Uil'yam SHekspir. Sonety (Per.Igorya Fradkina)
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V perevodah Igorya Fradkina
SPb.: Dean, 2003.
OCR Bychkov M.N. mailto:bmn@lib.ru
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William Shakespeare
Sonnets
Translated by Igor Fradkin
Uil'yam SHekspir
Sonety
V perevodah Igorya Fradkina
Perevodchik vyrazhaet osobuyu blagodarnost' za neocenimuyu pomoshch' pri
rabote v raznye gody nad predstavlennymi v nastoyashchem izdanii perevodami -
I.M. Kulakovskoj, M.K. Pavlovoj, A.V. Florya i A.A. CHameevu.
Peterburgskij poet-perevodchik Igor' Fradkin vpervye opublikoval svoj
variant _Sonetov_ U. SHekspira v 1990 godu. On stal, takim obrazom, pyatym
russkim perevodchikom, predstavivshim chitatelyu polnost'yu etot znamenityj cikl
- posle N. Gerbelya (1880), M. CHajkovskogo (1914), S. Marshaka (1948) i A.
Finkelya (1977).
Podviglo ego na eto vyskazyvanie Andreya Zorina v 1984 godu, kotoryj,
analiziruya sushchestvuyushchie perevody _Sonetov_, zametil, chto hotya "Marshak
prevratil ih v vydayushcheesya yavlenie otechestvennoj kul'tury... segodnya vse
ostree chuvstvuetsya potrebnost' v perevode, kotoryj pereselyal by ne SHekspira
k nam, a nas k SHekspiru".
Poznakomivshij russkogo chitatelya s zolotymi stranicami anglijskoj i
amerikanskoj literatury - Dzhon Donn, Dzhordzh Gordon Bajron, Persi Bishi SHelli,
Dzhon Kits, Oskar Uajl'd, Genri Longfello, Robert Frost - Igor' Fradkin
predstavlyaet sonety SHekspira v novoj redakcii, kotoraya sushchestvenno
otlichaetsya ot predydushchego izdaniya 1990 goda.
Tonkoe oshchushchenie poeticheskogo teksta, ego mnogoobraznyh intonacij,
uvazhitel'noe otnoshenie ne tol'ko k duhu, no i k bukve podlinnika, umenie
operet'sya na opyt predshestvennikov, uchest' ih oshibki i dostizheniya i vmeste s
tem sohranit' svoj sobstvennyj perevodcheskij pocherk - vse eto pozvolilo
Igoryu Fradkinu predlozhit' novuyu poeticheski ubeditel'nuyu interpretaciyu
_Sonetov_ SHekspira, otkryvayushchuyu v nih novye grani i izmereniya.
Ot izdatel'stva
To the onlie begetter of
these insuling sonnets
Mr. W.H. all happinesse
and that eternitie promised by
our ever-living poet
wisheth
the well-wishing
adventurer in
setting
forth.
T.T.*
* Thomas Torp
Tomu edinstvennomu, komu obyazany
eti sonety svoim poyavleniem:
Misteru W. N. vsyakogo schast'ya
i vechnoj zhizni,
obeshchannoj
emu
nashim bessmertnym poetom,
zhelaet dobrozhelatel',
risknuvshij vypustit' ih
v svet.
T.T.*
* Tomas Torp
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel,
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
Ot divnogo zhdem divnyh vshodov my,
Ved' roza krasoty v chas neizbezhnyj
Pogibnet, i spasti ot vechnoj t'my
Ee sposoben tol'ko otprysk nezhnyj.
No, s yasnym svoim likom obruchen,
Svoim bogatstvom ty prenebregaesh'
I na piru, na golod obrechen,
Ot sobstvennogo plameni sgoraesh'.
Vesny prekrasnyj vestnik! - ot ognya
Ty skryagoj gibnesh': slovno by vo zlobe
Svet krasoty lishaesh', horonya
Zarodysh divnyj v sobstvennoj utrobe.
Mir otoshchaet - mshchen'ya chas pridet:
Pozhret v mogile Mir tebya i plod.
When forty winters, shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use.
If thou couldst answer "This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse",
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
Primchatsya Zimy, v plen voz'mut chelo,
Na tele - pole brani - rvov naroyut,
Bylogo ne ostavyat nichego,
Sorvut odezhdy i rvan'em prikroyut;
Tvoej krasy prob'et poslednij chas,
I gde togda iskat' ee primety?
V bezdonnoj glubine zapavshih glaz?
Tebe obzhora-styd otmstit za eto!
O, esli b ssudu - krasotu - ty mog
Prirode vozvratit', skazav prostoe:
"Da vot moj syn! CHto zh - podvodi itog:
YA ne rastratil vremya zolotoe!"
Tvoj syn nachnet pylat' tvoim ognem,
Krov' starcheskuyu ty sogreesh' v nem.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
Glyan' v Zerkalo - pora svoi cherty
Potomstvu peredat': mir obednyaesh'
I zhenskij rod obmanyvaesh' ty -
Blazhenstva materinskogo lishaesh'.
Gde est' nevspahannoe chrevo, chtob
Iskusnyj plug prinyat' ne zahotelo?
Lish' samogo sebya lyubya, ty v grob
Bezdetnym lyazhesh' - razve eto delo?!
Znaj, starost' vidit v synov'yah svoih
Umchavshijsya Aprel' v odezhde novoj,
Ved' nashi deti slovno okna - v nih
Mel'kaet Leto v dni Zimy surovoj.
No ty ne hochesh' svoj prodolzhit' rod:
S toboyu obraz tvoj navek ujdet.
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
Zachem tranzhirish' ty, prelestnyj mot,
To, chto Priroda detyam zaveshchala?!
Ona shchedra k tebe, no platy zhdet,
Kak rostovshchik, berya procent nemalyj.
A ty, ocharovatel'nyj skupec,
Vzyal ssudu i ne hochesh' rasschitat'sya,
Ty slovno nezadachlivyj kupec,
Kotoromu s tovarom ne rasstat'sya.
Kommerciyu vedya s samim soboj,
Ty rezhesh' glavnuyu stat'yu dohoda;
Kak rasschitaesh'sya, bankrot skupoj,
Kogda tebe pred®yavit schet Priroda?
Krasa, ne pushchennaya v oborot,
Ne dast procentov i - v grobu sgniet.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft.
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was:
But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.
SHCHedry minuty, yasnyj lik rozhdaya;
Uvy, potoki etih zhe minut
Bezzhalostny - prekrasnoe smetaya,
Lik bezobrazyat, smert' krase nesut.
Neutomimo Vremya - vypivaet
U rozy sok, kogda ona v cvetu;
Zima kovarno Leto obnimaet,
Zanosit mertvym snegom Krasotu.
Kogda b ne aromat vesennej rozy
(V sosude zapert uznikom nastoj),
Sgubili by vse luchshee morozy,
Mir razluchiv naveki s Krasotoj.
No zhiv, kogda zimoyu bleknet sad,
Iz rozy izvlechennyj aromat.
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
Ne daj Zime surovoyu rukoyu
Sok svezhij vyzhat' - napolnyaj sosud
I sladost'yu tvoeyu i krasoyu,
Ne to oni besslavno propadut.
Ssuzhayut nam krasu ne bezvozvratno:
Dayut vzajmy, procent ogovoriv,
I ty prodolzhish' zhizn' desyatikratno,
V synah sebya dostojno povtoriv;
Syn kazhdyj povtorit tebya raz desyat',
I desyat' raz umnozhit kazhdyj vnuk -
Tysyachekratno zhit' tebe na svete:
U Smerti dlya tebya ne hvatit ruk.
Odumajsya, krasu gubit' ne smej,
Naslednikami delaya chervej.
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.
Smotrite - Feb prosnulsya na vostoke:
CHelo pylaet, nebosvod gorit,
I rukopleshchet mir emu v vostorge -
Bog svetonosnyj nad zemlej parit.
Vzbirayas' vverh po krucham nebosklona,
On, zrelyj muzh, na yunoshu pohozh,
I lyudi vosklicayut voshishchenno:
"Kak zolotoj naryad ego horosh!"
Kogda zh, podobno starcu, na zakate
On, v kolesnice zavershaya put',
Za mrachnyj gorizont ustalo katit -
Nikto ne hochet na nego vzglyanut'.
Tak stanesh' ty nichem, projdya zenit.
Daj synu zhizn' - on Vremya pobedit!
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one.
Sings this to thee: "thou single wilt prove none."
Ty Muzyka, chto navevaet grust'.
Prekrasnoe ne ssoritsya s prekrasnym,
Zachem ne radost'yu ty polnish' grud',
A grust'yu - ogorcheniem naprasnym?
Tebe obiden zvukov strojnyj lad?
Ediny struny v laskovom upreke,
Oni za to tebya, moj drug, koryat,
CHto ne priemlyut golos odinokij.
Prislushajsya ty k strunam, nakonec:
Odna zvuchit v soglasii s drugoyu,
Tak pesnyu obshchuyu poyut - otec,
Mat' i dite, edinoyu sem'eyu.
Strun mnogo - druzhen stroj, tebe v uprek:
Ty men'she, chem nichto, raz odinok.
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shall hap to die,
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.
Boyas' ostavit' miluyu vdovoj,
CHuraesh'sya uporno ty lyubovi?
No otojdesh' bezdetnym v mir inoj,
Ves' mir zaplachet nad toboj po-vdov'i.
Supruga poteryav, najdet vdova
V lyubimom syne krasotu i silu -
Najdet li mir dostojnye slova
Toj krasote, chto unesesh' v mogilu?!
Bogatstvo razbazarivaya, mot
Vse bez ostatka v mire ostavlyaet,
No rod lyudskoj obkradyvaet tot,
Kto detyam krasotu ne zaveshchaet.
I ty iz teh, kto blizhnih ne lyubya,
ZHivet, namerenno sebya gubya.
For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
0, change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
Kakoj pozor! - Provodish' dni bespechno,
Bespovorotno krasotu gubya.
Lyubov' k tebe u mnogih beskonechna,
No ni k komu lyubvi net u tebya:
ZHivesh', vredit' sebe ne prekrashchaya.
Ty s krasotoj svoej voyuesh' sam,
V razvaliny pozorno prevrashchaya
Samoj Prirodoj vozvedennyj hram.
Peremenis'! I o tebe suzhden'e
I ya peremenyu. Uzhel' vrazhda
K sebe - tebe daruet naslazhden'e?
Dobree stan' k sebe ty navsegda, -
Lyubya menya, svoj rod ne prekrashchaj:
Krasu i yunost' synu peredaj.
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase;
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
Tvoj otprysk, prelest'yu tvoej cvetya,
Tebe napomnit molodye gody:
Krov' yunuyu, chto vlil v svoe ditya,
Priznaesh' ty - takov zakon Prirody.
I v etom - mudrost', sila, krasota,
Vojna - bezum'yu, nemoshchi, raspadu:
Bez etogo zhdala b nas temnota,
Prishel by krah vsemu zemnomu sadu.
Let cherez shest'desyat tot, kto rozhden
Urodom grubym - pust' zhivet v bezbrach'e,
A ty Prirodoj shchedro nagrazhden:
Ne dlya sebya - dlya shchedroj peredachi.
Graver - Priroda, ty - ee pechat',
CHtob ottiski vekam peredavat'.
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
Kogda ya vizhu, slysha boj chasov,
Naryadnyj den' v ob®yat'yah nochi mglistoj,
Fialku bez vesennih lepestkov
I chernyj lokon v kraske serebristoj,
I roshchicu s opavsheyu listvoj
Tam, gde v teni stada gulyali vvolyu,
I snop na drogah s borodoj sedoj
(Ego v poslednij put' vezut po polyu), -
Togda ya strahom za tebya ob®yat:
Tak Krasota tvoya navek umchitsya -
Vsled za voshodom sleduet zakat,
V kostre vremen zhizn' novaya roditsya.
Nad kazhdym Vremya zaneset kosu -
Ostav' potomstvo i spasi krasu.
O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again after yourself s decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know
You had a father: let your son say so.
Ty v etot mir yavilsya ne navechno,
Tebe ne dolgo krasovat'sya v nem.
I pomni - krasota ne beskonechna,
Ona tebe dana sud'boj vnaem.
Potomku peredaj svoj oblik nezhnyj:
Syn dolzhen krasotu arendovat',
CHtob, izbezhav konchiny neizbezhnoj,
Put' zhiznennyj pobedno prodolzhat'.
Odumajsya! Kakoj zhe rastochitel'
Ne zashchitit svoj dom ot zimnih v'yug
I holodom Zimy svoyu obitel'
V ruiny smerti prevratit, moj drug?!
Ty znal otca, i pust' roditsya tot,
Komu otcom ty stanesh' v svoj chered.
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
Svoj vzor ya ne na zvezdy obrashchayu:
Hot' zvezdochet ya, zvezdy ni k chemu,
YA grozy, smuty, golod ne veshchayu
I ne prorochu zasuhu, chumu;
Ne znayu ya, kakoj poduet veter
I vossedat' na trone zhrebij chej.
Odnu ya znayu istinu na svete,
CHto cherpayu ya iz tvoih ochej:
Ty dolzhen obespechit' prodolzhen'e
I Vernosti svoej, i Krasoty,
CHtob vechno zhit' vekam na udivlen'e,
Kogda nash mir navek pokinesh' ty.
A inache, kogda tvoj chas prob'et,
On Krasotu i Vernost' uneset.
When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
Mir - eto scena: sud'by na mgnoven'e
Vyhodyat cheredoyu na pomost,
I - promel'knet prekrasnoe viden'e
Pod strogim okom vsemogushchih zvezd.
My, kak cvety, rastem i uvyadaem
Pod tem zhe nebom i, otzhiv svoe,
Bespovorotno krasotu teryaem,
I pamyat' let ne sohranit ee.
YA eto vizhu: molodoj, prekrasnyj,
Ty na mgnoven'e yunost'yu bogat:
CHtob mrachnoj noch'yu sdelat' den' tvoj yasnyj,
Idut vojnoyu Vremya i Raspad.
Sam Vremeni vojnu ya ob®yavlyu:
YA krov' tvoyu strokoyu obnovlyu.
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
No stih besploden moj. Navernyaka
Est' put' blagoslovennej i vernee,
CHtob Vremeni krovavaya ruka
Ne tronula tebya - tak v boj smelee!
Sejchas ty na vershine krasoty -
Speshi sberech' svoj oblik ot Raspada:
ZHelan'e ot tebya vzrastit' cvety
Est' u lyubogo devstvennogo sada.
Pred etim divom nishch lyuboj portret,
Nichto - moi bespomoshchnye stroki:
Pust' sovershenstv tvoih ne gasnet svet, -
Ego hranit potomok tvoj dalekij.
Ty vossozdaj svoj obraz nakonec:
YAvi iskusstva svoego venec.
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say "This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces".
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
Kak v sovershenstvah ubedit' tvoih
Gryadushchij vek? Odno lish' nebo znaet
O tom, chto moj mertvorozhdennyj stih
Dostoinstv polovinu upuskaet.
Potomok ne pojmet moej stroki
I skazhet, chto ya lgal neuderzhimo,
I nazovet fantaziej stihi,
V kotoryh ya vosslavil heruvima;
Im kazhdaya pravdivaya stroka
S giperboloyu lzhivoyu sravnitsya:
Napomnit pustobreha-starika
Dnej drevnih pozheltevshaya stranica.
Daj synu zhizn' - zatihnut spory eti:
Vdvojne zhit' budesh' - v syne i v sonete.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Mogu l' tebya ravnyat' ya s letnim dnem?
Ty i zhelannej i milej rassveta:
Rvet pochki Maj, vovsyu grohochet grom,
Neprodolzhitel'no, kaprizno Leto:
Segodnya yarko solnyshko gorit,
A zavtra - skryto bezobraznoj tuchej:
Prohodit srok, i vse teryaet vid:
Krasoyu pravit Vremya ili Sluchaj.
No ty, pohitiv prelest' letnih dnej,
Netlenen - vek tvoj budet beskonechen:
Smert' ne voz'met tebya v stranu Tenej,
Ty ne umresh', v stihah uvekovechen,
ZHit' budesh' v nih, svoj prodolzhaya vek,
Dokole zrit i dyshit chelovek.
Devouring Time, blunt them the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen:
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
Prozhorlivoe Vremya! Vozvrashchaj
Zemle ee detej, pechali mnozha,
Klyki u tigra s kornem vyryvaj
I feniksa szhigaj v krovi ego zhe!
Ni radosti, ni gorya ne zhalej,
Menyaj na osen' leto, Vremya, smelo
I - legkonogoe - begi zhivej,
No prestuplen'ya odnogo ne delaj:
Ne zanosi gubitel'nyj rezec,
Poberegi prekrasnoe tvoren'e -
Pust' druga krasota, kak obrazec,
Sverkaet vsem vekam na udivlen'e!
