The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2 Fretted its waters seem,
Yet gently flows the stream:—
A bundle of wood ’twill not bear.
Our brethren are so few;
There are only we two:—
Let nothing our friendship impair.
Trust not the people's breath;
They don't deserve your faith:—
Their purpose is but to ensnare.