Sonnet 17

Sonnet 17 is it lêste yn in rige fan santjin saneamde "fuortplantingssonnetten", dy't it earste part fan de Sonnetten fan Shakespeare út 1609 foarmje. Yn dizze sonnetten puonnet Shakespeare in feint oan in húshâlden te begjinnen en bern te krijen, want syn moaiens hawwe net it ivige libben. Nei dit gedicht ferskowt de tematyk ynienen nei de romantyk fan it ferneamde Sonnet 18.

Shakespeares tekst

Sonnet 17

Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?--
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
And stretchèd metre of an antique song.

But were some child of yours alive that time,

You should live twice: in it, and in my rhyme.

Oersetting

Wa sil al sa skielk myn fers noch leauwe

As it oprjocht dyn wiere goedens neamt?

Wylst de himel wit, dat it krekt in grêf is,

Dat dyn libben dekt; net heal dyn lof sjongt.

As ik dyn swide eagen sketse koe,

Lykas yn ferzen dyn moaiens, stik foar stik,

Dan sei hja skielk: "Dizze poëet dy lycht,

Sokke himelske pracht giet foarby oan minsken."

Dan waard myn skrift, fergield troch syn âldens,

Fersmaad, lyk âlde manlju mei praatsjes,

En wat dy rjocht die, waard in mâl ferlet,

In poffige klank út in fier ferline.

Mar wie der mei de tiid in bern as dy,

Dan wienen der twa: dêr en yn myn rym.

Besjoch ek

Sonnetten fan Shakespeare