我老了，没有女人的爱，我还记得美丽的力量，它曾经燃烧着我的灵魂，仍然激发着我的智慧。如果爱是愚蠢的，那么严厉是神圣的;他感到了我的愚蠢，虽然他谴责我;玷污了贞洁拥抱的快乐，照我所写的去做，以优雅的方式传播，放荡不羁，一个祭司的种族。假如他是自由的，而我是故意冒犯他的，他就给我指路，先把我的理智颠倒过来;他以恶毒机智，以恶毒恶毒，使我说出我从来没有想过的话。计算他不受控制的热情的收益;他的衣服配得上栏杆的称赞。世人会认为，我们所写的随笔，虽然现在受到传讯，但他读起来还是很愉快的;因为他似乎又在咀嚼结尾，当他宽泛的评论使文本太过平淡，在一页解释中比舞台上所有的双重含义教导更多。他需要对我们的意思作何解释? We were at worst but wanton; he's obscene. I nor my fellows nor my self excuse; But Love's the subject of the comic Muse; Nor can we write without, nor would you A tale of only dry instruction view. Nor love is always of a vicious kind, But oft to virtuous acts inflames the mind, Awakes the sleepy vigour of the soul, And, brushing o'er, adds motion to the pool. Love, studious how to please, improves our parts With polished manners, and adorns with arts. Love first invented verse, and formed the rhyme, The motion measured, harmonized the chime; To liberal acts enlarged the narrow-souled, Softened the fierce, and made the coward bold; The world, when waste, he peopled with increase, And warring nations reconciled in peace. Ormond, the first, and all the fair may find, In this one legend to their fame designed, When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind. In that sweet isle, where Venus keeps her court, And every grace, and all the loves, resort; Where either sex is formed of softer earth, And takes the bent of pleasure from their birth; There lived a Cyprian lord, above the rest Wise, wealthy, with a numerous issue blest. But, as no gift of fortune is sincere, Was only wanting in a worthy heir: His eldest born, a goodly youth to view, Fair, tall, his limbs with due proportion joined, But of a heavy, dull, degenerate mind. His soul belied the features of his face; Beauty was there, but beauty in disgrace. A clownish mien, a voice with rustic sound, And stupid eyes that ever loved the ground, He looked like Nature's error, as the mind And body were not of a piece designed, But made for two, and by mistake in one were joined. The ruling rod, the father's forming care, Were exercised in vain on wit's despair; The more informed, the less he understood, And deeper sunk by floundering in the mud. Now scorned of all, and grown the public shame, The people from Galesus changed his name, And Cymon called, which signifies a brute; So well his name did with his nature suit. His father, when he found his labour tost, And care employed that answered not the cost, Chose an ungrateful object to remove, And loathed to see what Nature made him love; So to his country-farm the fool confined; Rude work well suited with a rustic mind. Thus to the wilds the sturdy Cymon went, A squire among the swains, and pleased with banishment. His corn and cattle were his only care, And his supreme delight a country-fair. It happened on a summer's holiday, That to the greenwood-shade he took his way; For Cymon shunned the church, and used not much to pray. His quarter-staff, which he could ne'er forsake, Hung half before and half behind his back. He trudged along, unknowing what he sought, And whistled as he went, for want of thought. By chance conducted, or by thirst constrained, The deep recesses of the grove he gained; Where, in a plain defended by the wood, Crept through the matted grass a crystal flood, By which an alabaster fountain stood; And on the margin of the fount was laid, Attended by her slaves, a sleeping maid; Like Dian and her nymphs, when, tired with sport, To rest by cool Eurotas they resort. The dame her self the goddess well expressed, Not more distinguished by her purple vest Than by the charming features of her face, And, even in slumber, a superior grace: Her comely limbs composed with decent care, Her body shaded with a slight cymarr; Her bosom to the view was only bare: For yet their places were but signified: The fanning wind upon her bosom blows, To meet the fanning wind the bosom rose; The fanning wind and purling streams continue her repose. The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes, And gaping mouth, that testified surprise, Fixed on her face, nor could remov