【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卷, 你情人生前寫來獻給你的愛, 把它和當(dāng)代俊逸的新詩相比, 發(fā)覺它的詞筆處處都不如人, 請保留它專為我的愛,而不是 為那被幸運的天才凌駕的韻。