PHilosophers have measur’d mountains,

哲人测量山之高峻，

Fathom’d the depths of seas, of states, and kings,

探索海之幽深，国之辽阔，王之威严，

Walk’d with a staffe to heav’n, and traced fountains:

策杖步向天国，追溯水之源头：

        But there are two vast, spacious things,

但有两样，浩瀚广博

The which to measure it doth more behove:

若要测度，所需甚多，

Yet few there are that sound them; Sinne and Love.

少有人尝试：唯罪、唯爱。

        Who would know Sinne, let him repair

谁想一探罪之究竟，让他

Unto mount Olivet; there shall he see

步上橄榄山；他会看见一人，

A man so wrung with pains, that all his hair,

遍体鳞伤，

        His skinne, his garments bloudie be.

发、肤、衣袍血迹斑斑。

Sinne is that presse and vice, which forceth pain

罪是部机器，压出邪恶，驱使痛苦

To hunt his cruell food through ev’ry vein.

沿条条管道，为它捕获猎物。

        Who knows not Love, let him assay

谁不知爱之真意，让他查验品尝

And taste that juice, which on the crosse a pike

长矛刺向十架，汩汩流淌之浆液；

Did set again abroach;1 then let him say

让他坦言，

        If ever he did taste the like.

是否饮过相似之味道。

Love in that liquour sweet and most divine,

爱是琼浆，甜美神圣，

Which my God feels as bloud; but I, as wine.

于上帝是血，于我，是佳酿。