Have you not seen the young wanderer-knights of Huainan?
By day they play ball and hunt, by night they embrace dice.
Shouting at dice, a million coins they never spare,
Avenging wrongs a thousand miles as if a foot away.
Young wanderer-knights love to pass by,
Their whole attire is all of fine silk.
Sweet orchids accompany them, noisy courtesans,
Wherever they go for pleasure, pipes and songs abound.
Arrogant, they say such things should not be,
Yet knightly halls have long nurtured this.
Fine saddles and fine horses they beg to give others,
Tens of thousands, five thousands, promptly spent on wine.
With utmost loyalty they serve their bosom friends,
Spare no gold to plant peach and plum trees.
Peach and plum planted, how many springs have passed?
Once flowers fall, once they renew.
Prefects and magistrates all become their followers,
Princes and marquises are all their equals.
A man has but a hundred years, enjoy your lot,
Why follow books to suffer poverty and illness?
A man has but a hundred years, seek glory for yourself,
Why adhere to principles and endure hardship?
Half of the officials are warriors who fought,
Poor scholars idly become hermits of woods and springs.
Even if roots and branches grow a hundred yards long,
It's not as good as frequent interaction in the present age.
Even if in-laws connect to the imperial city,
It's not as good as wearing the official cap yourself.
Look at those who have wealth and rank before their eyes,
What use is a distant name after death?