Now the three rough fellows came charging into the hall, tethered the horse, and threw down the baggage.

兇頑 is fierce-and-unruly, the narrator's own verdict on the three of them. They tether the horse and drop the luggage in a room full of chanting monks without appearing to notice them. 那 points — nà.

In the hall a few monks had been chanting the scriptures, when Eight Rules thrust out his long snout and bawled: "You monks — what sutra is it you are reciting?"

掬著長嘴 — thrusting the snout forward, 著 as zhe — and then 喝, read hè, to bellow, not the hē of drinking. Bajie's opening remark at a stranger's funeral service is to shout across the room asking what they think they are reciting. 那廳中 takes 那 as nà and 中 as zhōng; the 那 of 那和尚 is nà too, pointing at them as he addresses them; 長 in 長嘴 is cháng; 甚 is shén.

Those monks, hearing the question shouted out, of a sudden raised their heads:

忽然擡頭, "of a sudden they raised their heads," is the cue: the line breaks at the colon and the verse takes over. 那些 points — nà.

They looked at the strangers come from without — / snouts long and ears grown large,

The poem opens on what the monks see, which is Bajie in close-up. 長 in 嘴長 is cháng.

bodies coarse, shoulders broad, / voices booming like a thunderclap.

背膊 is shoulders and upper arms together. 如雷咋: like a crack of thunder.

Pilgrim and Sha Monk / were of a countenance uglier still.

更 is gèng, "still more." Having got over the pig, they look at the other two and it gets worse.

Of all the monks in the hall / not one was unafraid.

無人不害怕 — there was nobody not frightened — is another double negative used for emphasis, and the verse form makes it land like a drumbeat.

The reader still droned the sutra, / but the precentor called the service off.

The service comes apart from the top down. 闍黎 (shé lí) is the officiant, a transcription of the Sanskrit ācārya, teacher; 班首 is the monk at the head of the rank who sets the pace, a precentor. The reader is still droning on when the precentor calls the whole thing off. 還 is hái, "still"; 行罷 takes 罷 as bà, to break off.

No thought now for chime-stone or bell, / the Buddha-images left where they lay.

磬 is the stone chime struck to mark the chant; 佛像 the images on the altar, 佛 read fó. Dropping the instruments is bad; walking out on the images is worse, and the poem knows it.

All at once they blew the lamps out, / scattering in a fitful flare of light.

驚散 takes 散 as sàn, to scatter. 光乍乍 is the light going in flashes as the lamps are blown out one after another — a strobe effect, four hundred years early.

Stumbling and scrambling, / when did any clear the threshold?

門限 is the raised door-sill of a Chinese house, ankle-high and easy to catch a foot on. 何曾跨: who ever got over it? In their hurry, nobody.

Head knocking against head, / like a gourd-trellis toppled down.

似倒葫蘆架 — like a gourd-trellis going over — takes 似 as sì and 倒 as dǎo. A gourd frame collapses all at once, in a tangle, with the fruit still attached. Anyone who has seen one come down will recognise the picture exactly.

A pure and seemly ritual-ground / turned into a great burlesque.

道場 is the ritual ground, 場 read cháng — the reading this project gives the character in verse and in event-measure use, keeping chǎng for a literal place. And 翻成大笑話: turned into a huge joke. The poem says so itself, which saves the narrator the trouble.

The three brothers, seeing the people stumbling and scrambling, clapped their hands and roared with laughter.

那些人 points — nà; 鼓著掌 takes 著 as zhe. They stand there clapping.

At which the monks grew the more terror-struck, and knocking heads and cracking pates, each looking to his own life, they all ran clean off.

磕頭撞腦 is banging heads and cracking skulls in the crush; 各顧性命, every man for himself. 通跑淨了 — 通 right the way, 淨 clean — is the sound of a hall emptying. 那些僧 points — nà.