Zrya ne starajsya, Starina: v vekah
Drug budet vechno yun v moih stihah.
A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all "hues" in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
Tebe darovan nezhnyj oblik zhenshchin,
Vladyka i vladychica strastej;
Po-zhenski dobr, ty s lozh'yu ne obvenchan:
Iz slov fal'shivyh ne pletesh' setej;
Tvoj ne fal'shivit vzor: darya blazhenstvo,
Vse zolotit - vostorgom okruzhen,
YAvlyaesh' ty soboyu sovershenstvo
I voshishchaesh' i muzhej i zhen.
Tebya Priroda zhenshchinoj lepila,
No strastno uvleklas': perereshiv,
Nezhenskuyu veshchicu prikrepila
Tebe, menya vozlyublennoj lishiv.
Ty zhen veshchicej toyu ublazhi,
A mne daruj sokrovishcha dushi.
So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse;
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O, let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
Pust' namalevannuyu krasotu
Poety sravnivayut s nebesami
I, voznesya prevyshe, chem mechtu,
Napyshchenno privetstvuyut stihami;
Pust' nazyvayut solncem i lunoj,
Podvodnym carstvom i aprel'skim sadom,
ZHemchuzhinoyu redkoj, nezemnoj
I vsem, chto my zhelaem videt' ryadom, -
YA znayu: ty - ne solnce, ne zvezda,
A sushchestvo obychnoe, zemnoe,
I potomu zhelannoe vsegda,
Kak materi dite ee rodnoe.
YA ne kupec, chto hvalit svoj tovar:
Lyubov' ne otpravlyayu na bazar.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.
Lgut zerkala - mne Vremya ne grozit,
Poka ty polon krasoty i molod,
Kogda zh ono tvoj lik izborozdit,
To i menya ohvatit smertnyj holod.
Ved' serdce v serdce dorogom vsegda,
Moe - v tvoej dushe, moej svyatyne,
I v nem - tvoi cvetushchie goda:
Rovesniki s toboyu my otnyne.
Ty - moemu ne prichini nevzgod,
A ya s tvoim tak budu ostorozhen,
Kak nyan'ka, u kotoroj t'ma zabot,
No neposedlivyj malysh uhozhen.
Moe zamret - ty svoego ne zhdi:
Tvoj dar ostanetsya v moej grudi.
As an imperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
Kak zhalkij licedej, zabyvshij rol',
Ot bespredel'noj robosti drozhashchij,
Kak v yarosti sebya vognavshij v bol'
Bezumec, osleplennyj i propashchij, -
Tak ya robeyu, putaya slova,
Bespomoshchnyj v lyubovnom rituale,
Pod bremenem strastej derzhus' edva
I na ustah - ni gneva, ni pechali.
Pust' vzory govoryat, molchat usta,
I serdce b'etsya s kazhdym migom chashche -
Krasnorechivej eta nemota
I gromoglasnee, chem rot krichashchij!
Lyubvi sposobnost' vysshaya dana -
CHitat' goryashchih vzorov pis'mena.
Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath steel'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
Risuet glaz na serdce obraz tvoj,
A telo sluzhit ramoj: slovno divo,
Portret v moej grudi, kak v masterskoj -
Iskusstvo vozvyshaet perspektiva
Vdvoem s toboj my sozdaem portret:
Moi glaza tebya narisovali,
A skvoz' tvoi - kak v okna l'etsya svet,
I holst visit v grudi, kak v svetlom zale.
V soglasii dve pary glaz zhivut,
Risuya i risunok osveshchaya;
Svet rvetsya v grud'! O kak ego tam zhdut -
Portret sverkaet, solnce voshishchaya.
No vzor moj v serdce dostupa lishen -
Lish' to risuet glaz, chto vidit on.
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumphs bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
Kto pod schastlivoyu zvezdoj rozhden,
Tot rodom, vlast'yu, titulom gorditsya;
Pust' ya fortunoj etogo lishen -
Nezhdannym schast'em schast'e nasladit'sya.
Cvetet pod vzorom princa favorit,
Kak zheltyj nogotok pod solncem yasnym,
No princ nahmurit brovi, i ubit
Napersnik-drug prezreniem opasnym.
Lyubimec Marsa hot' edinyj raz
Ne so shchitom, a na shchite vernetsya,
I tysyachu pobed odin ukaz
Perecherknet, i - slava otvernetsya.
A ya, lyubya, lyubim. Neottorzhim
YA ot Lyubvi i s nej nerazluchim.
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee:
Till then not show my head where thou mayst
prove me.
Moj vlastelin, dan' ot menya primi,
Vassala nemudrenoe poslan'e -
V nem bezyskusnye stihi moi,
Ne stoyashchie tvoego vniman'ya.
Talanta net naryad dlya nih najti
I razodet' v shelka slova nagie, -
Ty, dobraya dusha, ih priyuti,
Im odolzhi ubory dorogie.
Poka moya zvezda ne obratit
Vniman'ya na menya - odarit vzglyadom,
Lohmot'ya slov v shelka vdrug prevratit, -
Togda i vstanu ya s toboyu ryadom.
A nynche o lyubvi ya umolchu:
Nenuzhnyh ispytanij ne hochu.
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.
Speshu v postel', dorogoj iznuren,
CHtob ot skitanij otdohnuli nogi,
No golova gudit - so vseh storon
Odolevayut dumy: ya v doroge, -
Lechu k tebe. Userdnyj piligrim,
Slipayushchihsya vek somknut' ne smeyu
I vizhu mrak, chto i slepomu zrim,
No vzor dushi to vidit, chto leleyu -
Tvoyu zhivuyu ten'. Ona - sapfir:
CHudesnym bleskom mrak preobrazhaet -
Staruha-Noch' ne ustrashaet mir, -
Preobrazivshis', yunost'yu sverkaet.
Pokoj poteryan: telo noet dnem,
A noch' pridet - dusha gorit ognem.
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to cither's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me;
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even,
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer
And night doth nightly make griefs strength seem
stronger.
Kogda zhe schast'e posetit menya?
Ni dnem, ni noch'yu net otdohnoven'ya:
Zabity nochi gorestyami dnya,
A dni - trevogami nochnogo bden'ya.
S davnishnih por vrazhduya, Den' i Noch'
Teper' drug drugu protyanuli ruki:
Tebya uvodit mgla i - zhit' nevmoch',
Tebya privodit den' - prinosit muki.
Dnyu nepriglyadnomu ya l'stil ne raz,
CHto ty ego ukrasil vzorom yasnym,
Bezzvezdnoj Nochi l'stil, chto bleskom glaz
(Kak zvezd!) ty nebo delaesh' prekrasnym.
No s kazhdym dnem sil'nej pechali gnet,
I grust' vse gorshe nochi naprolet.
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Kogda lyud'mi zatravlen i sud'boj,
Mol'boj gluhoe nebo ya smushchayu,
I, gor'ko placha nad samim soboj,
Teh, kto bogat nadezhdoj, ne proshchayu,
Zaviduyu talantam ya odnih,
Kotorye, uvy, k uspehu blizhe,
Stradayu ot mogushchestva drugih, -
Togda sebya pochti chto nenavizhu.
No stanovlyus' v edinyj mig drugim,
Pripomnya kak tebya na schast'e vstretil -
Tak ptashka nad zemlej ugryumyj gimn
Poet u vrat nebesnyh na rassvete.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.
Lyubov'yu nagrazhden, blazhenstva poln:
Ne nuzhen mne i korolevskij tron.
Kogda, poln tajnyh dum, skorblyu v tishi,
Kak na sude dayu bylomu slovo,
I net so mnoyu ryadom ni dushi,
Ischezlo v zhizni mnogo dorogogo, -
Togda pechalyus' o svoih druz'yah,
Ved' Smert' podobna beskonechnoj nochi -
I, slez ne znavshij, ya tonu v slezah:
Poteri pozabyt' dusha ne hochet;
Togda vedu svoim utratam schet,
Za gorem gore vspominayu snova,
Po schetu vnov' plachu kotoryj god,
Stradaya bez svidetelej bylogo.
No stoit vspomnit' druzheskij tvoj vzglyad,
Pechali net: prohodit bol' utrat.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I loved I view in thee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.
V tvoej grudi, moj drug, nashli priyut
Serdca, lyubimye kogda-to mnoyu:
V nej carstvuyut, lyubov'yu vnov' zhivut,
Rasstavshis' s obolochkoyu zemnoyu.
Nemalo prolil ya nadgrobnyh slez,
Kak dan' lyubvi i very nezabvennoj,
I vnov' v tvoej grudi mne dovelos'
Druzej uvidet' v chas blagoslovennyj.
Ty slovno sklep... ne mertvyh, a zhivyh,
Bylyh moih druzej, v tebe ozhivshih;
Nezhdanno voskresil ty dorogih,
Kotoryh ya lyubil, menya lyubivshih.
Vse, chto lyubil, slilos' v tebe odnom,
I ty - vladeesh' mnoyu celikom.
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover.
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
"Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for the style I'll read, his for his love".
O, esli ty zemnoj prodolzhish' put',
A Smert' s zemlej moi smeshaet kosti,
I esli na dosuge kak-nibud'
Moj skromnyj stih k tebe nagryanet v gosti,
To ty, drug moj, togda sravni ego
S tem, chto segodnya sozdayut poety,
Kotorym Vremya darit masterstvo;
YA chuvstvom zhil - ceni menya za eto.
Pust' mysl' v tebe zhivet: "On mog vpolne
Vospet' lyubye dni, lyubye dali,
On ros by s nashim vekom naravne,
No - mertvogo - drugie obognali:
Poety prevzoshli ego iskusstvo,
No v nih bescenno masterstvo, v nem - chuvstvo!"
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun
staineth.
Prekrasen oslepitel'nyj voshod,
Laskaet solnce gory carskim vzorom,
K medovym travam poceluem l'net
I syplet zlato v blednye ozera.
No k merzkim tucham vdrug nebesnyj mag
Blagovolit, vo t'me ih utopaya,
Zemle daruya vmesto sveta mrak,
Na zapad nevidimkoj uplyvaya.
Vot tak zemnoe solnce v divnyj chas
Menya odnazhdy shchedro odarilo,
No mig promchal - zhelannyj vzor ugas:
Sokryli tuchi miloe svetilo.
Zemnoe solnce v tuchah - ne beda:
Nebesnoe nam svetit ne vsegda.
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
Ty bez plashcha otpravil v put' menya,
Mne obeshchaya solnechnye mili,
No tuchi merzkie v razgare dnya
Tebya, sozdan'e divnoe, sokryli.
I esli svetlyj luch mel'knet v prosvet,
Prigrev ishlestannye burej shcheki,
To ni lekarstva, ni bal'zama net
Ot ran nezrimyh - ot obid zhestokih.
Tebya, obidchika, szhigaet styd,
Kotoryj iscelit menya edva li:
Nesushchego tyazhelyj krest obid
Ne trogayut slova pustoj pechali.
No etot milyj liven', zhemchug slez,
Tebe opyat' proshchenie prines.
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorising thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense -
Thy adverse party is thy advocate -
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
I ne pechal'sya o svoih grehah:
Est' il v istochnike, shipy - u rozy,
Priyut nahodyat chervyaki v cvetah,
Na solnce pyatna est', a v nebe - grozy;
Bezgreshnyh net na svete. Vot i ya
Greshu, s tebya snimaya nakazan'e:
Lyubaya legkomyslennost' tvoya
Najdet v moih sravnen'yah opravdan'e.
Tvoi grehi ya tshchus' zatushevat':
Moj razum-prokuror stal advokatom,
CHtoby tebya ni v chem ne obvinyat'.
Lyubov' i nenavist' vrazhdoj ob®yaty,
I ya, istec, obobrannyj toboj, -
Soyuznik tvoj, grabitel' milyj moj.
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which, though it alter not love's sole effept,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Prostimsya nesmotrya na edinen'e
Serdec vlyublennyh, o moj vlastelin:
CHtob svet ne vykazal tebe prezren'e,
Pozora krest ya ponesu odin.
Lyubov' nedaleka ot sovershenstva,
I nam schastlivye chasy dany,
No ne dlya nas lyubovnoe blazhenstvo:
Zloj dolej my, uvy, razdeleny.
K tebe ne podojdu, chtob ne kosnut'sya
Krylom plachevnoj uchasti moej,
I ty ne smej so mnoj pereglyanut'sya:
Pyatna ne smoesh' do skonchan'ya dnej.
Ne nado! Imya dobroe tvoe
Neotdelimo ot menya - moe!
As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!
Kak starcheskaya nemoshch' ispokon
Vzdyhaet, uteshayas' yunoj siloj,
Tak ya, fortunoj zloyu obdelen,
Tvoimi zhiv dostoinstvami, milyj.
Tvoj um, bogatstvo, znatnost', krasota
I mne peredayutsya po krupice:
Ne hil, ne beden ya i hromota
Moya ischezla - net prichin kaznit'sya.
Obogatil menya soyuz dvoih:
Tvoi zaslugi - i moi po pravu,
ZHivet vo mne ta chast' zaslug tvoih,
Kotoraya tebe prinosit slavu.
Vse luchshee, chto v mire est' u nas -
V tebe: schastlivej vseh ya v desyat' raz.
How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.
Issyaknet razve Muza, esli ty
Sebya v stihi vdyhaesh', mne na radost',
Tak laskovo, chto grubye listy
Vobrat' v sebya ne v silah etu sladost'?
Ty slovno luch Poezii zhivoj,
On svetit - ya poyu ot voshishchen'ya, -
Hvali sebya za stih udachnyj moj:
Ty dlya menya istochnik vdohnoven'ya.
O, bud' desyatoj Muzoyu moej,
Sopernichaya s devyat'yu drugimi,
I v desyat' raz bud' ostal'nyh sil'nej,
Stihi skvoz' gody pronesi zhivymi.
I esli im v vekah dan' vozdadut,
To slava vsya tvoya, moj - tol'ko trud.
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deservest alone.
O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here who doth hence remain!
Da kak zhe ya tebe hvalu spoyu,
Kogda v tebe est' i moya chastica?
Da kto zhe slavit predannost' svoyu?
Rashvalivat' sebya - kuda goditsya?
Razluka podskazala vyhod mne:
YA, ot tebya vdali, mogu po pravu,
Pechalyas' o tebe naedine,
Tebya vospet', prekrasnomu vo slavu.
Pust' rasstavan'ya goresti nesut -
Kakie eto sladostnye muki!
Prinosit nam svobodnyj beg minut
Mechty lyubovnye v chasy razluki.
Pust' nas raz®edinyayut dni razluk,
CHtob voshvalyat' mogli drug druga, drug.
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receives,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty,
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
Hot' vseh lyubimyh ot menya otbej,
Tebe ot etogo ne stat' bogache,
Ved' vse moe i tak tvoe: vernej
Lyubvi ne vstretish' - redkaya udacha!
Moj milyj vor, ne stavlyu ya v vinu,
CHto mnoj lyubimoe ty pohishchaesh':
Nepostoyanstvo ya tvoe klyanu -
Ty otvergaemoe ranee vkushaesh'!
Vrazhdu vraga bystrej perezhivesh',
Ot druga sadnit zlo vsego bol'nee.
Odnako, ya proshchayu tvoj grabezh:
CHto zh - delaj bednyaka eshche bednee!
Krasoyu krasish' ty porok lyuboj.
Kazni kovarstvom - ne kazni vrazhdoj!
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed?
Ay me! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth,
Hers, by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
Bespechen ty, i stoit otluchit'sya
Poroj iz serdca tvoego - beda:
V dver' yunosti opyat' porok stuchitsya -
Krasu soblazn presleduet vsegda.
Ty mil - i za tebya gotovy drat'sya,
Krasiv - i poklonen'em okruzhen;
Kak synu zhenshchiny soprotivlyat'sya
Atakam yarostnym vlyublennyh zhen!?
Ty mog by uderzhat'sya ot razgula,
No privlekatel'ny tvoi cherty:
Moya podruga na tebya vzglyanula
I ot menya ushla, a s neyu - ty.
Vy srazu dvoe izmenili mne:
Tvoej krasoj nakazan ya vdvojne.
That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:
But here's the joy; my friend and I are one;
Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.
Teper' ona tvoya. Ne v tom kruchina,
CHto ty uvel podrugu ot menya:
Ushel s nej ty - vot glavnaya prichina.
ZHit' bez tebya ya ne mogu ni dnya.
Prelestnye predateli, vse yasno:
Uvleksya toj zhe ty, chto mne mila,
A ta, kotoraya mnoj pravit vlastno,
Tebya, sokrovishche moe, vzyala.
Moj drug ushel - Lyubov' nashla supruga,
YA poteryal, a drug sumel najti;
Utratil vse ya, vy - nashli drug druga
I radi vas mne tyazhkij krest nesti.
