Let be, they make grass-cloth in Kefu,
Kefu, the land's end, matchless in the world.

SHITE
That is an old custom, truly,
But this priest would look on the past.

CHORUS
The good priest himself would say:
Even if we weave the cloth, Hosonuno,
And set up the charm-sticks
For a thousand, a hundred nights,
Even then our beautiful desire will not pass,
Nor fade nor die out.

SHITE
Even to-day the difficulty of our meeting is remembered,
And is remembered in song.

CHORUS
That we may acquire power,
Even in our faint substance,
We will show forth even now,
And though it be but in a dream,
Our form of repentance.
(explaining the movement of the Shite and Tsure)
There he is carrying wands,
And she has no need to be asked.
See her within the cave,
With a cricket-like noise of weaving.