你为什么要责备我的激情?为什么说悲伤是愚蠢的呢?在我向你展示我爱人的魅力之前，她比你想象的还要美丽。她用她的风度爱慕勇敢的人;她以智慧吸引自由的人;她的谦虚使坟墓欢喜;她在任何方面都使我高兴。啊，你是她的追随者，来加入我多情的情歌吧;我愿为情人舍命，他只愿唱一首赞美她的歌。当他唱歌的时候，愿城里的仙女成群结队地来听; Nay on him let not Phyllida frown; -- But I cannot allow her to smile. For when Paridel tries in the dance Any favour with Phyllis to find, O how, with one trivial glance, Might she ruin the peace of my mind! In ringlets he dresses his hair, And his crook is be-studded around; And his pipe -- oh may Phyllis beware Of a magic there is in the sound. 'Tis his with mock passion to glow; 'Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, ``How her face is as bright as the snow, And her bosom, be sure, is as cold? How the nightingales labour the strain, With the notes of his charmer to vie; How they vary their accents in vain, Repine at her triumphs, and die.'' To the grove or the garden he strays, And pillages every sweet; Then, suiting the wreath to his lays He throws it at Phyllis's feet. ``O Phyllis, he whispers, more fair, More sweet than the jessamine's flow'r! What are pinks, in a morn, to compare? What is eglantine, after a show'r? Then the lily no longer is white; Then the rose is depriv'd of its bloom; Then the violets die with despight, And the wood-bines give up their perfume.'' Thus glide the soft numbers along, And he fancies no shepherd his peer; -- Yet I never should envy the song, Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear. Let his crook be with hyacinths bound, So Phyllis the trophy despise: Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd, So they shine not in Phyllis's eyes. The language that flows from the heart Is a stranger to Paridel's tongue; -- Yet may she beware of his art, Or sure I must envy the song.