姑蘇城內葫蘆廟旁有一鄉宦甄士隱，年過半百，膝下只有一女名喚英蓮，後獨女在元宵節夜丟失，禍不單行，一場大火，家業毀於一旦，只好忍氣吞聲寄居在老丈人屋下。
一日，士隱拄著柺杖在街前散心，忽見那邊來了一個跛足道人，瘋癲落拓，麻屣鶉衣，口內念著幾句言詞，道是：
世人都曉神仙好，惟有功名忘不了！
古今將相在何方，荒冢一堆草沒了。
世人都曉神仙好，只有金銀忘不了！
終朝只恨聚無多，及到多時眼閉了。
世人都曉神仙好，只有嬌妻忘不了！
君生日日說恩情，君死又隨人去了。
世人都曉神仙好，只有兒孫忘不了！
痴心父母古來多，孝順兒孫誰見了？
Men all know that salvation should be won，
But with ambition won’t have done， have done。
Where are the famous ones of days gone by？
In grassy graves they lie now， every one。
Men all know that salvation should be won，
But with their riches won’t have done， have done。
Each day they grumble they’ve not made enough。
When they’ve enough， it’s goodnight everyone！
Men all know that salvation should be won，
But with their loving wives they won’t have done。
The darlings every day protest their love，
But once you’re head， they’re off with another one。
Men all know that salvation should be won，
But with their children won’t have done， have done。
Yet though of parents fond there is no lack，
Of graceful children saw I ne’er a one。
士隱本是有宿慧的，一聞此言，心中早已徹悟。因笑道：且住，待我將你這《好了歌》解注出來何如？道人笑道：你解，你解。士隱乃說道：
陋室空堂，當年笏滿床；衰草枯楊，曾為歌舞場。
蛛絲兒結滿雕樑，綠紗今又糊在蓬窗上。
說什麼脂正濃、粉正香，如何兩鬢又成霜？
昨日黃土隴頭送白骨，今宵紅燈帳底臥鴛鴦。
金滿箱，銀滿箱，轉眼乞丐人皆謗。
正嘆他人命不長，哪知自己歸來喪！
訓有方，保不定日後作強梁。擇膏粱，誰承望流落在煙花巷！
因嫌官帽小，致使枷鎖扛；昨憐破襖寒，今嫌紫蟒長。
亂哄哄你方唱罷我登場，反認他鄉是故鄉。
甚荒唐，到頭來都是為他人作嫁衣裳！
Mean hovels and abandoned halls
Where countriers once paid daily calls；
Bleak haunts where weeds and willows scarcely thrive
Were once with mirth and revelry alive。
Whilst cobwebs shroud the mansion’s glided beams，
The cottage casement with choice muslin gleams。
Would you of perfumed elegance recite？
Even as you speak， the raven locks turn white。
Who yesterday her lord’s bones laid in clay，
On silken bridal-bed shall lie today。
Coffers with gold and silver filled，
Now， in a trice， a tramp by all reviled。
One at some other’s short life gives a sigh，
Not knowing that he， too， goes home – to die！
The sheltered and well-educated lad，
In spite of all your care， may turn out bad；
And the delicate， fastidious maid，
End in a foul stews， plying a shameful trade。
The judge whose hat is too small for his head，
Wears， in the end， a convict’s cangue instead。
Who shivering once in rags bemoaned his fate，
Today finds fault with scarlet robes of state。
In such commotion does the world’s theatre rage，
As each one leaves， another takes the stage。
In vain we roam：
Each in the end must call a strange land home。
Each of us with that poor girl may compare，
Who sews a wedding-gown for another bride to wear。
那瘋跛道人聽了，拍掌大笑道：解得切，解得切！士隱便說了一聲：走吧！將道人肩上褡褳搶了過來揹著，竟不回家，同了瘋道人飄飄而去。