e por mágoas de então, que ainda passo,
peso das minhas faltas me carrega,
nem os meus nervos são de bronze ou aço.
Pois se em minha rudeza te abalei,
e tu a mim, o que infernal te oprime,
com ser tirano, tempo não gastei
pesando o que sofri pelo teu crime.
Ah, nossa dor nocturna em mim lembrasse,
bem fundo, quanto dói funda trizteza
e, como a mim me deste, te prestasse
bálsamo humilde à dor no peito acesa.
Torne-se um preço a ofensa que em ti vinha;
resgate a minha a tua, a tua a minha.
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel:
For if you were by my unkindness shaken,
As I by yours, you've passed a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me then, tendered
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
Vasco Graça Moura, Os Sonetos de Shakespeare - Versão integral, Bertrand, p.250-251
