But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

但是為什么不用更兇的法子
去抵抗這血淋淋的魔王--時光？
不用比我的枯筆吉利的武器，
去防御你的衰朽，把自己加強？
你現在站在黃金時辰的絕頂，
許多少女的花園，還未經播種，
貞潔地切盼你那絢爛的群英，
比你的畫像更酷肖你的真容：
只有生命的線能把生命重描；
時光的畫筆，或者我這枝弱管，
無論內心的美或外貌的姣好，
都不能使你在人們眼前活現。
獻出你自己依然保有你自己，
而你得活著，靠你自己的妙筆。