Thou fought'st beneath, with Shuisky didst repulse

The army of Litva. Thou hast seen the court,

And splendour of Ivan. Ah! Happy thou!

Whilst I, from boyhood up, a wretched monk,

Wander from cell to cell! Why unto me

Was it not given to play the game of war,

To revel at the table of a tsar?

Then, like to thee, would I in my old age

Have gladly from the noisy world withdrawn,

To vow myself a dedicated monk,

And in the quiet cloister end my days.

PIMEN. Complain not, brother, that the sinful world

Thou early didst forsake, that few temptations

The All-Highest sent to thee. Believe my words;

The glory of the world, its luxury,

Woman's seductive love, seen from afar,

Enslave our souls. Long have I lived, have taken

Delight in many things, but never knew

True bliss until that season when the Lord

Guided me to the cloister. Think, my son,

On the great tsars; who loftier than they?

God only. Who dares thwart them? None. What then?

Often the golden crown became to them

A burden; for a cowl they bartered it.

The tsar Ivan sought in monastic toil

Tranquility; his palace, filled erewhile

With haughty minions, grew to all appearance

A monastery; the very rakehells seemed

Obedient monks, the terrible tsar appeared

A pious abbot. Here, in this very cell

(At that time Cyril, the much suffering,

A righteous man, dwelt in it; even me

God then made comprehend the nothingness