Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
唉，我的诗神本可趁机纵横诗坛，
That having such a scope to show her pride,
却谁知到头只写出平庸的诗篇，
The argument all bare is of more worth
它的题材本身就价值无比，
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
有了我的颂词却贬值不如从前。
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
啊，如我不复写作请别责难我，
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
照照镜子吧，镜中有一张脸蛋
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
远远超过我钝拙的涂鸦之作，
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
狼藉了我的声名使我诗趣大减。
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
好端端的题材反失于修修补补，
To mar the subject that before was well?
我茫然：自己是否已成了罪犯？
For to no other pass my verses tend
我的诗之为诗只为要颂扬你，
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
颂扬你阔大的美德与才干。
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
你有镜子，照照你自己的镜子吧，
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.
我的歪诗所写远不如你镜中所见。
