【正文】
tripp’d by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: ’Had my friend’s Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love.’ 倘你活過(guò)我躊躇滿志的大限, 當(dāng)鄙夫”死神”用黃土把我掩埋, 偶然重翻這拙劣可憐的詩(shī)卷, 你情人生前寫(xiě)來(lái)獻(xiàn)給你的愛(ài), 把它和當(dāng)代俊逸的新詩(shī)相比, 發(fā)覺(jué)它的詞筆處處都不如人, 請(qǐng)保留它專為我的愛(ài),而不是 為那被幸運(yùn)的天才凌駕的韻。