Let states and their population be small in size.
Let the people, though they have weapons
For an army, not use them.
Let them take death seriously
And not wander to far-off places.
Though they have boats and wagons
Let them not find a use for them.
Though they have weapons and armour
Let them have no occasion to show them.
Return them to measuring with a knotted rope,
They’ll find savour in their food,
And good-taste in their clothing,
Find contentment in their homes
And be happy with their lives.
Though the next state can be seen
And its barking and cock crows heard,
The people of one state will age and die
Without having to deal with the other.