名人诗歌|THE SONNETS by William Shakespeare (124)

If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard^{1 be unfather'd, As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. No, it was builded far from accident； It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th' inviting2 time our fashion calls： It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, But all alone stands hugely politic3, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.}