The fisherman said: 'Your hills may bear comparison, yet still they lack the secluded elegance of my clear waters. I have a lyric to the tune Immortal by the River to prove it:'

可比過 is 'can stand comparison, will pass muster,' which is faint praise and meant to sting. The word to watch through this final round is 幽雅, secluded refinement, which both men now compete to embody. 《臨江仙》 (Línjiāngxiān, 'Immortal by the River') is the tune. (為 in 為證 is wéi.)

As the tide ebbs I shift the lone skiff along and slip away; deep in the night I lay down the oar and come home singing.

旋移 is 'to move off presently,' 罷棹 'to ship the oars,' 歌來 'to come home singing.' The 臨江仙 opens, as its form requires, with a seven-syllable line and then a six.

Straw cape under the waning moon — how deep the stillness! The roosting gulls are not startled up, and at the sky's edge the colored clouds break open.

甚 is read shèn, 'how, exceedingly,' and 幽哉, 'how serene!', sounds the round's keynote of 幽; 殘月 is the waning moon. The telling detail is 宿鷗, the roosting gulls: birds that do not startle are the old emblem of a man with nothing predatory left in him.

Weary, I lie on the reedy islet with nothing at all to do; though the sun is three poles high, still I linger abed.

蘆洲 is a reed-grown sandbar. 三竿日上, 'the sun three poles high,' means well into the morning, and the fisherman is still in bed: 捱 (ái) is to dawdle, to drag the time out. (還 is hái.)

As my heart wishes, to my full content, I order my own days; the court officials wait shivering for the water-clock — how could that match my ease of mind?

Here is the contrast the whole overture has been aiming at. 待漏 is to wait upon the 漏, the palace water-clock: senior officials standing about in the pre-dawn cold for the audience to open, the imperial version of queueing outside the office in the dark. Against that the fisherman sets 儘意, doing as he likes to his heart's content. 朝 in 朝臣, 'court officials,' is cháo, and 怎似, 'how can that compare to,' takes 似 in its sì reading. The 」 ends the lyric.

The woodcutter said: 'Your clear waters' secluded elegance is still no match for the deeper seclusion of my green hills. I too have a lyric to Immortal by the River to prove it:'

更幽雅, 'more secluded still,' caps the fisherman's 幽雅 by the simple expedient of adding 'more.' 可證 is 'may serve as proof.' What follows is the last of the ten matched 詞.

Along the grey path, autumn high and clear, I go out dragging my axe; in the cool of evening I carry my load home again.

蒼徑 is a grey, moss-dark path, and 秋高, 'autumn high,' the tall clear skies of the season. 拽斧, hauling one's axe along, takes 拽 in its zhuài reading, 'to drag, to pull.' Out in the morning, back in the evening: the woodcutter's whole day frames the lyric.

Wild flowers stuck at my temples — how singular a sight! Parting the clouds I find the path out, and wait for the moon to call the gate open.

插鬢 is 'tucked into the hair at the temples' — a working man walking home in wildflowers, and pleased with himself about it. 更奇哉, 'how singular!', answers the fisherman's 甚幽哉 exactly, capping 'secluded' with 'singular,' and 撥雲尋路, parting the clouds to find the way, is the mountain's reply to the misty river.

My little ones and my mountain wife come out laughing to greet me; on a grass pallet, a wooden pillow, I lie aslant and take my ease.

山妻, 'mountain wife,' is a modest way of speaking of your own; in 稚子 the 子 is zǐ, the little ones. 攲 (qī) is to lie aslant and 捱 (ái) is again to while the time away. The welcome at the door mirrors the fisherman's family circle point for point.

Steamed pears and boiled millet are set out in a trice; the new brew in the jar has ripened — truly it swells the secluded heart.

炊黍 is to cook millet, the countryman's humble grain, and 旋 is 'at once'; 甕中新釀 is the fresh home-brew in the crock. 壯幽懷, 'to swell the secluded heart,' sounds the round's keyword 幽 one last time. The 」 closes the exchange of matched lyrics.