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 be compared, will pass muster'; 幽雅, secluded refinement, is the aesthetic keyword of this final round. 《臨江仙》 (Línjiāngxiān, 'Immortal by the River') is a 詞牌, and 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 asks, with a seven- then a six-syllable line.

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'; 幽哉 ('how serene!') sounds the round's keynote of 幽. 宿鷗 are roosting gulls, the emblem of the man so at peace that birds do not fear him; 殘月 the waning moon.

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. 還 is hái, and 捱 (ái) is 'to dawdle, drag out the time.'

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?

儘意 is 'to one's heart's content'; 待漏 is to wait upon the 漏, the palace water-clock — courtiers standing in the pre-dawn cold before the audience. 朝 in 朝臣 ('court officials') is cháo, and 怎似 ('how can it 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; 可證 is 'may serve as proof.' The woodcutter answers with 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; 秋高 ('autumn high') the clear tall skies of the season. 拽斧 ('to haul one's axe along') takes 拽 in its zhuài reading, 'to drag, pull.' The woodcutter's day, morning to evening, frames his 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'; 更奇哉 ('how singular!') answers the fisherman's 甚幽哉 exactly, capping 'secluded' with 'singular.' 撥雲尋路 ('parting the clouds to find the way') is the mountain's answer to the fisherman's 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 term for one's own wife; 攲 (qī) is to lie aslant, 捱 (ái) again to while away the time. In 稚子 the 子 is zǐ; the domestic welcome mirrors the fisherman's family 'circle of content.'

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 humble grain of the countryman; 旋 'at once,' 甕中新釀 the fresh home-brew in the crock. 壯幽懷 ('to exalt the secluded feeling') sounds the round's keyword 幽 a last time; the 」 closes the exchange of matched lyrics.