Nor did Zhanji knew from reading here,
At least in mountains thrown as clear
Come forth the wind to keep him still,
The glistening water ne brought ill,
How now his favoured eunuchs declare,
Far now are but miles left to dare,
These simple words they spoke so hollow,
Can only lead to death if not so sorrow,
Then turned to counsel these men he call,
‘Las that had no means to man recall,
For since young had from honour taken,
For years since they curse a day forsaken.
This much they might add no memory lieu,
Rather which as a man they become so lewd,
‘Las they could feel not nor be fertile,
Rather they swim with love as myrtle,
But here was not enough for knowing ceased,
But lament their loss in bitter, dry seized
The rain that conjures forth in disarray,
Then looked back at life and knew what lay,
To the Emperor they come and bitter weep,
Then to bed comes their last and utter sleep.

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