论莎士比亚

 

论莎士比亚                                                     弥尔顿

我的莎翁，你的荣骨何求， 　　堆砌岩石成年忙不到头， 　　把他那神圣的遗物埋藏， 　　在倒金字塔它直指星光？ 　　你是记忆之子，传承美名， 　　何须无聊见证您的名声？ 　　在我们的惊奇、赞叹之中， 　　你建立的纪念碑成永恒。 　　这笨拙的艺术实在羞耻       你下笔如有神，每颗心里， 　　从你那无价的书页之中 　　美丽行间获得深深感动， 　　你的离去我们痛哭嚎啕， 　　还把我们变成多情石条； 　　如此堂皇的坟墓中静躺， 　　帝王们也希望这样而亡。

On Shakespeare. 1630

By John Milton

What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,

The labor of an age in pilèd stones,

Or that his hallowed relics should be hid   

Under a star-ypointing pyramid?

Dear son of Memory, great heir of fame,

What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name?

Thou in our wonder and astonishment

Hast built thyself a live-long monument.

For whilst to th’ shame of slow-endeavouring art,   

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart   

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took,   

Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,   

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;

And so sepúlchred in such pomp dost lie,

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.