The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2Along the raised banks of the Ju,
Branch and fresh shoot confessed my art.
I've seen my lord, my husband true,
And still he folds me in his heart.
3As the toiled bream makes red its tail,
Toil you, sir, for the royal house,
Amidst its blazing fires, nor quail:—
Your parents see you pay your vows.