Classic Poem

But I am an
Un-steam-soft-able, un-boil-through-able,
Un-pound-flat-able, un-bake-dry-able
Rattling plunkety-plunk coppery old bean.
Who said you young gentlemen could intrude upon her
Un-hoe-up-able, un-cut-down-able,
Un-disentwine-able, un-cast-off-able,
Intricate, thousand-fold brocade snare?
As for me, I can take pleasure in the Liang-yüan moon,
Drink no less than East Capital wine,
Enjoy the flowers of Loyang,
And pluck the willow of Chang-t'ai.
Besides, I can compose poems, write ancient script,
Play the lute and play the flute;
I know how to sing the Che-ku, dance the Ch'ui-shou,
Drive game for the hunt, kick the football,
Play chess and roll dice;
Even if you knock out my teeth, stretch my mouth out of shape,
Lame my legs, break my arms,
Even if heaven afflicted me with these several ills and disabilities,
I'd still not give up;
Not unless Yama himself gives the order
And the evil spirits themselves come to hook out
My three souls and return them to hell,
My seven shades and consign them to oblivion,
Only then
Will I retire from the path of mist and flowers.