Şiir 1
Nor to my charge, when once pronounc'd, be laid
As crimes, the words my trembling tongue has said.
To gain me glory, thy decrees ordain
The regal sceptre and the tragic strain;
With painful labour need I toil for fame,
85
When easier tasks already raise my name?
Thou mak'st my love immortal; thee I choose:
Be thou my queen, and still command my muse.
Majestic pow'r, forgive my simple choice,
Thy gentle rival has obtain'd my voice.
90
Short is the time in which her palm is won;
Ere thine is gain'd, the poet's life is done."
I lowly said: she gracious gave assent,
And diff'rent ways the parting rivals went.
Ye gentle loves, complete the work assign'd,
95
A greater labour seems to press behind.
