Where art thou, Muse¹, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire² to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
  Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
  So thou prevent'st his scythe³ and crooked⁴ knife.

你在哪里，诗神，竟长期忘记掉
把你的一切力量的源头歌唱？
为什么浪费狂热于一些滥调，
消耗你的光去把俗物照亮？
回来吧，健忘的诗神，立刻轻弹
宛转的旋律，赎回虚度的光阴；
唱给那衷心爱慕你并把灵感
和技巧赐给你的笔的耳朵听。
起来，懒诗神，检查我爱的秀容，
看时光可曾在那里刻下皱纹；
假如有，就要尽量把衰老嘲讽，
使时光的剽窃到处遭人齿冷。
　　快使爱成名，趁时光未下手前，
　　你就挡得住它的风刀和霜剑。