評論
打印
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
唉，我的詩神本可趁機縱橫詩壇，
That having such a scope to show her pride,
卻誰知到頭只寫出平庸的詩篇，
The argument all bare is of more worth
它的題材本身就價值無比，
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
有了我的頌詞卻貶值不如從前。
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
啊，如我不復寫作請別責難我，
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
照照鏡子吧，鏡中有一張臉蛋
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
遠遠超過我鈍拙的涂鴉之作，
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
狼藉了我的聲名使我詩趣大減。
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
好端端的題材反失于修修補補，
To mar the subject that before was well?
我茫然：自己是否已成了罪犯？
For to no other pass my verses tend
我的詩之為詩只為要頌揚你，
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
頌揚你闊大的美德與才干。
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
你有鏡子，照照你自己的鏡子吧，
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.
我的歪詩所寫遠不如你鏡中所見。