No l'shchus' - ved' eyu tol'ko ya lyubim:
Toboj plenilas', dvojnikom moim.
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee.
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stayl
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show the
Dnem nikogo ne primechayu vzglyadom -
Nichtozhno vse. Vo sne moj vzor ostrej,
Ved' ten' tvoya, svet izluchaya, ryadom:
Iz t'my vyhvatyvaet sonm tenej.
Viden'e svetonosnoe, sverkaya,
Vysvechivaet chernotu nochi,
Ot sveta zhmuryus' ya, glaza smykaya,
Tak oslepitel'ny tvoi luchi!
V gluhoj nochi svetleet mrak postylyj, -
Siyan'e darit blagostnaya ten';
Tak kak zhe zasverkaet obraz milyj
Ne noch'yu mrachnoyu, a v svetlyj den'!
Den' bez tebya ob®yat nochnoyu mgloj,
A noch' svetla: ty vnov' vo sne so mnoj.
If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way,
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But, ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of cither's woe.
Kogda by mysl'yu plot' moya byla,
To ne zhelal by ya inoj nagrady
I za toboyu nessya, kak strela,
CHto preodolevaet vse pregrady.
CHerez morya i gory bez truda
YA mchal by, preziraya rasstoyan'ya,
No plot' - ne mysl': vo mne zemlya, voda -
Ne suzhdeno zhelannoe svidan'e.
I mysl' gnetet menya, chto ya ne mysl',
CHto sozdan elementami ne temi,
K tebe mne ne domchat'sya vdal' i vvys':
Pokorno dolzhen upovat' na Vremya.
Stihii nizshie "voda", "zemlya" -
YArmo tyazheloe: l'yu slezy ya.
The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composition be recurred
By those swift messengers return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again and straight grow sad.
No vot stihii legkie - skol'zya,
Lyuboe odoleyut rasstoyan'e:
Ogon' i vozduh, vernye druz'ya, -
To mysl' moya i vechnoe zhelan'e.
Letyat k tebe pokornye posly,
Opustoshiv menya napolovinu;
Teper' ya lish' voda i gorst' zemli:
YA pogruzhayus' v smertnuyu puchinu
Do toj pory, poka ne prinesli
Mne vestochku zhelannuyu pro druga
Moi druz'ya - krylatye posly -
CHto ty zdorov i schastliv v chas dosuga.
No raduyus' nedolgo - mig promchit,
Vnov' shlyu poslov ya, gorech'yu ubit.
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, -
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes -
But the defendant doth that plea deny
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impanelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part:
As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part,
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other.
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part;
So, either by the picture or my love,
Thyself away art present still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them and they with thee;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.
Vedut glaza i serdce smertnyj boj,
Tebya ne podelit' im - klad prekrasnyj:
Glaz vozhdeleet obladat' toboj,
A serdce, sporya, s etim ne soglasno.
Ono tverdit, chto glazu ty nezrim,
Grud' dlya tebya - nadezhnaya temnica,
No glaz-otvetchik v spor vstupaet s nim:
"Net! Drug vsegda najdet v glazah svetlicu!"
Otvetchika zaslushav i istca,
Sud myslej, chto dushe obyazan rven'em,
Dovel dostojno delo do konca
I konchil etu ssoru primiren'em.
Vladeet serdce serdcem s etih por,
A glaz vladeet tem, chto vidit vzor.
Soyuz u glaza s serdcem nerushim,
Vsegda odin gotov pomoch' drugomu -
I glaz lyubovnym golodom tomim,
I serdce rvetsya k serdcu dorogomu:
To serdce potchuet svoej mechtoj
Golodnyj glaz, za stol ego sazhaya,
To glaz v otvet risuet obraz tvoj,
Im strazhdushchee serdce uteshaya.
Mel'kayut to kartiny, to mechty,
Pust' net tebya - v mgnovenie lyuboe
So mnoyu ryadom neizmenno ty, -
YA dnem i noch'yu myslenno s toboyu.
Risuet vzor tvoj lik i v pozdnij chas:
Ne spyat, likuya, dumy, serdce, glaz.
How careful was I, when I took my way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
Uvy, opyat' mne predstoit doroga.
YA nenadezhnej podobral zamok,
Pereschital svoi pozhitki strogo,
CHtob ni odin pustyak propast' ne smog.
A ty, moe i gore, i uslada,
V sravnen'e s kem vse cennosti pustyak,
Ne spryatan mnoyu i dostanet vzglyada
Tomu, kto krasotu stashchit' mastak.
Tebya nel'zya zamknut' v sunduk dorozhnyj,
Tvoe zhilishche - u menya v grudi,
Priyut vsegda otkrytyj, nenadezhnyj:
V lyuboe vremya uhodi-vhodi.
I ya boyus' vorovki kazhdyj mig:
Pasuet CHestnost', esli kush velik.
Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
CalPd to that audit by advised respects;
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity, -
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since why to love I can allege no cause.
Nastupit srok - tomu pridet chered, -
I ty osudish' vse moi iz®yany
I mne, moya Lyubov', pred®yavish' schet,
Ot proshlogo otkreshchivayas' r'yano.
Nastupit srok, kogda glaza tvoi,
Siyayushchih dva solnca, ravnodushno
Skol'znut po mne, zabyv chasy lyubvi,
Dvizheniyu tvoej dushi poslushny.
Nastupit srok - sebya vooruzhu
Soznaniem, chto ya nichto; schitaya
Tvoyu vinu svoej, ya dokazhu,
CHto prav ty - klyatvenno v tom prisyagaya.
Ty vprave, drug, menya lishit' vsego:
YA izmenit' ne vprave nichego.
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
His rider loved 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.
Toska gryzet menya - schitayu mili.
Kogda zh konec neschast'ya moego?
Razluka shepchet: "Daleko tvoj milyj,
Ty s kazhdoj milej dal'she ot nego!"
Dom pozadi - ustalyj kon' ponuro
Neset menya i gruz bedy moej,
Bednyaga slovno chuvstvuet skvoz' shkuru,
CHto s kazhdym shagom ya skorblyu sil'nej.
Kogda konyu ya shpory v bok vonzayu,
On tyazhko rzhet. O, etot ston konya!
Kuda ot boli det'sya, ya ne znayu:
Pronzaet bol' ostree shpor menya!
Uehal ya ot schast'ya: noet grud'.
A vperedi - k neschast'yu vernyj put'.
Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfect'st love being made,
Shall neigh - no dull flesh - in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade;
Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.
Da razve na medlitel'nost' konya
YA mog dosadovat' v chasy izgnan'ya,
Kogda, ne toropyas', on vez menya
Ot schast'ya, ot lyubimogo sozdan'ya?
Teper' speshu nazad, no medlit kon',
Znat' dolog put', hotya nedolgi sbory:
Kogda b on dazhe vzvilsya, kak ogon',
I to ya v bok emu vonzil by shpory.
Da gde zhe vzyat' stremitel'nyh konej,
Takih zhe, kak zhelan'e, bystronogih?!
Tak mozhet mchat' ogon' k Lyubvi moej,
Mchat', obgonyaya mnogoe i mnogih.
K tebe stremyas', ya postuplyu inache:
Sam ponesus' ya, brosiv etu klyachu.
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lacked, to hope.
V rukah blagoslovennyj klyuch derzha,
Bogach ne stanet k zlatu toropit'sya.
Tak ya, svoej lyubov'yu dorozha,
Ne pozvolyayu chuvstvu pritupit'sya;
Ne chasty prazdniki, i kazhdyj raz
Moya dusha vozlikovat' gotova,
Tak v ozherel'e redkostnyj almaz -
Prichina voshishcheniya lyudskogo.
Skupoe vremya pryachet vse v sunduk,
Razlukoj on zovetsya - lyudi rady
Laskat' ego prikosnoven'em ruk.
O, kak velikolepny v nem naryady!
Nadezhdoj vstrech ya v dni razluk bogat,
A v mig svidan'ya - radost'yu ob®yat!
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all eternal grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
Stihiej ty kakoyu porozhden,
CHto stol'ko oblikov yavlyaesh' miru?
Dan kazhdomu odin, no million
Tebe darovan, moemu kumiru.
Vostorgi vseh vekov v tebe slilis',
I krasota tvoya stol' sovershenna,
CHto pred toboj bledneet Adonis
I tvoj dvojnik - Prekrasnaya Elena.
Vesna - lish' ten' tvoya, i yarkih dnej
Vselennoj bez tebya by ne hvatalo,
A Osen' - simvol shchedrosti tvoej:
Ty i Vesny, i Oseni nachalo.
Vsemu ty darish' krasotu i svet,
I v mire postoyannej serdca net.
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer it we deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.
Krasivoe - krasivej vo sto raz,
Kogda krasu venchaet blagorodstvo.
Tak roza voshitit ne tol'ko glaz:
Est' v nezhnom aromate prevoshodstvo.
SHipovnik s aromatnoj rozoj shozh,
Kogda buton raskryt dyhan'em leta:
Kolyuchki - te zhe, tak zhe on horosh,
Poroj takogo zhe, kak roza, cveta.
No on krasiv i - tol'ko: pustotu
Krasavec posle smerti ostavlyaet,
A roza, umiraya, krasotu
V nezhnejshie duhi perelivaet.
I ty, kak roza: uslazhdaya sluh,
V stih perel'etsya blagostnyj tvoj duh.
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgement that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
I mramor, i nadgrobiya carej
Zatyanet Vremya setkoyu pauch'ej,
No ne zalepit gryaz' gryadushchih dnej
Netlennyj pamyatnik - sonet moguchij.
Smetet tvoren'ya zodchih veter smut,
I vojny ne ostavyat izvayanij,
No ni ogon', ni Mars ne predadut
Zemle stihi - v nih vechen zhar priznanij!
Proslavlennyj, ty budesh' zhit' vsegda:
Nazlo smertyam, preodolev zabven'e,
SHagnesh' v veka! Do Strashnogo suda
Toboj divit'sya budut pokolen'ya.
Serdca potomkov - tvoj dostojnyj dom,
Poka ty ne predstal pred tem sudom.
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Else call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd,
more rare.
O duh lyubvi, vospryan'! Pust' appetit,
Ne prituplyayas', vnov' ko mne vernetsya:
Ved' kak by ni byl ya segodnya syt,
Vovsyu nazavtra golod razov'etsya.
Bud' ty takim zhe! Nynche pust' tvoi
Glaza slipayutsya ot presyshchen'ya,
No zavtra zapylaj, moj duh lyubvi,
Tupoe odolej ocepenen'e!
Podobnyj zhar dvum obruchennym dan:
CHrez okean drug drugu tyanut ruki -
Ih razluchil pritihshij okean,
Veshchaya vstrechu i konec razluki.
Razluka slovno stuzha, chto zimoj
Gotovitsya ustroit' letnij znoj.
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
Tvoj rab, uzheli ya ne pospeshu
Ispolnit' kazhdoe tvoe zhelan'e?
YA verno prihotyam tvoim sluzhu
I celyj den' vo vlasti ozhidan'ya.
Ty, vlastelin, so mnoj, slugoyu, krut:
Zvuchit "proshchaj", i vot opyat' razluka!
No ne klyanu tomitel'nyh minut,
Puskaj nevynosima eta muka!
Ne smeyu dat' revnivym myslyam hod:
YA - bednyj rab i nichego ne stoyu,
YA tol'ko dumayu: "Kak schastliv tot,
Kto nerazluchen v etot mig s toboyu!"
Lyubov' bezumna i ne rvet okov:
V tebe ne vidit nikakih grehov.
That god forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.
Po vole Boga ya - tvoj rab. I vot
Ego molyu ya, chtob tvoim usladam
Ne mog vesti ya dazhe v myslyah schet:
YA - tvoj vassal: ya povinuyus' vzglyadam
I prikazanij zhdu, kak plennik tvoj:
Tvoya svoboda - vot moi okovy;
Smirenno ya primu uprek lyuboj,
Stradat' privyk i ne skazhu ni slova.
Predela net, uvy, tvoim pravam,
Tebe v pochet lyuboe pregreshen'e:
Za vse grehi sebya kaznish' ty sam
I sam sebe daruesh' otpushchen'e.
Ne mne schitat' chasy tvoih uslad:
YA dolzhen zhdat', hot' ozhidan'e - ad.
If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burthen of a former child!
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whether we are mended, or whether better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
V podlunnom mire nichego ne novo,
Izvechno sushchee, no vse ravno
V sebe vynashivaet kazhdyj snova
To, chto umami rozhdeno davno.
Kogda b moj razum mog svyatoyu siloj
Vspyat' solnce obratit' na pyat' vekov,
I v starom foliante obraz milyj
YA mog najti v potoke drevnih slov -
Uznal by ya, kak krasotu vosslavil
Vo vremena dalekie narod:
My - luchshe? Huzhe? Prezhnimi ostavil
Nas vechnyj put' - vekov krugovorot?
No ne zhil ty, i genii zemli
Ne stol' dostojnyh proslavlyat' mogli.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Odna volna smenyaetsya drugoyu,
Na bereg bespreryvno gromozdyas';
Minuty drug za drugom cheredoyu
Begut vpered, k pogibeli stremyas'.
Tak vybroshen mladenec v more sveta,
Vpered, vpered - on k zrelosti polzet,
No Vremya dar nazad beret, i Leta
Zloveshchie zatmeniya neset.
Cvet svezhij Vremya mnet i gubit lyuto,
CHelo krasy kak plugom borozdit
I zhret lyubuyu redkost' - Vremya kruto,
Ego kosy nikto ne izbezhit.
No lyutuyu kosu sderzhav, sonet
Tvoj obraz sohranit na sotni let.
Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenour of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.
Il' ty nisposylaesh' utomlen'e -
Glaz ne mogu somknut' poroj nochnoj?
Il' eto teni, vestniki muchen'ya,
S toboj druzhny, smeyutsya nado mnoj?
Il' eto duh tvoj, poslannyj toboyu,
CHtob revnostno vsegda za mnoj sledit' -
Zametiv pregreshenie lyuboe,
V nevernosti menya izoblichit'?
O net, menya ne lyubish' ty nastol'ko,
CHtob moj pokoj narushit' v pozdnij chas, -
To ya lyublyu! I do togo mne gor'ko,
CHto vnov' ya, strazh tvoj, ne smykayu glaz:
Lyubov' stoit na strazhe v tishine,
Poka k drugim ty blizhe, chem ko mne.
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account,
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Samovlyublennost' mnoyu zavladela -
Porok, pronikshij vglub', neiscelim:
On zahvatil i razum moj, i telo,
I net lekarstva spravit'sya mne s nim.
Vse mnitsya: krasotoyu ya otmechen,
I predan istine ya vsej dushoj,
I vsemi sovershenstvami uvenchan,
I net prichin v razlade byt' s soboj.
No v zerkalo vzglyanu potuhshim vzorom -
Moe lico izrezali goda,
I govorit mne zerkalo s ukorom:
"Samovlyublennost' - vot tvoya beda!"
Net, ya v sebe tvoyu krasu poyu,
CHto starost' vdrug ukrasila moyu.
Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.
Nastanet den', kogda moyu Lyubov'
ZHestokoj dlan'yu Vremya zlo razdavit,
CHasy za kaplej kaplyu vyp'yut krov'
I navedut morshchiny - Vremya pravit.
I utro yunoe, svershaya put',
Zakatom-starikom pridet k loshchine,
CHtob v mrachnoj bezdne nochi utonut'.
I vot k vojne gotovlyus' ya otnyne -
Kak Vremya pobedit'? - ne poterplyu,
CHtob Vremeni kosa krasu sgubila:
Pust' yunyj drug, kotorogo lyublyu,
V lyudskih serdcah zhivet, sojdya v mogilu.
Krasu spaset, ispolnya moj zarok,
Svet neizbyvnyj etih chernyh strok.
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
YA vizhu: Vremya ne tait svirepost',
Stoletij gordost' prevrashchaet v prah
I rushit ispodvol' lyubuyu krepost',
I dazhe med' - u Vremeni v rukah.
YA vizhu, okean prozhorliv: katit
Na carstvo sushi sonm vzbeshennyh vod,
To okean, to susha podat' platyat,
I chereduyutsya dohod-rashod.
YA vizhu pyshnyh korolevstv krushen'e
I novyh gosudarstv vnezapnyj vzlet,
ZHivet vse v mire lish' odno mgnoven'e, -
Vot-vot i Vremya druga zaberet.
Kak schast'e hrupko - zhizn' polna ugroz:
Nemozhno uderzhat' nevol'nyh slez.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power.
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Uzh esli Smerti yarostnoj podvlastny
Granit i bronza, susha i morya,
To tak zhe hrupok obraz tvoj prekrasnyj:
Nezhnee rozy krasota tvoya.
