Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,

My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,

But now my gracious numbers are decay'd

And my sick Muse doth give another place.

I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument

Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,

Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent

He robs thee of and pays it thee again.

He lends thee virtue and he stole that word

From thy behavior; beauty doth he give

And found it in thy cheek; he can afford

No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.

Then thank him not for that which he doth say,

Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.

當初我獨自一個懇求你協助，

只有我的詩占有你一切嫵媚；

但現在我清新的韻律既陳腐，

我的病詩神只好給別人讓位。

我承認，愛呵，你這美妙的題材

值得更高明的筆的精寫細描；

可是你的詩人不過向你還債，

他把奪自你的當作他的創造。

他賜你美德，美德這詞他只從

你的行為偷取；他加給你秀妍，

其實從你頰上得來；他的歌頌

沒有一句不是從你身上發見。

　　那么，請別感激他對你的稱贊，

　　既然他只把欠你的向你償還。