If thou survive my well-contented day,
如果你的寿限长过我坦然面对的天命之数，
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
当无情的死神掩埋我的尸骨于一抔黄土，
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
而你偶然翻读你这位死去的情郎
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
曾在世时写下的粗鄙、拙劣的诗章，
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
你让它与时下的杰构佳篇相比，
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
发现它逊色于每一位诗人的手笔，
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
论技巧总不如那些幸运儿的硕果辉煌，
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
但请保留我的吧，只为爱不为韵脚的铿锵。
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
呵，但愿你开怀大度尽量把我往好处想：
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,"
假如我朋友的天赋能与世推移，
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
凭他的真爱必能吟出更好的诗行，
To march in ranks of better equipage:
使他能与当世高手并驾齐驱。
But since he died and poets better prove,
而他既已不幸辞世，诗人们诗艺倍增，
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'
我将欣赏后者的文釆，但读前者的爱心。
