The tea plants of Jianxi grow into great trees,
Quite different from the tea planted in Chu and Yue.
Before spring, they shout at hills and pluck the white buds,
Also unlike the 'Bird's Beak' praised by Shu guests.
To brew new tea and compete in hardness, one must 'bite the cup',
Unlike drinking wine where they vie to draw a snake.
From kneading to grinding, they exert all their strength,
Only to win or lose, laughing at each other.
Who passed down Shuangjing and Rizhu teas?
After all, their character is praised as tender sprouts.
Scholar Ouyang excels in a hundred things with subtlety,
And his official rank has ascended to a lofty, pure place.
In the past, I got a large bronze roller from Longxi,
Rolled for years, it's deep and hollowed with wear.
Yesterday, new tea cakes were sent to me,
Wrapped in rush leaves and bound with hemp.
I can only sip the leftovers, letting my belly grow cold,
Fortunately avoiding drunkenness and my cap askew.
People say drinking too much makes one's head tremble and twitch,
I prefer to stay clear-headed, for the flavor is fine.
Though this ailment may befit a leisurely drunkard,
When drunk, stumbling and disaster know no bounds.
I do not wish for a cool breeze under my arms,
But only to face bamboo and face flowers.
I recall Han Yu in the southern lands,
Who once said he could gradually eat toads.
If ancient worthies were still like this,
Why should I, poor and humble now, sigh at my plight?
If you, sir, do not forsake the old and allow frequent visits,
Why need the clamor of strings and pipes, noisy and shrill?