Of this worlds Theatre in which we stay,

我们驻足于这座红尘剧院中，

My love, like the spectator, idly sits

我心爱的姑娘漠然处之地坐在那里，酷似一个冷眼旁观的观众，

Beholding me, that all the pageants play,

看我变换角色，样样种种，

Disguising diversly my troubled wits.

使用各种戏服道具，只因为我很紧张，心跳得扑通扑通。

Sometimes I joy, when glad occasion fits,

有时候，恰逢气氛乐融融，

And mask in mirth lyke to a comedy:

我也会扮演喜剧角色，戴上一副面具，脸上堆起笑容：

Soone after, when my joy to sorrow flits,

可转眼喜极悲来，欣欣然刹那间让位于忧心忡忡，

I waile, and make my woes a Tragedy.

于是我又演起悲剧角色，上演忧伤、难过、苦恼。我哀号，我悲恸。

Yet she, beholding me with constant eye,

可她只盯着我，那一对儿美眸一动也不动，

Delights not in my merth, nor rues my smart:

既不乐我乐，也不痛我的痛：

But when I laugh, she mocks, and when I cry

我哭，她笑；我笑的时候，她挖苦嘲弄，

She laughes, and hardens evermore her hart.

至始至终都板着脸，无动于衷。

What then can move her? If nor merth, nor mone,

倘若喜笑哀哭都没有效果，那还有什么能敲开她的心门？

She is no woman, but a sencelesse stone.

她是块无知无觉的石头，不是女人。