哲人测量山之高峻，

        PHilosophers have measur’d mountains,

探索海之幽深，国之辽阔，王之威严，

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

策杖步向天国，追溯水之源头：

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

但有两样，浩瀚广博

        But there are two vast, spacious things,

若要测度，所需甚多，

The which to measure it doth more behove:

少有人尝试：唯罪、唯爱。

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

谁想一探罪之究竟，让他

        Who would know Sinne, let him repair

步上橄榄山；他会看见一人，

Unto mount Olivet; there shall he see

遍体鳞伤，

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

发、肤、衣袍血迹斑斑。

        His skinne, his garments bloudie be.

罪是部机器，压出邪恶，驱使痛苦

Sinne is that presse and vice, which forceth pain

沿条条管道，为它捕获猎物。

To hunt his cruell food through ev’ry vein.

谁不知爱之真意，让他查验品尝

        Who knows not Love, let him assay

长矛刺向十架，汩汩流淌之浆液；

And taste that juice, which on the crosse a pike

让他坦言，

Did set again abroach;1 then let him say

是否饮过相似之味道。

        If ever he did taste the like.

爱是琼浆，甜美神圣，

Love in that liquour sweet and most divine,

于上帝是血，于我，是佳酿。

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