Of the boyars. Thou from thy early years

Didst sit with me in council, thou dost know

The formal course of government; change not

Procedure. Custom is the soul of states.

Of late I have been forced to reinstate

Bans, executions - these thou canst rescind;

And they will bless thee, as they blessed thy uncle

When he obtained the throne of the Terrible.

At the same time, little by little, tighten

Anew the reins of government; now slacken;

But let them not slip from thy hands. Be gracious,

Accessible to foreigners, accept

Their service trustfully. Preserve with strictness

The Church's discipline. Be taciturn;

The royal voice must never lose itself

Upon the air in emptiness, but like

A sacred bell must sound but to announce

Some great disaster or great festival.

Dear son, thou art approaching to those years

When woman's beauty agitates our blood.

Preserve, preserve the sacred purity

Of innocence and proud shamefacedness;

He, who through passion has been wont to wallow

In vicious pleasures in his youthful days,

Becomes in manhood bloodthirsty and surly;

His mind untimely darkens. Of thy household

Be always head; show honour to thy mother,

But rule thy house thyself; thou art a man

And tsar to boot. Be loving to thy sister -

Thou wilt be left of her the sole protector.

FEODOR. (On his knees.) No, no; live on, my father, and reign long;

Without thee both the folk and we will perish.

TSAR. All is at end for me - mine eyes grow dark,