O kto Vesny medovoe dyhan'e
Ot neizbezhnoj gibeli spaset?!
Sberech' ot Vremeni ne v sostoyan'e
Ni kreposti i ni metall vorot,
I mysl' gnetet - ot Vremeni gde skryt'sya:
CHut' perl ono rodit - speshit sgubit'.
CH'ya dlan' derznet ostanovit' ubijcu,
Krasu spasti - vspyat' Vremya obratit'?
O net, nich'ya! No chudo ya svershil:
Krasa sverkaet v chernote chernil.
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.
Smert' prizyvayu ya - nevmogotu
Mne videt' torzhestvo nepravoj sily,
Dostoinstvo, chto vvergli v nishchetu,
I Veru, chto obmanom podkosili,
I razodetuyu do bleska Mraz',
I Glupost', pouchayushchuyu Znan'e,
I Neporochnost', vtoptannuyu v gryaz',
I Muzu v lapah palacha-Molchan'ya,
I Blagost', stavshuyu sluzhankoj Zla,
I CHestnost', chto proslyla prostotoyu,
I Nemoshch', chto nad Moshch'yu vlast' vzyala,
I Zlo, vzleleyannoe Dobrotoyu -
Smert' prizyvaya, umeret' ne smeyu:
Lyubov' sgublyu konchinoyu svoeyu.
Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve
And lace itself with his society?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek
And steal dead seeing of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains.
O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had
In days long since, before these last so bad.
Zachem soboj mir gryaznyj ukrashaya,
Okazyvaet on beschest'yu chest',
Porochnost' milostivo priglashaya
S Dobrom i Krasotoyu ryadom sest'?
Zachem fal'sh' pribegaet k lozhnoj kraske,
Rumyanec pohishchaya s yunyh shchek?
Zachem potrebny bednym rozam maski?
Zachem ego krasu berut na srok?
Zatem, chto obankrotilas' Priroda -
Ne ta segodnya, chto byla vchera:
Kazna pusta, bylogo net dohoda
I zhit' dolzhna za schet ego dobra.
Hranit Priroda prezhnej moshchi sled,
Kotoroj u nee segodnya net.
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
Ego lico - kak ottisk dnej bylyh.
V te dni krasa cvela i uvyadala,
I ne bylo ulovok nikakih,
Kogda svoej krasy nedostavalo.
V te dni roskoshnyh zolotyh kudrej
Blagogovejno s mertvyh ne srezali,
CHtob imi zavlekat' serdca lyudej -
CHuzhoj krasy vovek ne zanimali
V svyashchennye antichnye goda.
I on iz teh vremen - vesnoj chuzhoyu
Sebya ne ukrashaet nikogda
I proshloe ne predaet razboyu.
Priroda etot ottisk sberegla,
CHtob videli, kakoj krasa byla.
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes
were kind,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.
Vse, chto v tebe uvidet' mozhet glaz,
Prekrasno i ne prosit ispravlen'ya -
Edinodushen v etom obshchij glas,
Vragi sderzhat' ne mogut voshishchen'ya:
Ocharovatel'na tvoya krasa!
No pohvala smenyaetsya huloyu,
Zvuchat inache te zhe golosa
Teh, kto poznaetsya s tvoej dushoyu:
Besslavnost' del tvoih i sladost' slov,
Uvy, smushchayut dazhe dobrohotstvo -
Zlovonie gniyushchih sornyakov
Lyuboj cvetok lishaet blagorodstva.
Kogda v sadu gulyayut vse podryad,
Sovsem ne tot uzhe v nem aromat.
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days.
Either not assail'd or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy evermore enlarged:
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.
Tebya porochat bez tvoej viny
I ot navetov nikuda ne skryt'sya,
Ved' vorony poklepa rozhdeny,
CHtob v yasnom nebe krasoty kruzhit'sya.
K butonam nezhnym strast' chervej sil'na,
Soblazn tem bol'she, chem prekrasnej chudo:
Ty bez iz®yanov, kak sama Vesna -
Navetchikov lyubimejshee blyudo.
Blagopoluchno projdeny toboj
Kapkany yunosti, i Leto priletelo;
Da, ty vyigryval za boem boj,
No net rastushchej zavisti predela:
Kogda b krasu izvet ne ochernyal,
To v carstve vseh serdec ty b pravil bal.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.
Ukradkoyu vsplakni - sebya ne muchaj,
Uslysha v zvone gorestnom cerkvej,
CHto mir hudoj ya promenyal na hudshij
I ot lyudej ushel - kormit' chervej.
Uvidev eti stroki nenarokom,
Naprasno, drug, sebya ne ogorchaj:
Tebya, lyubimogo, kaznit' uprekom
YA ne zhelayu dazhe nevznachaj.
Kogda moj prah smeshaetsya s zemleyu,
I etot skorbnyj stih tebya najdet -
Ne vspominaj menya, togo ne stoyu:
Puskaj tvoya lyubov' so mnoj umret.
Svoyu pechal' ne vydavaj slezoj,
CHtob mir ne stal glumit'sya nad toboj.
O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
CHtob mir voprosami ne donimal,
Za chto pri zhizni ty menya primetil,
Zabud' menya - ne stoyu ya pohval:
Zabud', kak budto ne zhil ya na svete.
K chemu dobroporyadochnaya Lozh',
Kogda skupaya Pravda hodit ryadom?
Nichem ya ne byl dlya tebya horosh:
Umru - i vspominat' menya ne nado;
I ne pripisyvaj ty mne zaslug,
Dan' otdavaya druzhbe nashej nezhnoj,
Zaroj so mnoyu moe imya, drug:
Neset mne i tebe styd neizbezhnyj.
Moj styd - moi nichtozhnye tvoren'ya,
Tvoj styd - ko mne, nichtozhnomu, vlechen'e.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more
strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Vo mne ty vidish' sumerechnost' goda:
List pozheltel, dal' holoda polna,
Razrushen hram, umchalis' zvony svoda,
Napevy ptic smenila tishina.
Vo mne ty vidish' solnce na zakate,
Na zapade emu pora usnut',
I noch', veshchaya smert', svoi pechati
Kladet ustalym nebesam na grud'.
Vo mne ty vidish' zhizni pepelishche,
Ot yunosti ostalas' lish' zola,
I zhizn' na smertnom lozhe - stala pishchej:
Kormya ogon', im sozhzhena dotla.
Tebe vse yasno i v tvoej krovi
Vse plamennej proshchal'nyj zhar lyubvi.
But be contented; when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee:
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
No znaj: puskaj ni vykup, ni zalog
Menya iz rokovogo zatochen'ya
Ne vyzvolyat - netlennost' etih strok
Pomozhet mne preodolet' zabven'e.
Moj prah - zemle, ona svoe voz'met,
Netronutym ostaviv ostal'noe;
Moj duh - tebe, na vse veka vpered,
CHtob ty vsegda besedoval so mnoyu.
Tebe - vse luchshee, chto est' vo mne,
CHervyam - moe bespomoshchnoe telo,
Kotoroe odnazhdy v tishine
Pronzit klinok razbojnyj ozverelo.
Ne telo, a dusha - bescennyj klad:
Ona v stihah, chto dlya tebya zvuchat.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
Ty dlya menya kak hleb dlya bednyaka,
Kak zhivotvornyj liven' dlya pustyni,
A ya kak tot skupec u sunduka -
Net dragocennej dlya nego svyatyni,
Kogda on vorozhit nad sundukom:
To zolotom v otkrytuyu gorditsya,
To kladom naslazhdaetsya tajkom,
To spryachet - pohititelya boitsya.
Tak ya - to ob®edayus' za troih,
To golodayu, zhdu podachki-vzglyada;
YA schast'e poluchil iz ruk tvoih,
I nichego inogo mne ne nado:
Ty ryadom - ya v tri gorla em i em,
A ty vdali - edy lishen sovsem.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
Moj stih ot bleska vneshnego dalek,
Ne priznaet bystrotekushchej mody.
Zachem churayus' novomodnyh strok,
Izvestnye vyrashchivaya vshody?
Zachem vse toj zhe pol'zuyus' igloj,
V kostyum obychnyj stih svoj naryazhaya,
Kogda vse ponimayut, kto portnoj,
Po vykrojke znakomoj priznavaya?
Zatem, chto v serdce tot zhe vechnyj zov,
Zatem, chto videt' radostno naryady
Iz nepridumannyh, zhitejskih slov,
CHto bez zatej moj stih ukrasit' rady.
Rozhdennoe moej lyubov'yu slovo
Podobno solncu - i staro i novo.
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory can not contain
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.
CHasy pokazhut bystrotu minuty,
A zerkalo - utratu krasoty:
Pust' myslej sokrovennye marshruty
Zapolnyat eti chistye listy.
Lenivo v vechnost' ten'yu vorovskoyu
Kradetsya strelka - v zerkalo smotret'
Bez grusti nevozmozhno i s toskoyu
Glyadim na podstupayushchuyu Smert'.
Pust' mysli - vskormlennye mozgom deti -
Najdut v zavetnom dnevnike priyut:
V nem "ya" tvoe rodnye chada eti
Nadolgo dlya tebya zhe sberegut.
Kogda v dnevnik poroj ty brosish' vzglyad,
Pered toboj sverknet bescennyj klad.
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly
Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine and born of thee:
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
But thou art all my art and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.
Ty Muzoj, vdohnoven'em byl moim,
Volshebnoj siloj napolnyaya stroki,
I kazhdyj, kto poeziej tomim,
Provorno perenyal moi uroki.
Tebya uzrev, nemoj zagovoril,
Lishennyj kryl'ev, poletel, - kak ptica,
A kto letal, tot vyshe vosparil,
Stal graciej stiha vdvojne gordit'sya.
No ty, proshu, gordis' moim stihom:
Ty darish' tol'ko blesk chuzhim tvoren'yam,
V moih zhe - sam zhivesh' ves' celikom:
Obyazany tebe svoim rozhden'em.
V stih vzyav tebya - poeziyu, moshch', svet -
Nevezhda v proshlom, nyne ya - poet.
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.
Kogda-to ya odin k tebe vzyval,
I stih ocharovan'e otlichalo:
Ty byl stihu nachalom vseh nachal,
A nyne Muza nemoshchnoyu stala.
Slagaya pesni v chest' tebya, drug moj,
YA znayu, luchshih pesen ty dostoin,
Teper' tebya poet poet drugoj,
No vse tvoe berya - tvoj dar nastroen
Tebe zhe vozvratit': i strojnost' strok,
I moshch' stiha, i yarkie sravnen'ya,
I kraski dlya metafor s alyh shchek -
CHtob vse darit' tebe zhe bez smushchen'ya.
Dolg syuzerenu otdaet vassal,
I nedostoin vovse on pohval.
O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame!
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride:
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this; my love was my decay.
Pet' o tebe ne smeyu - ya podavlen:
Kakim poetom ty teper' vospet!
V kakih vozvyshennyh stihah proslavlen!
YA nem pred etoj moshch'yu - sporu net.
Tvoe ocharovan'e slovno more,
Ono bezbrezhno: sred' vysokih voln
Plyvut, s kapriznoyu stihiej sporya,
Fregat moguchij i moj utlyj cheln.
Fregat uverenno nad bezdnoj reet,
Bez vsyakoj pomoshchi letit vpered.
A skromnyj cheln pred volnami robeet
I bez tvoej podderzhki propadaet,
Pechal' gnetet - lyubvi devyatyj val
Menya ubit' sposoben napoval.
Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live-such virtue hath my pen -
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths
of men.
Mne l' nad tvoej mogiloyu skorbet',
Il' ty moe oplachesh' pogreben'e -
Iz etih strok tebya ne vyrvet Smert',
A ya ischeznu, predannyj zabven'yu.
Tvoe bessmert'e - v sile etih strok,
A pro menya zabudut skoro lyudi:
Lezhat' mne vdaleke ot vseh dorog,
Tebe zh lyudskoe oko sklepom budet.
Iz nezhnyh strok ya pamyatnik vozdvig:
Nash rod umret, i novyj naroditsya,
Nesya inye dumy i yazyk,
No obraz tvoj v sonetah sohranitsya.
Ty budesh' vechno zhit' - moguch moj stih!
S dyhan'em vmeste: na ustah lyudskih.
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book.
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise,
And therefore art enforced to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days.
And do so, love; yet when they have devised
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend;
And their gross painting might be better used
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused.
Ty s Muzoyu moeyu, k sozhalen'yu,
Ne obruchen. Kogda tebe nesut
So vseh storon Poety posvyashchen'ya,
Ty vyshe moego ih stavish' trud, -
Poyu krasu - ty nedovolen mnoyu,
A tem, kto hvalit um, otkaza net,
I ty speshish' upit'sya pohvaloyu,
Uvidet' eshche yarche svoj portret.
Schitaj nagradoyu - hulit' ne smeyu! -
Ritoriku lyubezno-pyshnyh strok,
No ya vo vsem byl Pravdoyu tvoeyu
I iskrenne hvalil v tebe, chto mog.
Ne greet krov' - togda kladut rumyana,
A u tebya - net etogo iz®yana.
I never saw that you did painting need
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet's debt;
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself being extant well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
Ne znaesh' ty rumyan, krasy podlozhnoj,
I ya, tebya risuya, ih ne bral;
Moi stihi - patronu dar nichtozhnyj:
Tak syuzerenu dan' neset vassal.
Ty - krasoty zhivoe voploshchen'e,
Nel'zya ee zapechatlet' v stihah,
I ya pero ronyayu v voshishchen'e:
Bespomoshchno ono v moih rukah!
Schitaesh' ty grehom usta nemye,
A ya blagoslovlyayu nemotu
I nichego ne porchu - pust' drugie
Koryavym slovom gubyat krasotu.
Tvoj kazhdyj glaz daruet bol'she sveta,
CHem daryat miru dva tvoih poeta.
Who is it that says most? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story,
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear.
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired every where.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
"Ty - eto ty" - slova prostye eti
Uzheli ne polnej hvaly lyuboj?
Prekrasnee net nikogo na svete,
Tebya sravnit' vozmozhno lish' s toboj.
Bespomoshchno pero - ono ne mozhet
Umnozhit' krasotu tvoyu, no tot,
Kto o tebe slova prostye slozhit
"Ty - eto ty" - bessmert'e obretet:
Kopiruya tebya, venec Prirody,
On darit miru stroj pravdivyh strok -
Ocenyat voshishchennye narody
Ego iskusstvo, um, vysokij slog.
No znaj, vredna bezmernaya hvala:
Nevol'no zakruzhitsya golova.
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts, whilst others write good words,
And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen"
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say " Tis so, 'tis true,"
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
Moya uchtiva Muza i molchkom
ZHivet v razdum'e - pust' pustye frazy
Poety pishut zolotym perom,
Tebya hvalya bez mery i vse srazu,
Nu a moej - pretit hvalebnyj slog,
Ne po nutru lyubye voshvalen'ya.
YA - nem, i kak negramotnyj d'yachok
Tverdit "amin'", "amin'" v konce molen'ya,
Tak i poetam vtoryu ya: "Da", "Da",
Lish' myslenno hvalu ya prodolzhayu:
Ty - vysshaya Lyubov', no nikogda
Lyubov' slovami vsluh ne vyrazhayu.
Drugih ceni ty za slovesnyj shum,
Menya - za shchedroe bogatstvo dum.
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence:
But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.
Vovsyu vpered pod parusami mchitsya
Ego li stih - za prizom, za toboj,
I mysl' moya, edva uspev rodit'sya,
Pochila - stal grobnicej cherep moj?
To on il' ten' velikogo Poeta,
Uroki vdohnoveniya tajkom
Dayushchaya emu lyubezno gde-to,
Moim ovladevaet yazykom?
O net, ni on, ni duh-sobrat, nochnoyu
Poroyu vdohnovlyayushchij ego,
Pobedu ne oderzhat nado mnoyu,
Ispytyvayu strah ne ottogo:
Kogda drugomu polnish' parus strof,
To visnet parus moj, lishennyj slov.
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Proshchaj! Ty slishkom dragocennyj klad,
YA vpred' ego hranit' ne obeshchayu:
Vse privilegii voz'mi nazad,
Dolg otdayu i delo prekrashchayu.
YA byl tvoeyu druzhboyu bogat,
V sravnenii s toboj chego ya stoyu?
Ty predo mnoj ni v chem ne vinovat -
K chemu mne byt' obuzoyu pustoyu?
Ty prezhde ne iskal vo mne zaslug,
Daril sebya, ceny sebe ne znaya,
No dar oshibkoj byl - zamknulsya krug:
Voz'mi svoj dar nazad, ne osuzhdaya,
Toboj, kak korolevstvom, ya vladel,
No minul son, i vmig ya obednel.
