Sonnet 57

SWEET warriour1, when shall I have peace with you?

High time it is, this warre now ended were:

Which I no lenger can endure to sue2,

Ne your incessant battry more to beare.

So weake my powres, so sore my wounds appeare,

That wonder is how I should live a jot,

Seeing my hart through-launchéd3 every where

With thousand arrowes, which your eyes have shot:

Yet shoot ye sharpely still, and spare me not,

But glory thinke4 to make these cruel stoures5.

Ye cruell one! what glory can be got,

In slaying him that would live gladly yours?

Make peace therefore, and graunt me timely grace6,

That al my wounds will heale in little space7.

注释：1.warrior：一个很有名的派特拉克式矛盾修辞法。

2.sue：作战。

3.launchéd：被刺穿的。

4.thinke：你认为它很荣耀。

5.stoures：战役。

6.grace：在我毁灭之前可怜我。

7.space：不久之后，很快。