talons they wound again and again. Their long cries enter the blue clouds; Their flapping wings tirelessly beat and throb. “Pray God the lamp-oil lasts a little longer, Then I shall not leave without winning the match!”