雙語(yǔ)·英美愛(ài)情詩(shī)歌選 13　他的狄安娜

13. Of His Cynthia

——F. Greville

Away with these self-loving lads,

Whom Cupid's arrow never glads.

Away, poor souls that sigh and weep,

In love of them that lie and sleep;

For Cupid is a meadow god,

And forceth none to kiss the rod.

God Cupid's shaft, like destiny,

Doth either good or ill decree;

Desert is born out of his bow,

Reward upon his feet doth go.

What fools are they that have not known

That love likes no laws but his own?

My songs they be of Cynthia's praise,

I wear her rings on holy-days,

On every tree I write her name,

And every day I read the same.

Where Honor Cupid's rival is,

There miracles are seen of his.

If Cynthia crave her ring of me,

I blot her name out of the tree.

If doubt do darken things held clear,

Then well fare nothing once a year.

For many run, but one must win;

Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.

The worth that worthiness should move

Is lore, which is the due of love.

And love as well the sllepherd can

As can the mighty nobleman.

Sweet nymph, 'tis true you worthy be,

Yet without love, nought worth to me.