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted,
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
Ty vzglyad holodnyj brosish' na menya,
Kogda porvat' zadumaesh' so mnoyu,
No ya, tvoi dostoinstva cenya,
Pojdu s toboj sam na sebya vojnoyu.
Svoi poroki znaya luchshe vseh,
Tebe sebya otdam ya na raspravu
I opishu tebe svoj kazhdyj greh:
Predav menya, ty zavoyuesh' slavu,
Moej pobedoj stanet moj pozor!
Dlya blaga tvoego ya ne odnazhdy
Kaznil sebya vsemu naperekor
I stal, daruya schast'e, schastliv dvazhdy!
Lyubya, snesu ya vse bez lishnih slov:
Tvoyu vinu vzyat' na sebya gotov!
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee against myself I'll vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
Prav ty vo vsem - ne sporyu ya s toboj:
Vinish' v poroke - ya ne otricayu,
I esli mne vnushish', chto ya hromoj,
To ya i v samom dele zahromayu.
Zahochesh' ssory - ne ishchi predlog,
Sam gruz viny vzvalyu sebe na plechi:
Ne ty, - ya broshu sam sebe uprek
I stanu izbegat' zhelannoj vstrechi,
I otvernus'! Da, raz mne dorog ty,
Tvoe voveki imya ne otkroyu,
CHtob pishchi ne davat' dlya klevety -
Kak budto vvek chuzhie my s toboyu.
Kto vrag tebe, togo ne poterplyu:
Tebe ne mil - sebya ne vozlyublyu!
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
Uzh esli nenavidish' - ne skryvaj!
Pust' vse proklyat'ya mira razrazyatsya
V edinyj chas - teper' zhe dokonaj:
Gryadushchih groz ne nado dozhidat'sya.
Kogda osilit serdce eto zlo,
Ty ne derzhi za pazuhoyu kamen',
CHtob pasmurnoe utro ne prishlo
Za noch'yu s grozovymi oblakami.
ZHelaesh' - uhodi! No ne togda,
Kogda sud'ba menya sognet zhestoko:
Ujdi sejchas i - srazu navsegda,
CHtob ispytal ya neizbezhnost' roka.
Net gorshe gorechi, chem tvoj uhod,
I ne strashna mne bol' inyh nevzgod.
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away and me most wretched make.
Kto rodom chvanitsya, a kto umom,
Kto potryasayushchim pokroem plat'ya,
Kto gonchej, sokolom il' skakunom,
Kto znatnost'yu, kto siloyu, kto stat'yu -
Beschislenny pristrast'ya u lyudej,
I kazhdyj obresti svoe stremitsya;
Strast' est' i u menya, drugih sil'nej,
Voveki eyu mne ne nasladit'sya:
Tvoya lyubov' zhelannee koron,
Konej, sobak il' pyshnogo naryada, -
Toboyu ya naveki pokoren,
Ty - samaya zhelannaya nagrada.
Lyubov' ya pushche zhizni beregu:
Stat' bednyakom v edinyj chas mogu.
But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine,
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend;
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O, what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
No ty so mnoj - ya znayu, chto teper'
Pri zhizni nam s toboj ne razluchit'sya:
ZHizn' tol'ko druzhboj derzhitsya, pover',
Ona ne mozhet dol'she druzhby dlit'sya.
Vovek izmeny ne perezhivu,
Umru, obidnoe uslyshav slovo,
Umru, uslyshav gryaznuyu molvu,
Umru, kol' vzglyanesh' na menya surovo.
Izmen ya ne boyus', ved' bez tebya
Totchas umru - to druzhby sovershenstvo:
Ne muchit'sya, a umeret', lyubya,
Poznav i smerti i lyubvi blazhenstvo!
CHto zh, v mire net bez pyaten krasoty
I mne, byt' mozhet, izmenyaesh' ty.
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, tny heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's looks the false heart's history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
CHto zh - vidno, rogonoscem mne togda
Dni suzhdeno vlachit': lyubov' pochila!
No vidimost' ee zhiva vsegda -
Tvoj vzor gorit, hotya dusha ostyla;
Glaza nevinny, i poprobuj v nih
Podmetit' peremenu nastroen'ya -
CHitaesh' pravdu na lice drugih:
Vzglyad nedovol'nyj, na gubah - prezren'e.
No inache reshili nebesa,
Kogda tebya iskusno sozdavali:
V dushe pogaslo plamya, no glaza
Pylayut i ne vidno v nih pechali.
Kak Evy yabloko, ty zla zalog:
Krasivo razukrashennyj porok.
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Kto zla ne sovershit, imeya vlast',
Kto derzhit mech, no ranit' ne sposoben,
Kto holoden, sderzhat' umeya strast',
Kto, dvigaya drugih, skale podoben,
Kto zemlyu ot besplod'ya berezhet,
O nej zabotyas', dazhe na dosuge, -
Dar neba poluchil po pravu tot,
On - vlastelin, vse ostal'nye - slugi.
Lileya tak, ne vedaya o tom,
Ukrasit leto svezhim, yasnym vzglyadom,
No stoit gnili obresti v nej dom -
Potyanet ot nee nesnosnym smradom.
Smerdit cvetok, zagniv: smerdit sil'nee,
Uvy, prostogo sornyaka lileya.
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O, what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
Tvoya porochnost' krasotoj prikryta,
Greshish', ne znaya radostnej igry,
V tvoej dushe gnezdo poroka svito:
Prekrasna roza da chervyak vnutri.
Poyu hvalu, tvoe uslysha imya;
Hotya poroj i poricayut nrav,
No vostorgayutsya prodelkami tvoimi,
Smakuya tonkosti tvoih zabav.
Porok odelsya v pyshnye odezhdy,
Porok obrel velikolepnyj dom
I razglyadet' poroki net nadezhdy:
Tvoj styd, uvy, nel'zya nazvat' stydom.
No sgubit on krasu - vmig propadesh':
V durnyh rukah lyuboj tupeet nozh.
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Tot molodost' tvoyu korit za greh,
A etot mnit, chto ty dushoyu svetel,
No ty, drug moj, plenyat' umeesh' vseh,
Poroki prevrashchaya v dobrodetel'.
Poddel'nyj kamen' kak bril'yant blestit
U gordyh korolev na zavist' svetu -
Vot tak i tvoj blagopristojnyj vid
Prinyat' speshat za chistuyu monetu.
Ovech'yu shkuru volku daj - yagnyat
Zlodej sozhret, opravdyvaya zvan'e;
Tak v silah ty vseh obol'shchat' podryad,
Ispol'zuya lichinu obayan'ya.
Ne nado! Imya dobroe tvoe
Neotdelimo ot menya: moe!
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit:
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
O, kak zimoj poveyalo, kogda
Nas Vremya razluchilo, vzyav razbeg!
Skovali serdce zlye holoda,
Dni Dekabrya posypalis', kak sneg!
A na dvore Iyul' vstupal v prava,
I, oplodotvorennaya Vesnoj,
Vzdyhala Osen' - yunaya vdova,
Nesushchaya vo chreve plod rodnoj.
Roditsya syn - otec pochil davno,
Gde sirote zimoj najti priyut?
Tak bez tebya stradat' mne suzhdeno:
Umchalos' Leto, pticy ne poyut,
A zasvistyat - listva pobleknet vdrug,
Kak by strashas' prihoda zimnih v'yug.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seero'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
Kogda prishli nezhdanno dni razluk,
Pestrel i pel Aprel' - Vesna burlila,
Hmel' yunosti darila vsem vokrug
I hmurogo Saturna veselila.
No ko vsemu ya byl i slep i gluh:
Cvetam navstrechu serdce ne otkrylos',
I treli ptic ne uslazhdali sluh,
I dazhe Leto v skazku ne prosilos'.
Ni kraski roz, ni belizna lilej
Menya, uvy, sovsem ne volnovali,
Ved' byli blednoj kopiej tvoej
I navevali zimnie pechali.
V dushe byla Zima - s cvetami ya
Igral, grustya: v nih mnilas' ten' tvoya.
The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.
Fialku ya vesnoj koril: "Plutovka! -
Blagouhan'e druga moego
Pohitila iz ust sladchajshih lovko;
Cvet lepestkov - iz alyh zhil ego
Zaimstvovala, milaya vorovka".
Za beliznu ya liliyu zhuril:
"Vzyala u druga - cvet belejshej dlani".
A aromat volos lyubimca byl
V blagouhannom, pryanom majorane.
Tri rozy zhalis': strashno poblednev,
Odna; vtoraya - rdeya ot smushchen'ya;
Ukrala tret'ya roza, osmelev,
Vse kraski - cherv' poest ee v otmshchen'e.
Tvoej krasoyu sad zapolonen,
I zhiv tvoim blagouhan'em on.
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.
Gde skrylas' Muza? Tot uzhel' zabyt,
Komu obyazana svoeyu moshch'yu?
Nichtozhnym svetish'? - eto dar chernit;
Besslav'e slavit' razve, Muza, proshche?
Pro dorogoe vspomni sushchestvo
I vozrodi zabytoe iskusstvo,
I poj tomu, kto cenit masterstvo
I polnit stih bezmernoj siloj chuvstva.
Vzglyani na lik ego - kol' est' sledy
Morshchin, raspada rannego primety, -
Bez promedlen'ya Vremya osudi
I na smeh podnimi ego za eto.
Vosslav' Krasu - Raspad operedi:
Nozh Vremeni ot druga otvedi.
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
"Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd"?
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.
O Muza, ne lenis' - krasu vospoj
I vernost', chto krasuyas', ne lukavit:
Dostoin pesen drug bescennyj moj -
Vosslav' ego, a mir tebya vosslavit.
Uzheli ty otvetish', Muza, mne:
"Net! Vernost' horosha bez ukrashen'ya,
Hvataet krasok u krasy vpolne,
Ih smeshivat' - pustoe uprazhnen'e"?
Pust' ne nuzhdaetsya krasa v hvale,
Ty, Muza, ne molchi, - tvoya zabota,
CHtob obraz druga svet daril zemle,
Kogda sletit s nadgrob'ya pozolota.
YA nauchu tebya - ty dlya lyudej
Navek ego krasu zapechatlej.
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 her 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.
Lyublyu vse bol'she, no vse men'she slov:
CHem glubzhe chuvstvo, tem slova skupee -
Lyubov' boitsya bojkih yazykov,
CHtob nikogda ne torgovali eyu.
Kogda byla nova lyubov', brat' mog
YA noty toj vesnoj vse vyshe, vyshe...
Tak Felomely zazvuchit rozhok,
No vyjdet srok i - pesnya tishe, tishe...
Ved' osen'yu neistovo vokrug
Ves' les poet: vse pticy, kleny, eli,
I volshebstvo teryaet nezhnyj zvuk,
I ne v dikovinu lyubye treli.
Tak ya, tebe ne smeya dokuchat',
Poroyu vynuzhden, uvy, molchat'.
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
Your own glass shows you when you look in it
Moya podruga Muza oskudela -
Palitry krasok ne hvataet ej,
I ya hvalu otbrasyvayu smelo:
Prostoj syuzhet vo mnogo raz sil'nej.
Menya ne osuzhdaya za molchan'e
I glyadya v zerkalo, sumej ponyat':
Tebya, stol' sovershennoe sozdan'e,
Moj vyalyj stih ne v silah peredat'.
Da razve ne pozor, ne greh zhestokij,
Meshaya kraski, divo iskazit'?!
YA na pero nanizyvayu stroki,
Tshchas' divo divnoe izobrazit'.
Ved' v zerkale tvoe otobrazhenie
Kuda prekrasnej moego tvoren'ya!
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters' cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
V moih glazah ty vechno budesh' molod.
Kogda my vstretilis', tvoya krasa
Byla takoj zhe; trizhdy zimnij holod
Za godom god bagryanye lesa
Sedymi delal; trizhdy zheltiznoyu
Karala Osen' pyshnye cvety,
I trizhdy byl iyun'skoyu zharoyu
Spalen Aprel' - no yun, kak prezhde, ty!
Uvy, kradetsya strelka chasovaya
K nezrimomu koncu za krugom krug -
Tak taet krasota tvoya mladaya,
No vzor ne vidit etogo, moj drug.
Znaj: leto krasnoe zhizn' unesla
U vseh, kto ran'she zhil - im net chisla.
Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
"Fair, kind, and true" is all my argument,
"Fair, kind, and true" varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
"Fair, kind, and true," have often lived alone,
Which three till now never kept seat in one.
Pust' idolopoklonstvom preklonen'e
Pered toboj ne nazyvaet mir,
Hot' vse hvaly, vse pesni, vse tvoren'ya -
Vse dlya tebya, i ty odin - kumir.
Vsesil'na magiya ocharovan'ya,
Odnim toboj dusha polna:
Ty s kazhdym dnem serdechnej v mig svidan'ya,
I pesnya u menya vsegda odna.
Poyu odno: "Prekrasen, dobr i veren!"
"Prekrasen, dobr i veren!" - noch'yu, dnem
Na vse lady ya povtoryat' nameren -
Tri chuda slilis' v obraze odnom.
"Prekrasen, dobr i veren!" - moj yazyk
Kak klyatvu povtoryaet kazhdyj mig.
When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
Listaya pozheltevshie stranicy,
Na rycarej smotryu, prekrasnyh dam -
Ih krasotoj proslavlennye lica
Pod stat' samim vozvyshennym stiham,
YA ponimayu, chto tvorcy predanij,
O prelestyah nevidannyh trubya,
Lanity vospevaya, ochi, dlani -
Vpolne mogli proslavit' i tebya.
Ih pohvaly prorochestvami stali,
Predviden'em gryadushchej krasoty,
No dazhe im dostalo b slov edva li,
CHtob zasverkali vse tvoi cherty.
A nyne te, komu glaza dany,
Bessil'ny: dara slova lisheny.
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
Net, ni prorok, ni sobstvennyj moj strah
I ni orakul ne predskazhut tochno,
Gde i kogda drug prevratitsya v prah:
Nevedom srok arendy kratkosrochnoj.
Proshlo zatmenie - svet vossiyal,
Smeyutsya nad prorochestvom proroki,
Mir nad vselennoj vostorzhestvoval,
SHepcha olivam: "Minul vek zhestokij!"
I Vremya blagotvorno, kak bal'zam, -
Lyubov' okrepla, Smert' menya boitsya:
Netlenen stih - Smert' torzhestvuet tam,
Gde besslovesny i temny tupicy.
Moj stih tebe - moj vechnyj mavzolej -
Prochnej grobnic tiranov vseh mastej.
What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
Finding the first conceit of love there bred
Where time and outward form would show it dead.
CHto novoe, dostojnoe pera,
V mozgu moem netronutom hranitsya?
Kakoj hvaly ne napisal vchera?
CHem ne uspel ya, svet moj, voshitit'sya?
Davno vse skazano, no kazhdyj mig
Odnoj i toj zhe ya molitve veren:
"Ty - moj! YA - tvoj!" - odno tverdit yazyk,
A bez svidaniya ves' den' poteryan!
Lyubov' netlenna v larce dlya lyubvi,
Ne znaet gruza let, morshchin, nedugov,
Vse obnovlyaetsya v ee krovi,
I Vremya hodit u nee v prislugah.
Pust' vse i vsya vokrug mertvyat goda -
Lyubov', kak vstar', svezha i moloda.
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
Tvoim moe v razluke bylo serdce,
CHut' men'shim, chem vsegda, ognem gorya,
Ot etogo mne nikuda ne det'sya:
V tvoej grudi zhivet dusha moya.
Ty - hram Lyubvi, zhelannyj mnoyu strastno,
YA stranstvoval, no vozvrashchalsya v hram,
I Vremya bylo nado mnoj ne vlastno,
I gryaz' grehov svoih smyval ya sam.
Pust' brali verh i plot' i krov' poroyu,
Kogda vdrug nastupala ih pora,
Dushoyu neizmenno byl s toboyu,
I ot dobra ya ne iskal dobra.
Prekrasnej vo vselennoj net cvetka:
Ty - roza, chto odna na vse veka.
Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new;
Most true it is that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely, but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
Uvy, napyaliv shutovskoj kostyum,
Deshevym predavayas' uvlechen'yam,
YA druzhbu oskorblyal, nevolil um,
I prezhnim izmenyal ya ubezhden'yam,
I novye pristrast'ya umnozhal;
No umopomrachen'e minovalo -
YA, otgreshiv, vnov' molod serdcem stal:
Lyubov' chrez bol' poter' vnov' zasverkala!
Tvoim dostoinstvam predela net
I druzhbu staruyu ya ne pozvolyu
Ispytyvat' otnyne, hvatit bed! -
Ty - Bog! - navek ya u tebya v nevole!
Ne pozhalej nebesnogo ognya:
Na lyubyashchej grudi sogrej menya!
