Out of bounds

A bandit came scheming to marry me on the pretext of trading cloth for silk. I escorted him across the Qi River, as far as Dunqiu. I didn’t break our promise; he just didn’t offer me a dowry. Don’t be angry; let’s meet again in the fall. I climbed the crumbling wall and looked toward the pass. Since I couldn’t see him coming, I cried. After he came across, we laughed and talked. He consulted an oracle, which revealed no misfortune. Come in your chariot, and I will offer you a bribe. Before they fall, mulberry leaves are lush and green. We hope the doves don’t eat all the berries. We hope the woman isn’t infatuated with a rogue. We can explain a man’s infatuation. I can’t explain why I was infatuated. After they fall, mulberry leaves are withered and yellow. After three years living with him, I suffered in poverty. We lived in a damp tent, eating watered-down soups. Even though he loved me, he didn’t treat me right. You fell in love, but you were half-hearted. After three years, I was tired of endless toil, rising early, retiring late, without a moment’s rest. I guess I got what I wanted, and I became violent. My brothers laughed at me, unaware of my torment. Thinking back, I have only myself to blame. I wanted to grow old together, not to resent him, but everything, like the river, has its limits. As children, we happily ate and played. When we married, we were just as innocent. Betrayal was unthinkable, but it’s over now.