名人诗歌|THE SONNETS by William Shakespeare (126)

CXXVI

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle^{1 glass, his fickle hour； Who hast by waning2 grown, and therein show'st Thy lovers withering3, as thy sweet self grow'st. If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack4, As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. Yet fear her, O thou minion5 of her pleasure！ She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure： Her audit6 （though delayed） answered must be, And her quietus is to render thee.}