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me then and wish I were renew'd;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
Pity me, then, dear friend, and I assure ye
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
Brani moyu fortunu - ne menya:
Boginya zlyh svershenij vinovata;
Mne bez podachki ne prozhit' ni dnya,
Za remeslo pozornoe - rasplata;
Uvy, mne suzhdeno klejmo nosit',
YA - kak krasil'shchik, vymazannyj v kraske.
O, pozhalej i pozhelaj mne smyt'
Klejmo! - bezumie zhit' po ukazke.
Dvojnuyu karu vynesu bez slov,
I, kak bol'noj, prikovannyj k posteli,
Glotat' ya gorech' gor'kuyu gotov
I pit' hot' uksus, hot' lyuboe zel'e.
Ty sostradan'e proyavi ko mne -
YA iscelyus' bez snadobij vpolne.
Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all the world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose bred
That all the world besides methinks are dead.
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch;
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:
Incapable of more, replete with you,
My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.
Klejmo, zloj klevety pozornyj sled,
Tvoya dobrozhelatel'nost' stiraet,
Na luchshee vo mne brosaet svet,
A vse moi iz®yany zatemnyaet.
ZHiv tol'ko dlya tebya, ya mertv dlya vseh,
Ty - mir ves', lish' tebya ya ponimayu:
Ty skazhesh' "greh", ya soglashayus' - "greh":
Hvalu ili hulu - vse prinimayu.
SHvyrnul ya zvuki mira, nakonec,
V gluhuyu bezdnu: gluh ya, kak gadyuka,
Ne strashen mne ni klevetnik, ni l'stec,
No ne pechal'sya - ne lishen ya sluha.
Mir vymer dlya menya - k nemu ya gluh:
Ty dlya menya i zrenie, i sluh.
Pust' ty vdali, tvoj lik vo mne zhivet, -
V moej dushe prekrasnoe viden'e:
Prikazy mozgu glaz ne otdaet,
I ya lishen napolovinu zren'ya.
Glaz lovit pticu, oblako, cvetok,
No chuditsya dushe odno i to zhe,
Uvy, drugoe videt' nevdomek
I mnitsya to, chto ej vsego dorozhe.
Vorona, golub', gory i lesa,
I svet, i mgla, i merzkie sozdan'ya -
Tvoj oblik prinimaet vse i vsya,
I vse vokrug polno ocharovan'ya.
Kogda lyubov' pronikla gluboko,
Vlyublennyj glaz obmanetsya legko.
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you.
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?
Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true,
And that your love taught it this alchemy,
To make of monsters and things indigest
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As fast as objects to his beams assemble?
O, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing,
And to his palate doth prepare the cup:
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
Uzhel' moya dusha hvaloj tvoej
Otravlena, kak koroleva, lest'yu?
Il' to Lyubov' - vsesil'nyj charodej! -
Vzor udostoila vysokoj chesti?
Il' ya alhimik? - moj vlyublennyj glaz
Uroda prevrashchaet v heruvima,
CHto na tebya pohodit kazhdyj raz,
I - eto volshebstvo nepobedimo?
Uvy, dogadka pervaya verna:
Moej dushe otnyne lest' po nravu,
I vzor, kotoromu dusha vidna,
Ej predlagaet carskuyu otravu.
YAd tonkoj lesti prepodnosit glaz,
No pervym sam prigubit vsyakij raz.
Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgement knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;
Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,
Might I not then say "Now I love you best",
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth grow?
Uvy, v stihah ya lgal tebe togda:
Pod vzglyadami tvoimi plameneya,
YA klyalsya iskrenne, chto nikogda
Kostru lyubvi ne vospylat' sil'nee.
Ved' Vremya rvet ukazy korolej,
Obety rushit, krasotu pyatnaet,
Na pereosmyslenie veshchej
I poisk novogo umy sklonyaet.
No tiraniyu Vremeni poprav,
Lyubov' sozrel a, otmela pregrady -
"Ne vospylat' sil'nej!" - ya byl ne prav,
YA zabluzhdalsya - gorshe net dosady,
Lyubov' byla ditem; kak ya ne smog
Rebenka rost predrech'? - surov urok.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Puskaj likuyut vernye serdca,
Ne dopushchu, chtob Zlo Lyubov' lomalo:
U toj Lyubvi ne dolzhno byt' konca,
CHto rozhdena dlya vechnogo nachala!
Lyubov' - mayak, Lyubov' - zvezda, ona
Bluzhdayushchim sudam put' ukazuet,
I, neizmenno vysshih tajn polna,
Nepostizhimo dve sud'by svyazuet.
Ej byt' u Vremeni v shutah ne sled,
Hotya Smert' nacheku, zhizn' bystrotechna,
Hotya poblekshih shchek ne yarok cvet -
Do dnej konca Lyubov' verna i vechna!
No esli eto grad fal'shivyh slov,
To net lyubvi i net moih stihov.
Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds
And given to time your own dear-purchased right;
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down
And on just proof surmise accumulate;
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate;
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.
Kazni menya - ya druzhbu predaval:
Tvoeyu vernost'yu prenebregaya,
YA uzy druzhby besposhchadno rval
I rvalsya proch' vdal' ot rodnogo kraya.
K nichtozhnym dusham ya tyanulsya sam,
Teryaya klad bescennogo bylogo,
Svoj parus podstavlyal ya vsem vetram
I udiral ot vzglyada dorogogo.
Uchti vse pregresheniya moi,
YA zhdu pokorno tvoego upreka,
No strely gneva ne puskaj svoi
I nenavist'yu ne kazni zhestoko!
Tvoyu ya vernost' ispytat' reshil:
Vinoven ya, no mne drugoj ne mil.
Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
With eager compounds we our palate urge,
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge,
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseased ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, to anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured:
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
Kogda zhelayut vyzvat' appetit,
Upotreblyayut ostrye pripravy,
A esli inogda nutro gorit -
Pilyuli prinimayut ili travy.
Vot tak i ya: lyubov'yu syt tvoej,
YA ot nee reshil osvobodit'sya
I obshchestvom nestoyashchih lyudej -
Pripravami stal gor'kimi lechit'sya.
V strategii lyubvi ya ne silen:
Eshche ne nastupilo presyshchen'e,
A ya reshil, chto nemoshch'yu srazhen,
I nachal bespoleznoe lechen'e.
YA po zaslugam poluchil urok:
Kogda vlyublen - lechenie ne vprok.
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors heath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is by evil still made better;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuked to my content
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
YA slezy pil Siren, celuya vezhdy -
Takoe zel'e varitsya v adu,
V nem strahi obrashchayutsya v nadezhdy,
Pobedy prevrashchayutsya v bedu.
O, skol'ko raz mne mig blazhenstva mnilsya,
Hotya vsegda ya byl za eto bit!
O, kak v lyubovnoj lihoradke bilsya -
Glaza vyskakivali iz orbit!
Ty blago, zlo! Lyubov' vo mne okrepla,
Proshla cherez gornilo gor'kih dnej
I, obnovlennoj vozrodyas' iz pepla,
Velichestvennej stala i sil'nej.
YA schast'e vnov' obrel, izvedav zlo,
I vtroe stal bogache - povezlo.
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 hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffer'd in your crime.
O, that our night of woe might have remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
Tebya obidev, ot stradanij gnus',
Ved' nervy ne iz medi ili stali:
YA pomnyu, kak davil obidy gruz,
Kogda byl ty vinoj moej pechali.
I esli ot moej nepravoty
Stradaesh' nynche ty - net ada gorshe:
YA tvoj tiran, no ne zabyl, kak ty
Terzal menya, i ottogo ya bol'she
Tebya stradayu nynche sam.
O, pust' minuet mrachnyj chas zakata:
Nesu tebe smireniya bal'zam -
Takim zhe ty lechil mne grud' kogda-to:
Ne delaj serdce skopishchem obid:
Moe - prostilo, pust' tvoe - prostit.
Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling but by other's seeing:
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
Uzh luchshe byt' durnym, chem tol'ko slyt'.
Ne mozhet byt' usladoyu uslada,
Kogda o nej drugoj posmel sudit':
Vostorg hireet ot chuzhogo vzglyada.
Uzhel' shpionov pohotlivyj vzglyad
Krov' ostudit' goryachuyu sposoben?
Oni greshat sil'nej menya v sto krat -
Porochen ya, no im ya ne podoben:
ZHivu, svoih stremlenij ne taya,
Schitaya blagom vse svoi utraty,
Ne im sudit' menya, ya - eto ya,
I ya pryamee ih, oni - gorbaty
I, sudya po sebe, osudyat vseh:
Mol, net bezgreshnyh - mirom pravit greh!
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date, even to eternity;
Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more:
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
Tvoj dar, dnevnik, ne nuzhen - ni k chemu
Mne eti bespoleznye stranicy:
V prirodnom tajnike, moem mozgu,
Vse o tebe navechno sohranitsya.
Poka Prirodoyu mne zhit' dano,
I serdce gonit krov', i mysl' v dvizhen'e,
To ty, chastica mozga moego,
Ne mozhesh' stat' dobycheyu zabven'ya.
Vvek pamyatki pisat' ya ne privyk
O druzhbe dorogoj i nezhnoj nashej:
Dozvol' mne chistym vozvratit' dnevnik,
Ty v pamyati zhivesh' polnej i krashe.
Stranicy lishnie hranit' ne sled,
Moya lyubov' ne trebuet zamet.
No, Time, thou shalt hot boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondering at the present nor the past,
For thy records and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
This I do vow and this shall ever be;
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.
Net, Vremya, prezhnij ya, i lgat' ne sled.
Vse piramidy dnej lish' hlam bylogo,
YA znayu, novizny na svete net,
Tomu ne udivlyayus', chto ne novo.
ZHivut nedolgo lyudi i davno
Privykli verit' - v mire vse otlichno,
I na zemle dlya nih vse rozhdeno,
A ya vot nad toboj smeyus' privychno:
Tvoi skrizhali lgut, ty, Vremya, lzhesh'
I mchish' kuda-to, mchish' neterpelivo,
I v postoyannoj speshke ty pletesh'
Svoyu nepravdu, Vremya, suetlivo.
Pravdiv i veren, ya ne izmenyus',
Tvoej kosy vovek ne uboyus'.
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard 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 the inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
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.
Kaprizno Vremya - to lyubov' v sornyak,
A to v cvetok prekrasnyj prevrashchaet;
To baluet, to nishchetoj strashchaet.
Moya lyubov' nichem ne stesnena,
Ej rabstvo ne grozit, paden'ya, vzlety.
Ona ne ta myatezhnaya strana,
V kotoroj kazhdyj den' perevoroty;
Otstupnice-politike chuzhda,
Stoit v storonke, nikomu ne sluzhit,
Ni dozhd' ne navredit ej nikogda,
Ni znoj ee voveki ne issushit.
Zapomnyat eto pust' bezumcy - te,
Kto, zlo tvorya, vovek gluh k dobrote.
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul
When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.
Ne trata li pustaya - baldahin?
Kak prehodyashchemu - fundament vechnyj,
Kak hlopoty u budushchih ruin, -
Izvesten zhizni rezul'tat konechnyj.
Zachem shikuet, pyzhas', pustocvet,
Hvalyas', zamorskie smakuet slasti? -
Szhigaet zhizn' dlya prizrachnyh pobed,
Dorog ne znaya k istinnomu schast'yu.
YA - serdcu tvoemu sluzhu! Dozvol'
Vruchit' svoj skromnyj dar, pritvorstvu chuzhdyj,
Pust' oboyudnoj budet nasha rol':
Sebya ty mne daruj vo imya druzhby.
Proch', soglyadataj! CHem vredish' sil'nej,
Tem vernaya dusha eshche vernej!
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
Ty, svet ochej moih, hranya Krasu,
Sam derzhish' Zerkalo, CHasy, Kosu.
CHasam verny, stareyut vse vokrug,
Tebya zh Priroda berezhet, moj drug.
Nad Vremenem smeyas', Priroda-mat'
Reshila beg tvoih minut sderzhat':
Dala otsrochku - ne speshit' vpered, -
Tuda, gde Vremya kazhdogo ub'et.
Otsrochka konchitsya - pridet zakat:
Otdast Priroda-mat' tebya v zaklad
I otvedet svoj blagosklonnyj vzor:
Spolna dolg vzyshchet Vremya-kreditor.
In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not bom fair, no beauty, lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
Bryunetok v starinu ne pochitali,
Ih ne spasali divnye cherty;
Hotya teper' eshche krasivej stali,
CHurayutsya vse etoj chernoty.
Fal'shivaya lichina - vot urodstvo:
Prirodu podpravlyayut tam i tut,
U Krasoty voruyut Blagorodstvo,
Svyatoe Imya i svyatoj Priyut.
I v traure lico moej Lyubovi -
Skorbit, chto Krasotu porochit lozh':
CHerny glaza i smolyanisty brovi,
S krylom voron'im chernyj lokon shozh.
K licu lyubimoj traurnyj naryad,
"Vot krasoty obrazchik!" - vse tverdyat.
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap.
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
Ty muzykoyu, Muzyka moya,
Plenyaesh' sluh, kasayas' grubyh klavish, -
Letayut pal'cy, voshishchayus' ya,
Kak l'yushchejsya melodiej ty pravish'.
A klavishi, kak parni, nevznachaj
Sryvayut pocelui s pal'cev milyh,
Voruya pohodya moj urozhaj,
I ya pylayu, gnev unyat' ne v silah.
Nemozhno eti derzosti terpet',
ZHivomu - derevyashkam pokoryat'sya!
Oni mertvy, ne mogut plamenet',
Pora mestami s nimi pomenyat'sya.
Ty uhazheram v meru potakaj:
Daruj im pal'cy, guby mne otdaj!
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
Rastrata duha, duha i styda -
Vot pohot', pohot' v dejstvii: bludliva,
Podla i krovozhadna, i vsegda
Ubijstvenna, dika, slastolyubiva.
Mig naslazhdeniya projdet, i vnov'
Bezum'e ploti dushu otvrashchaet -
Vot tak pritvara budorazhit krov',
Vot tak pritvara razum pohishchaet.
Bezumna pohot' v bege za mechtoj,
Bezumna pohot' na piru svidan'ya,
No cel' dognav, otpirovav s lihvoj,
Skorbit - prishlo pohmel'e obladan'ya.
Ne v silah izbezhat' ni star, ni mlad
Puti v raj plotskij, chto zavodit v ad.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Glaza dostalis', a ne zvezdy ej,
I guby na korally ne pohozhi,
CHerneet provolokoj snop kudrej,
I grud' temna - ne belosnezhna kozha.
Obychny shcheki, i na um nejdet
Sravnit' ih s rozoj beloj ili aloj,
A duh takoj ot tela, chto zab'et
Prostye zapahi zemli, pozhaluj.
Milee prochih miloj govorok,
Hot' melodichno on zvuchit edva li,
I topot mil zemnyh devich'ih nog.
Puskaj takih bogin' i ne vidali,
Klyanus', ona ne huzhe teh, ej-ej,
CHto lzhec voznes, chtob ulozhit' vernej.
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan:
To say they err I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And, to be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgement's place.
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.
Nadmennaya krasa srodni tiranu.
O, kak zhestoka ty so mnoj podchas!
Ved' znaesh', nikogda ne perestanu
Tebya lyubit' - edinstvennyj almaz.
I esli slyshu ya, chto obayan'ya
Ty lishena, ne smeya vozrazhat',
Ni s kem ya ne vstupayu v prerekan'e,
No prodolzhayu po tebe vzdyhat'
I smuglost'yu tvoeyu naslazhdat'sya -
Inoj vovek ne myslyu krasoty:
Da kak zhe eyu mne ne vostorgat'sya -
Net nichego prekrasnej chernoty.
Da vot dela tvoi cherny, uvy:
Tebe ne izbezhat' durnoj molvy.
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even,
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
Lyublyu glaza tvoi - oni skorbyat,
Kak budto mne daruya sostradan'e,
Tvoe zhestokoserdie hulyat
I traurno ih chernoe sverkan'e.
Ne krasit solnce tak vostok sedoj,
YAvlyaya miru utrennie vzory,
Tak zapad ne ukrasitsya zvezdoj,
Vzoshedshej na vechernie prostory,
Kak lik tvoj yasnyj - chernyj blesk ochej!
Pust' glazu serdce zloe podchinitsya,
I traur vocarit v dushe tvoej:
Pust' mnoj boleet kazhdaya chastica!
YA poklyanus': prekrasna chernota
I tol'ko ej prisushcha krasota.
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must bel
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
Proklyat'e toj dushe, chto dushu rvet
I ranit serdce chernymi delami -
Ej nedostatochno moih nevzgod,
Teper' oputan drug ee cepyami.
Zamuchen trizhdy, trizhdy ya raspyat:
Kogda byl vzyat ya v kabalu toboyu,
Kogda ty brosila na druga vzglyad,
Kogda zhestoko porvala so mnoyu.
