My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;
For if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee:
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be,
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
你狠心，也该放聪明;别让侮蔑
把我不作声的忍耐逼得太甚;
免得悲哀赐我喉舌，让你领略
我的可怜的痛苦会怎样发狠。
你若学了乖，爱呵，就觉得理应
对我说你爱我，纵使你不如此;
好像暴躁的病人，当死期已近，
只愿听医生报告健康的消息;
因为我若是绝望，我就会发疯，
疯狂中难保不把你胡乱咒骂：
这乖张世界是那么不成体统，
疯狂的耳总爱听疯子的坏话。
要我不发疯，而你不遭受诽谤，
你得把眼睛正视，尽管心放荡。
