Más fuerte es hoy mi amor, y no más débil,
Aunque haya cambiado en apariencia;
Amor es mercancía si el amante
Pregona en todas partes cuánto vale.
Cuando el nuestro era joven yo cantaba,
Celebrando en mis aires sus primicias
Igual que en los albores del estío
Canta Filomela, y calla luego,
Mas no porque el estío no sea grato
Como cuando entonaba himnos nocturnos
Sino porque esa música salvaje,
Cual placer repetido, cansaría.
Como ella, a veces enmudezco,
Pues no quiero aburrirte con mi canto.

My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear;
That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming,
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays;
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops his pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue:
Because I would not dull you with my song.