English Rendering
He has sown every slope with wheat,
Sown every stream with paddy,
His oxen's necks are rubbed raw to the bone,
Yet still at night he goads them on to plough.
His last ounce of strength goes into farming,
And all he asks is to be left in peace;
But who is this knocking at his door?
The county officer clamoring for taxes!
He is haled to the county court,
Bastinadoed day and night;
All men dread death,
But he sees no way out...
Home again he longs to tell his wrongs,
Yet shrinks from upsetting his parents,
For to provide the two old folk with food,
His ready to sacrifice his wife and son.