V grudi svoej stal'noj menya zamkni,
Otdav mne serdce druga na poruki:
Stav storozhem emu vse nochi-dni,
Navernyaka svoi umen'shu muki!
Tvoj uznik ya i znayu tvoj otvet -
Raz vse moe i tak tvoe, ty brosish': "Net!"
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous and he is kind;
He learn'd but surety-like to write for me
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use,
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.
Teper' i drug popalsya - oba my
V tvoih rukah. Plachu za pregreshen'e:
Ne vylezti iz dolgovoj tyur'my -
Ty druga vozvrati mne v uteshen'e.
Net, vy teper' vorkuete vdvoem -
Dobro i alchnost'. Kak mne zhit' na svete?!
Drug byl moim doverennym licom -
I chto zhe?! Sam k tebe popalsya v seti.
Ty - rostovshchica: za krasu spolna
ZHelaesh' poluchit'. Tebe vse malo!
Za starye dolgi - moya vina! -
I druga nynche ty konfiskovala.
Uplachen dolg, no ne razorvan krug,
Teper' v nevole oba: ya i drug.
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy "Will",
And "Will" to boot, and "Will" in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in "Will", add to thy "Will"
One will of mine, to make thy large "Will" more.
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one "Will".
YA - tvoj Uill. Ty, zhen inyh ne huzhe,
Uillov vseh plenish' dlya raznyh del,
Oni tvoim zhelan'yam slavno sluzhat -
Menya vzyala by, ya by preuspel.
V tebe kipyat bezmernye zhelan'ya:
Moe s tvoim zhelan'em slit' pozvol'!
Ili tebe drugih milej priznan'ya,
Poetomu mne prichinyaesh' bol'?
Kakie b reki ne vpadali v more,
Vovek ne perepolnitsya ono, -
Moe zhelan'e priyuti, ne sporya:
ZHelan'ya vseh Uillov slil v odno.
Ne prichinyaj prositelyam stradan'ya:
Im ugozhdaj, vnyav moemu zhelan'yu!
If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy "Will",
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
"Will" will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy store's account I one must be,
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is "Will".
SHepni svoej slepoj dushe "Uill",
CHtob blizost'yu so mnoj ne vozmushchalas',
CHtob otvergat' menya ne stalo sil
I chtob zhelala ty menya hot' malost'.
Kogda zhelan'ya hlynut cherez kraj,
Pust' i moe v sokrovishchnicu l'etsya:
Odin tolpu popolnit nevznachaj,
Ved' mesto odnomu vsegda najdetsya.
Znaj: ya - nichto - ne uvelichu schet,
No, chto-to znacha, ya mechtu leleyu:
Cena tvoih vladenij vozrastet,
Kogda tebe sebya otdat' sumeyu.
Ty tol'ko imya polyubi - "Uill" -
ZHelannym budu srazu: stanu mil.
Thou blind fool. Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgement of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have err'd,
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.
Slepoj glupec Amur, chto sdelal ty?
Mne lgut glaza, mir predstaet fal'shivym:
YA v krasote ne vizhu krasoty
I vizhu nekrasivoe krasivym.
Ty - buhta, gde brosayut yakorya
Vse korabli; tebe zhe, alchnoj, - malo:
Ty vykovala cepi, mne darya
Iz fal'shi puty, chto prochnej metalla.
Zachem tverdit mne serdce v sotyj raz,
CHto zapovednik etot zapert prochno? -
Gulyayut vse v nem, no fal'shivit glaz:
V tom dobrodetel' vidit, chto porochno.
Nakazan ya: glaza i serdce lgut -
Vovek dorogi vernoj ne najdut.
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
Vovek ya miloj lgun'e ne perechu,
Kogda ona risuetsya svyatoj,
Pust' dumaet, chto, kak yunec bespechnyj,
YA neizmenno veryu lzhi prostoj.
Ona-to vozrast moj, konechno, znaet,
No lestno soznavat' sebya yuncom;
Vsemu ya veryu, chto ona boltaet -
Ot pravdy s neyu pryachemsya vdvoem.
Zachem ona hitrit so mnoyu snova?
Zachem skryvayu ya svoi goda?
Lyubov' vsemu doverit'sya gotova,
Let ne otkroet starost' nikogda.
I potomu ya s nej, ona - so mnoj:
My lzhivoj lest'yu svyazany odnoj.
O, call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
Use power with power and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
Is more than my o'er-press'd defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been my enemies,
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
Ty opravdaniya ne zhdi - zhestoko
Menya kaznish'! No pravdy ne skryvaj,
Srazi otkryto yazykom do sroka:
Lukavya, vzorami ne ubivaj.
Drugogo lyubish' - ne terzaj, i vzglyadom
Pri mne ty ne odarivaj ego,
Tebe k obmanu pribegat' ne nado,
Dostatochno sil'na ty bez togo.
A mozhet byt', ot bed spasti zhelayut
Menya moi vragi - tvoi glaza -
I strely smertonosnye puskayut,
Menya minuya, a drugih razya?
Ty vidish' - smert' blizka! Tak stan' dobrej:
Ot muk menya izbav' - skorej dobej!
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;
For if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee:
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart
go wide.
Granic zhestokosti ne prestupaj
I ne kazni bezzhalostnym prezren'em,
Ne to mogu vzorvat'sya nevznachaj,
Pytayas' polozhit' konec muchen'yam.
Ne lyubish' - ravnodushie pripryach',
Solgat' ne bojsya, razum prizyvaya!
Tak umirayushchemu darit vrach
Na zhizn' nadezhdu, ob ishode znaya.
Otchayavshis', sojdu s uma ot bed,
Nachnu tebya hulit' i dnem i noch'yu.
Podhvatit lozh' bezumca podlyj svet
I vydavat' za istinu zahochet.
Pust' kleveta i zlo minuyut nas -
Ne otvodi, hot' razlyubila, glaz.
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
V tebe iz®yany podmechaet glaz,
No serdce v bezrassudnom voshishchen'e,
Ne verya serdcu, kazhdyj mig i chas
V lyubovnom zamiraet upoen'e.
Tebya otnyne ne zhelayut znat'
Ni osyazan'e, vkus, ni obonyan'e,
Ni zren'e i ni sluh - zrya priglashat'
K tebe ih na lyubovnyj pir svidan'ya.
Ne v silah razum i pyat' chuvstv moih
Zastavit' serdce, chtob ono vosstalo,
Ono v okovah, rab strastej tvoih:
Vassal v grudi vlyublennogo vassala.
Ty vvergla v greh menya! - zhiv uteshen'em:
Ty i sud'ya - menya kaznish' muchen'em.
Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!
Lyubov' - moj greh. Svyataya prostota,
Ty nenavidish' etot greh otkryto.
Pust' greshen ya - i ty uzhe ne ta,
A eto oznachaet, chto my kvity.
Uzh poricat', tak ne tvoim ustam,
Kotorye mne ne odnazhdy lgali:
Lyubov' my oba vorovali tam,
Gde lozhe nenadezhno ohranyali.
Lyublyu tebya ya tak, kak lyubish' vseh,
Kogo svoim ty vzglyadom odarila:
Moya lyubov' k tebe takoj zhe greh -
O, esli b sostradan'e ty vzrastila.
Gluha tvoya dusha k chuzhoj bede,
I ty ne syshchesh' zhalosti nigde.
Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind:
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy "Will",
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.
Hozyajka hlopotlivaya, poroyu
Revushchego ostaviv malysha,
Mchit za pernatym beglecom streloyu,
I o malyshke ne bolit dusha;
Rebenok gromko plachet, prosit chto-to,
Ne pomogaet goryu detskij voj -
U materi sejchas odna zabota:
Pernatogo dognav, zagnat' domoj.
Tak mchish' ty za dobycheyu svoeyu,
Menya, rebenka, brosiv pozadi, -
Ee ya pomogu dognat' skoree,
A ty vernis' ko mne, prizhmi k grudi.
Pernatogo zhivee izlovi:
Menya potom utesh' teplom lyubvi!
Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, yet no't directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
Dva duha serdcem teshatsya moim,
Nesut vostorg i muku, im vladeya:
Drug belokuryj - nezhnyj heruvim -
I smuglaya podruga - zlaya feya.
YA slovno v preispodnej v gor'kij chas:
Besovka soblaznyaet heruvima,
Porochnost' vystavlyaya napokaz,
A mne - razluka s drugom nesterpima.
Uzhel' emu teper' sam chert ne brat
I odolela d'yavol'skaya sila?!
Uzhel' drug s neyu zaodno i v ad
Ego obmanom feya zamanila?!
ZHit' mne v somnenii, pokuda on
Dotla zlodejkoj-feej ne sozhzhen.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said "I hate"
To me that languish'd for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet;
"I hate" she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
"I hate" from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying "not you".
"Ujdi!" - promolvilo sozdan'e,
CHto ya bogotvoril do slez,
No vidya tyazhkoe stradan'e,
Oborvala potok ugroz
I yazychok svoj prikusila,
CHto mne vchera nadezhdu dal,
I ulybnulas' - nastupila
Pora neiskrennih pohval.
Kak den' gryadet na smenu nochi,
Ad ostavlyaya pozadi,
Tak radost' nam daruyut ochi.
...Ona promolvila: "Ujdi!",
No zhizn' vernula mne totchas:
"Ne bojtes'! YA gonyu ne vas".
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
.......these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
Moj bednyj Duh, grehovnoj ploti sut',
Ty ne sposoben vyderzhat' osadu
Myatezhnyh sil - nel'zya zhit' kak-nibud',
Darya vse kraski odnomu fasadu.
Zachem, na srok vzyav etot dom vnaem,
Fasad userdno krasish' to i delo?
CHtob chervi pirovali pyshno v nem,
Kogda ty brennoe pokinesh' telo?
Znaj: telo - rab; sokrovishcha kopi,
Za schet raba zhivi, Smert' ob®edaya,
Bozhestvennuyu budushchnost' skupi,
Letyashchie v nichto dni prodavaya.
Tu Smert', chto zhret lyudej, sam pogloti:
Pozhrav ee, bessmert'e obreti.
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Lyubov' - goryachka, zhar ne utihaet,
Naoborot stanovitsya sil'nej:
Ee tuda vlechet, gde polyhaet
Ogon' vsepozhirayushchih strastej.
Ostavil razum-vrach menya v neschast'e -
Razgnevan: ya sovetom prenebreg,
Smert' nenasytna i smertel'ny strasti,
YA zhdu, kogda pridet poslednij srok.
ZHivu na grani umopomrachen'ya
I, obezumev, povtoryayu lozh',
Lyuboe bespolezno mne lechen'e, -
Uvy, chto s nenormal'nogo voz'mesh'?
Klyanus', chto ty chista, tvoj svetel vzglyad,
A ty mrachna, kak noch', cherna, kak ad.
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgement fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's "No".
How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
Zachem ty porchu navela, skazhi?
CHtob iskazhennym mir yavlyalsya glazu?
A esli glaz ne vinovat vo lzhi,
To povredila ty togda moj razum.
Kogda prekrasno to, chto vidit vzor,
To otchego mir ne soglasen s etim?
A glaz fal'shivit - yasen prigovor:
Za porchu glaza ty, Lyubov', v otvete!
Sleza bezhit. Trevogoj ya ob®yat,
I bol' menya ot etogo pronzaet -
Tak solncu tuchi zastilayut vzglyad,
Kogda oni na nebo vypolzayut!
Kovarnaya Lyubov'! - slepish' slezoj,
CHtob gryaznye dela tvorit' samoj!
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind.
Da razve umerla vo mne lyubov'?
Za chto korish' menya, tiran-carica?
S toboyu vmeste razve ne gotov
YA protiv samogo sebya srazit'sya?
Druzhu ya s temi, kto tebe ne mil?
Tvoim vragam ya razve ugozhdayu?
I esli ya tebya kogda gnevil,
To razve ne kaznyus' ya? Ne stradayu?
Da hot' odin kapriz tvoj razve est',
CHto miloj ne ispolnil v ugozhden'e?
Da razve ne prezrel ya dolg i chest'?
Ne povinuyus' razve glaz dvizhen'yu?
CHto zh - nenavid', ya znayu norov tvoj:
Ty zryachih lyubish', ya, uvy, slepoj!
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.
Gde, nedostojnaya, ty moshch' vzyala
Menya porabotit'? Moj vzor zatmila,
I stala lozh'yu - pravda, svetom - mgla,
I den' ne krasit yarkoe svetilo.
Kak zlu ocharovan'e pridaesh',
Porochnost' obrashchaya v sovershenstvo?
Volshebnica - plenitel'naya lozh' -
Gnev usmiryaet moj, darya blazhenstvo.
Gde nauchilas' etoj vorozhbe?
Lyubov' rastet vo mne vzamen prezren'ya:
YA to lyublyu, chto vse klyanut v tebe!
Ne im dari - mne! - sladost' zabluzhden'ya.
Otdavshis' nedostojnoj na veka,
Dostoin ya lyubvi navernyaka!
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's, treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in the affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her "love" for whose dear love I rise and fall.
Lyubov' yuna. Ne do razdumij ej,
Hot' razum ot nee beret nachalo;
Vinit' menya v porochnosti ne smej, -
Tvoej viny, obmanshchica, nemalo.
Ty predaesh' menya, ya predayu
Svoj Duh - on telu grubomu sdaetsya,
Ono pobedu prazdnuet svoyu -
Skazhi, chto telu delat' ostaetsya?
Likuet plot' pri imeni tvoem:
Vosstav i vidya cel' pered soboyu,
Ej otdaetsya vsya i celikom,
CHtob vzyav pobednyj priz, upast' raboyu.
YA ne kaznyus' za vechnuyu napast':
Lyubya, gotov ya to vosstat', to past'.
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing,
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee
And all my honest faith in thee is lost,
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see;
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured I,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!
Klyatvoprestupnik ya - tebya lyublyu,
Tebya, chto klyatvu dvazhdy prestupila:
YA ob izmene ne odin skorblyu -
Ty i drugomu tozhe izmenila.
No razve vprave ya tebya korit':
Dva raza obmanula ty, ya - dvadcat'!
Tebya ya bralsya klyatvenno hvalit',
A cherez mig ne znal, kuda devat'sya!
Klyanyas', hvalil pravdivost', chistotu,
Privyazannost' - vse luchshie nachala!
CHtob licezret' v tebe svoyu mechtu,
YA osleplyal sebya, i ty - sverkala!
YA klyalsya: "Ty chista!" - Kakoj pozor:
Klyatvoprestupnik ya, uvy, s teh por.
Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire-my mistress' eyes.
Prokaznik Kupidon vzdremnut' prileg.
Diana podbezhala - vot plutovka:
CHtob yunyj bog ognem serdca ne zheg,
Kovarnyj fakel vyhvatila lovko
I totchas brosila ego v ruchej.
Voda sogrelas' v nem i zaburlila,
Celitel'noyu stala dlya lyudej
I mnogih ot boleznej izlechila.
No zapalil nahodchivyj bozhok
Ot glaz moej podrugi fakel snova
I serdce mimohodom mne podzheg.
YA leg v ruchej - spasen'ya nikakogo:
Tam lechatsya serdechnye nedugi,
Gde fakel byl zazhzhen - v ochah podrugi.
The little Love-god lying-once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
Otbrosiv fakel svoj, istochnik bed,
Bozhok lyubvi usnul, a v tu dubravu
Primchalis' nimfy, davshie obet
Blyusti nevinnost' - nebesam vo slavu.
Pytayas' polozhit' lyubvi konec,
K ee vlastitelyu podkravshis' smelo,
Odna iz nimf ogon', grozu serdec,
V rodnik studenyj okunut' sumela.
Celebnoj stala teplaya voda
I ot nedugov mnogih iscelyaet,
No ot lyubvi ne lechit nikogda.
U miloj v rabstve ya - zhar ne stihaet:
Ognem lyubvi rodnik razgoryachen,
No ohladit' lyubov' bessilen on!
Druzhba, Lyubov' i Vremya v Sonetah SHekspira
Vil'yam SHekspir (1564-1616) - yavlenie vydayushcheesya v mirovoj dramaturgii i
poezii.
Nemeckij poet Peter Haks v esse, posvyashchennom 400-letiyu so dnya rozhdeniya
SHekspira, zametil: "SHekspir - eto to, chego my vse hotim i ne mozhem... Ot
SHekspira mozhno otlichat'sya - nedostatkami".
