Sonnet 66 by Shakespeare

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd 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.

Tərcümə: Sabir Mustafa
Translate by Sabir Mustafa

Şərəf dustaq olub şərəfsizliyə,
Saflıq dərd içində göynəyir, əsir.
Kütlük əqlə gülür, yalan düzlüyə,
Gucün qollarına vurulub zəncir.