My sonnet, since no messenger I find To approach the lady of my heart’s desire, I bless the Lord that you are so inclined, No fitter deputy could I require: Tell her my love, and how I must expire, Unless she helps me, courteous and kind; But while you’re talking, keep your distance, mind, Or jealousy will set me soon on fire. And if she deigns to use me as a servant, Although it’s not the role that I prefer, Then promise her sincerely for my part That, in all necessary things observant, I’ll work so loyally at pleasing her That she’ll take pity on my suffering heart.
translated by: C.H. Scott and Anthony Mortimer