当初我独自一个恳求你协助，
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
只有我的诗占有你一切妩媚;
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd
但现在我清新的韵律既陈腐，
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
我的病诗神只好给别人让位。
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
我承认，爱呵，你这美妙的题材
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
值得更高明的笔的精写细描;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
可是你的诗人不过向你还债，
He robs thee of and pays it thee again.
他把夺自你的当作他的创造。
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word
他赐你美德，美德这词他只从
From thy behavior; beauty doth he give
你的行为偷取;他加给你秀妍，
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
其实从你颊上得来;他的歌颂
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
没有一句不是从你身上发见。
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
那么，请别感激他对你的称赞，
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.
既然他只把欠你的向你偿还。