Shakespeare, William: L. Sonet (L. Sonnet Cseh nyelven)

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
"Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!"

The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
This rider lov'd not speed being made from thee.

The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;

   For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
   My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

Jak těžké je mi cestu razit dál,
když to, co chci, (únavné pouti cíl)
učí, když oddych, blažený, bys znal,
o kolik mil dál přítel tvůj by byl.

Tvor, co mne nese, žalem zatížen,
klopýtá dál, tíhou se zadýchá,
jak kdyby ubožák ten tušil jen,
jak jezdec od tebe moc nespěchá:

Ostruha krvavá jej nevzpruží,
jíž do slabin dostává, ze vzteku,
jen zasténá, a zvuk ten doráží
do mne snad víc, než hrot mu do boků;

    sten trýzní mě, úvahou nelibou,
    jdu žalu vstříc, radost mám za sebou.