斯托伊克那钢铁般的胸脯(如果是芝诺本人，或者比他更坚强的人)，又怎能不被这奇妙的浪潮的交叉激情所撕裂呢?在伊丽莎白墓前的悲伤，还是在她继承王位后的喜悦?这世界似乎又哭又笑，用泪露洗涤他含笑的双颊，却仍听着他那含泪的双颊，笑着露出快乐的皱纹;在这一切之中，我只能微笑和哭泣，也不能把我的激情关进牢笼。然而现在，当悲伤和喜悦同时合谋，用恶毒的力量摧残我脆弱的心灵时，理智不给我的愿望提供言语，也不要求神灵帮助我结束;这种内心的激情之争也如此强烈，既动摇又破坏了我歌曲的韵律。很久以前，当我的脆弱的思想被欢乐和痛苦的变化所冲击时，我愿意去寻找那心甘情愿的缪斯，把我的诗句尽情地发泄出来，不管我是想写一些崇高的诗句，还是用忧伤的诗句给一辆黑貂灵车浇草。所以，当单一的激情与理性相遇;当她抬起她那可怕的头;他们必须俯首听命，把他们叛逆的武装交给她的英明统治;于是，当他们怒不可遏的怒火骤然升起时，他们就像被理智的力量所驱使一样，怯懦地死去了。 But when that Passions ranke arayes beset Reason alone, without or friend, or Fere, Who wonders if they can the conquest get And reaue the crown her royal head did weare? Goe yet tumultuous lines, and tydings bring What Passion can in Reasons silence sing. Oft did I wish the closure of my light, Before the dawning of that fearfull day Which should succeed Elizaes latest night, Sending her glorious soule from this sad clay, Vp to a better crowne then erst she bore Vpon her weary browes, and Temples hoare: For then I fear'd to finde the frowning skie Cloathed in dismall black, and dreadfull red, Then did I feare this earth should drenched lie With purple streames in ciuil tumults shed: [1]Like when of yore in th' old Pharsalian downes, The two crosse Eagles grapled for the crowne. Or when the riper English Roses grew On sundrie stalks, from one selfe roote ysprung,[2] And stroue so log for praise of fairer hew, That millios of our Sires to death were stung With those sharp thornes that grew their sweets beside Or such, or worse I ween'd should now betide. Nor were leud hopes ought lesser the my dread, Nor lesse their Triumphs then my plained woe, Triumphs, and Plaints for great Eliza dead; My dread, their hope for Englands ouerthrow: I fear'd their hopes, & waild their pleasat cheare, They triumpht in my griefes, & hop't my feare. Waiting for flames of cruell Martyrdome, Alreadie might I see the stakes addrest, And that stale strumpet of imperious Rome, Hie mounted on her seuen-headed beast, Quaffing the bloud of Saints in boules of gold, Whiles all the surplus staines the guiltles mold. Now might I see those swarmes of Locusts sent, [3]Hell's cursed off-spring, hyred slaues of Spaine, Till the world sawe, and scorned their intent, Of a sworne foe to make a Soueraigne; How could but terrour with his colde affright Strike my weake brest vpon so sad foresight? Tho on that day before the world began Eliza dyde, and with the closing yeare[4] Her dayes vpclosde; when I the light did ban, And chide the Heauens, that they left not there: And thought it wrog (yet God that thought forfended) That the worlds course with her course was not ended. Now, not moe worlds could hire my closed light Ere but the setting of that Euen-sun, Which late her breathing sawe with beames so bright, And early rising found her life for done; Ah most vnhappie wights that went beforne, That dyde ere this, or that are yet vnborne! Oh turned times beyond all mortall feare, Beyond all mortall hopes! Not till this day Began the fulnesse of our blisse appeare; Which dangers dimmed erst with fresh dismay: Still euer checking ioy with seruile care, Still charging vs for Tragick times prepare. False starres, and falser wisards that foresaine By their aspects the state of earthly things: How bene your bold predictions proued vaine, That here brake off the race of Brittish Kings? Which now alone began; when first we see Faire Britaine formed to a Monarchie. How did I better long agone presage, (That ioyes me still I did presage so right) When in the wardship of my weaker age[5] My puis-nè Muse presumed to recite The vatick lines of that Cu