Sonnet 17
Who will believe my verse in time to come, 後人誰信我詩篇，
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? 如它充溢汝德善？
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb 天知其只壹墳畔，
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. 埋妳之命與本半。
If I could write the beauty of your eyes, 若吾能描汝美眼，
And in fresh numbers number all your graces, 清新韻文詠汝妍。
The age to come would say 'This poet lies; 詩人妄語來人讒，
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' 塵世絕無仙葩顏。
So should my papers, yellow'd with their age, 歲月熏黃我詩卷，
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue, 饒舌老翁妄輕言。
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage 真容誣做詩人癲，
And stretched metre of an antique song: 壹支古歌拖長喊。
But were some child of yours alive that time, 爾若有子在人間，
You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme. 伊身詩爾活兩遍。