Shakespeare's Sonnets Translation Sonnet 66
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disablèd, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, And simple truth miscalled simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill. Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that to die, I leave my love alone.
I cry out for restful death, tired with all of these things:
For example seeing worth itself born as as beggar,
And worthlessness itself dressed in expensive clothes,
And purest faith herself unhappy abandoned,
And golden honor shamefully put on the wrong person,
And virgin virtue herself rudely rumored to be a whore,
And correct perfection itself wrongfully insulted,
And strength itself disabled by crippled power,
And art itself made tongue-tied by authority,
And foolishness himself, like a doctor, over-powering skill,
And plain truth itself wrongfully labeled as simplicity,
And good itself made a prisoner and servant of evil.
Tired with all of this, I would like to leave them all behind,
Except that if I die, I leave my love alone.
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