O sushchestvovanii _Sonetov_ vpervye upomyanul Fransis Merez v obzornoj
stat'e "Sokrovishcha uma", voshishchayas' sposobnost'yu SHekspira oplakivat' goresti
i prevratnosti druzhby i lyubvi: "Podobno tomu, kak polagali, chto dusha |vforba
zhila v Pifagore, tak sladostnyj, ostroumnyj duh Ovidiya zhivet v sladkozvuchnom
i medotochivom SHekspire, o chem svidetel'stvuyut ego "Venera i Adonis", ego
"Lukreciya", ego sladostnye sonety, izvestnye ego lichnym druz'yam... Podobno
tomu, kak |pij Stolo skazal, chto esli by muzy znali latyn', to oni stali by
govorit' yazykom Plavta, tak ya utverzhdayu, chto, esli by muzy iz®yasnyalis'
po-anglijski, to oni vveli by v obihod izyashchnye frazy SHekspira..." (1598).
SHekspir po neizvestnoj prichine ne hotel publikovat' _Sonety_, i oni
hodili v rukopisi sredi druzej Poeta. Lish' dva soneta bylo napechatano v 1599
godu, vidimo, bez vedoma SHekspira, i tol'ko cherez desyat' let, v 1609 godu (i
vnov' bez razresheniya avtora) byli opublikovany vse sonety nekim izdatelem
Tomasom Torpom s zagadochnym posvyashcheniem: "Tomu edinstvennomu, komu obyazany
eti sonety svoim poyavleniem: Misteru W. N.".
Kto byl etot W. N.? - issledovateli tvorchestva SHekspira tshchetno pytayutsya
do sih por razgadat'. Sonety, kak schitayut nekotorye literaturovedy,
SHekspirom sozdavalis', nachinaya s 1585 goda. Komu oni posvyashchalis'? Da tak li
vazhno eto? Dlya lyubitelej poezii glavnoj cennost'yu yavlyaetsya to
obstoyatel'stvo, chto genij SHekspira vdohnul novuyu zhizn' v, kazalos' by
ustoyavshuyusya, tradicionnuyu liriku svoih predshestvennikov-poetov. Ego
poeticheskie obrazy smely i neobychny, oni vpervye byli svyazany s povsednevnoj
zhizn'yu prostyh lyudej - tol'ko zemnye obrazy SHekspir schital istinno
poeticheskimi. Sovremenniki Poeta, postigaya glubiny ego liriki, sravnivali
SHekspira s velikimi hudozhnikami slova antichnogo mira, stavili Sonety v ryad
vysshih chelovecheskih tvorenij. |tot zhanr pod perom SHekspira zasverkal novymi
granyami, vmeshchaya v sebya obshirnejshuyu gammu chuvstv i myslej - ot intimnyh
perezhivanij do glubokih filosofskih razdumij i obobshchenij.
Neobychajnoe raznoobrazie poeticheskih sredstv, vyrazitel'nost' yazyka, to
vozvyshennogo, to slishkom prizemlennogo, grubogo, do sih por ne ostavlyayut
ravnodushnymi lyubitelej poezii.
Velikij issledovatel' chelovecheskoj natury, SHekspir podnyal kul'turu
Renessansa na vysshuyu stupen' i - preodolel ee. Izvestno, chto v evropejskom
iskusstve XVI veka mezhdu Renessansom i Barokko sushchestvovalo hudozhestvennoe
napravlenie promezhutochnogo haraktera - Man'erizm, otrazivshij duhovnyj put'
ot renessansnogo garmonicheskogo vospriyatiya mira - k tragizmu, preuvelichennoj
ekspressii, eklektizmu i slozhnejshim allegoriyam. Konec Man'erizma oznachal
nastuplenie Barokko i moshchnejshih realisticheskih techenij. Dlya Man'erizma
harakteren glubokij interes k vnutrennemu miru cheloveka s ego
protivorechivost'yu, derzaniem, ironiej, neistovstvom vo vseh proyavleniyah,
dushevnymi stradaniyami i napryazheniem. A Barokko vozvratil iskusstvo k
uravnoveshennosti i garmonichnosti.
Po hodu sozdaniya sonetnogo cikla SHekspira vse bol'she i bol'she
privlekala strast' v ee krajnih proyavleniyah, poeticheskaya rech' stanovilas'
vse bolee metaforichnoj - s bogatejshej igroj slov i smelymi sravneniyami,
neobychnymi dlya poezii ego vremeni. SHekspir pervym iz poetov slil poeziyu s
zhizn'yu, sozdav nevidannye do nego obrazy, splavlennye iz zhiznennoj prostoty
i konkretnosti. Sozdavaya poeticheskie obrazy, Poet beret ih pochti iz vseh
oblastej nauki i zhizni ego vremeni - sel'skogo
hozyajstva, yurisprudencii, mediciny, istorii, voennogo dela,
gastronomii, mineralogii, fiziologii, diplomatii, remeslennichestva,
estestvoznaniya, ekonomiki, torgovli, iskusstva, poezii i, konechno,
filosofii. Filosofskie kategorii, v pervuyu ochered' takie kak Vremya, Smert',
ZHizn' - krasnoj nit'yu prohodyat cherez vse sonetnoe tvorchestvo SHekspira i
vstrechayutsya bolee chem v sta sonetah iz 154-h.
Glavnye dve temy _Sonetov_ - druzhba i lyubov': duhovnaya platonicheskaya
druzhba s lyubimym i prekrasnym drugom i plotskaya zemnaya lyubov' k ne menee
prekrasnoj vozlyublennoj. Sonetov o druge v neskol'ko raz bol'she, chem o
vozlyublennoj. |to otlichaet SHekspira ot vseh drugih sonetistov epohi
Vozrozhdeniya - tol'ko Mikelandzhelo vospeval svoego yunogo druga, posvyativ emu
neskol'ko sonetov.
Gumanisty-neoplatoniki druzhbu mezhdu muzhchinami stavili dovol'no vysoko,
ibo ona chista i osnovana na duhovnoj blizosti, lishennoj seksual'nosti.
Kstati i v russkoj tradicii predstavlenie o krasote nerastorzhimo s
celomudrennost'yu i predpochtenie otdaetsya duhovnoj platonicheskoj lyubvi, a ne
chuvstvennosti i fizicheskoj strasti.
V odnoj iz poslednih rabot A. A. Anikst predlozhil sleduyushchuyu primernuyu
shemu razbivki sonetov po temam:
- sonety, posvyashchennye drugu, - pervye 126 sonetov;
- sonety, obrashchennye k smugloj vozlyublennoj, - sonety 127-152;
- sonety, proslavlyayushchie krasotu i radost' lyubvi, - sonety 153-154.
Pri etom sonety drugu vklyuchayut v sebya takie nebol'shie cikly, kak:
vospevanie druga - sonety 1-32; gorech' razluki - sonety 27-32; razocharovanie
v druge - sonety 33-42; toska i opasenie poteri druzhby - sonety 43-55;
otchuzhdenie i melanholiya - sonety 56-75; revnost' k drugim poetam - sonety
76-96; "zima" razluki i vozobnovlenie druzhby - sonety 97-126.
Razbivka po temam, konechno, uslovna, poskol'ku, naprimer, sonet 55
predusmatrivaet dvojnoe obrashchenie - i k drugu, i k samomu sebe, eto variant
goracievskogo "Pamyatnika". A takie sonety, kak 94, 119, 121, 123, 129, 146
voobshche ne imeyut, po nashemu mneniyu, konkretnogo adresata. Sonet 123 - eto
razgovor poeta so Vremenem, v sonete 129 net ni odnogo personificiruyushchego
nameka - eto razmyshlenie SHekspira nad chelovecheskimi strastyami. Osobnyakom
stoit i sonet 116, yavlyayushchijsya gimnom lyubvi voobshche.
S temami druzhby i lyubvi svyazan odin iz samyh glavnyh obrazov SHekspira -
obraz Vremeni, besposhchadnogo vraga chelovechestva. Na Vremya Poet smotrit kak na
ob®ektivnuyu sushchestvuyushchuyu real'nost', u nego net fatal'noj boyazni
vsepozhirayushchego i vsepogloshchayushchego Vremeni. Konechno, SHekspir smotrit v proshloe
s sozhaleniem, ibo Vremya unosit vse, chto milo dushe i serdcu, ved' vperedi
bespovorotnyj uhod iz etogo mira - gibel', Smert', no vse zhe Poet nastroen
optimisticheski: da, pobedit' Vremya chelovek fizicheski bessilen, no sushchestvuet
chelovecheskij razum i real'nost' beskonechnoj zhizni gryadushchih potomkov. Dlya
bor'by so Vremenem u cheloveka imeetsya dva vida oruzhiya - vo-pervyh,
prodolzhenie roda, vo-vtoryh, nezauryadnye sposobnosti, kotorye pozvolyayut
unikal'noj chelovecheskoj lichnosti ostavat'sya v pamyati gryadushchih pokolenij
blagodarya svoim deyaniyam v istoricheskoj ili poeticheskoj pamyati chelovechestva.
Obraz Vremeni SHekspir svyazyvaet prezhde vsego s temoj Smerti, kotoraya
otozhdestvlyaetsya im s noch'yu, serpom, kosoj, zakatom, zimoj i t. p. K Smerti
Poet otnositsya bolee sderzhanno, chem ko Vremeni.
Po sravneniyu s poetami-predshestvennikami u SHekspira v _Sonetah_ Boga
kak Sozdatelya net. Vmesto Boga u nego vystupaet olicetvorennaya Priroda - ona
tvorit i sozidaet, vayaet i risuet, i ona zhe ozhidaet ot cheloveka togo, chto
daet kak by v dolg (sonety 2, 4, 11, 122, 126).
Po hodu razvitiya sonetnogo cikla svyaz' vremen v _Sonetah_ stanovitsya
vse menee prochnoj, i Vremya, pol'zuyas' vyrazheniem A. N, Gorbunova, "vyhodit
iz pazov": v vyvernutom naiznanku mire Vremya tozhe "vyvihnuto". Poroyu imenno
eto opredelyaet tragicheskoe krushenie nadezhd druzhby i lyubvi. V pervyh 17-ti
sonetah mir eshche garmonichen, drug prekrasen i vneshnost'yu i dushoyu, i SHekspir,
vidimo ne verya v zagrobnuyu zhizn' i ne somnevayas' v dushevnoj doblesti druga,
ugovarivaet ego ne gubit' v sobstvennoj utrobe divnyj zarodysh i dat' zhizn'
synu, inache prekrasnoe ujdet iz mira navsegda:
Mir otoshchaet - mshchen'ya chas pridet:
Pozhret v mogile Mir tebya i plod. {*}
{* Zdes' i dalee sonety privedeny v perevode I. Fradkina.}
Ugovarivaya druga prodolzhit' rod, Poet ne ostanavlivaetsya i pered
upotrebleniem fol'klornyh sravnenij:
Gde est' nevspahannoe chrevo, chtob
Iskusnyj plug prinyat' ne zahotelo?
V sonete 6 SHekspir ugovarivaet druga napolnyat' "sosud I sladost'yu svoeyu
i krasoyu, Ne to oni bessledno propadut".
Smert' vsegda ostavalas' vsevlastnoj, delaya krasotu i slavu hrupkimi i
nedolgovechnymi. No imenno SHekspir voplotil v svoej poezii etot tragicheskij
motiv s neobychajnoj siloj. Snachala etot ropot zvuchit priglushenno, no uzhe v
sonete 19 Poet ne vyderzhivaet i gnevno osuzhdaet Vremya, obrashchaetsya k nemu
panibratski, nazyvaya ego old Time - Starina:
Prozhorlivoe Vremya! Vozvrashchaj
Zemle ee detej, pechali mnozha:
Klyki u tigra s kornem vyryvaj
I feniksa szhigaj v krovi ego zhe.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Zrya ne starajsya, Starina: v vekah
Drug budet vechno yun v moih stihah,
Neskol'ko osobnyakom sredi pervyh sonetov, posvyashchennyh drugu, stoit
sonet 20, iz kotorogo stanovitsya yasno, chto podobno neoplatonikam Poet stavit
duhovnuyu, razumnuyu druzhbu vyshe plotskoj lyubvi k zhenshchine:
Tebya Priroda zhenshchinoj lepila,
No strastno uvleklas': perereshiv,
Nezhenskuyu veshchicu prikrepila
Tebe, menya vozlyublennoj lishiv.
Ty zhen veshchicej toyu ublazhi,
A mne daruj sokrovishcha dushi.
Postepenno, po mere osoznaniya togo, chto prozhorlivoe Vremya neuderzhimo i
chto krasota, pered kotoroj Poet preklonyaetsya i kotoruyu bogotvorit, vot-vot
budet bezvozvratno poteryana, otnoshenie SHekspira k miru i Vremeni v sonetah
menyaetsya. V sonete 64 zvuchit skorb': "Nam zhizn' daetsya na odno mgnoven'e,
Vot-vot i Vremya druga zaberet". Tragicheskie noty priobretayut nevidannuyu do
SHekspira v liricheskoj poezii silu:
O kto Vesny medovoe dyhan'e
Ot neizbezhnoj gibeli spaset?!
Sberech' ot Vremeni ne v sostoyan'e
Ni kreposti i ni metall vorot,
I mysl' gnetet - ot Vremeni gde skryt'sya:
CHut' perl ono rodit - speshit sgubit'.
CH'ya dlan' derznet ostanovit' ubijcu,
Krasu spasti - vspyat' Vremya obratit'?
Vysokij tragizm zvuchit i v sonete 73 - smert' oznachaet razluku navsegda
i odnomu iz vlyublennyh predstoit proshchanie s umirayushchim drugom: "Tebe vse yasno
i v tvoej krovi Vse plamennej proshchal'nyj zhar lyubvi".
V znamenitom sonete 66 Poet daet ocenku novoj kartine mira, v kotorom
"vyvihnutoe Vremya" okonchatel'no vzyalo verh nad vsem i vsya - Dobrota
vskormila Zlo. Tem yarche i optimistichnee zvuchit v sonete 116 gimn lyubvi, vera
v to, chto soyuz istinno lyubyashchih drug druga, bezmernaya lyubov' sposobna
preodolet' lyubye pregrady, pobediv vsesil'noe Vremya:
Puskaj likuyut vernye serdca,
Ne dopushchu, chtob Zlo Lyubov' lomalo -
U toj Lyubvi ne dolzhno byt' konca,
CHto rozhdena dlya vechnogo nachala.
No, uvy, "vyvihnutoe Vremya" daet o sebe znat', i u Poeta proryvayutsya
upreki v adres druga, soyuz s kotorym stal dalek ot garmonii i sovershenstva.
V sonete 69 SHekspir uprekaet druga: "Kogda v sadu gulyayut vse podryad, Sovsem
ne tot uzhe v nem aromat", a v sonete 95 uprek eshche opredelennee: "Tvoya
porochnost' krasotoj prikryta - Greshish', ne znaya radostnej igry; V tvoej dushe
gnezdo poroka svito: Prekrasna roza, da chervyak vnutri".
Literaturovedami davno zamecheno sushchestvovanie tesnoj svyazi _Sonetov_ s
tragediyami SHekspira, v kotoryh zhizn' b'et klyuchom i kipyat strasti. Primer
tomu - otnosheniya geroev tragedii "Antonij i Kleopatra", glavnaya tema kotoroj
- gubitel'nost' strasti. Tak, naprimer, Antonij v scene s Kleopatroj
vosklicaet:
"There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned" - "Nichtozhna strast',
v kotoroj est' merila" i dalee: "ZHizni vysota... v smelosti i strasti...
pryamee!.. Vyrazhenij ne smyagchaj!" - perevod B. Pasternaka.
V scene smerti Irady Kleopatra vyskazyvaet dogadku o tom, chto smert'
podobna dolgozhdannoj laske vozlyublennogo - bol'no, no ee strastno zhdesh':
"The stroke of death is a lover's pinch Which hurts and is desired" -
"Sudorogi smerti - kak s lyubimym shvatka: Bol' i zhelannoe blazhenstvo".
Velikaya strast' kipit v _Sonetah_: "How have mine eyes of their spheres
been fitted In the distraction of madding fever!" - "O, kak v lyubovnoj
lihoradke bilsya - Glaza vyskakivali iz orbit!"; "My love is fever, longing
still For that which longer nurseth the disease" - "Lyubov' - goryachka, zhar ne
utihaet, Naoborot, stanovitsya sil'nej".
|ti primery nam kazhutsya ubeditel'nymi. I eshche - sushchestvuyushchie perevody
ryada sonetov ne vsegda adekvatny stilyu i duhu originala, poetomu chislo
derzayushchih dostich' sovershenstva pri perevode _Sonetov_ s godami ne
umen'shaetsya.
Stavya druzhbu vyshe lyubvi, SHekspir posvyashchaet svoemu yunomu drugu bolee sta
sonetov, a o svoih vzaimootnosheniyah so smugloj vozlyublennoj rasskazyvaet
lish' v dvadcati pyati. No kakogo tragicheskogo nakala dostigayut chuvstva Poeta
v sonetah k smugloj ledi!
V sonete 127 Poet vostorgaetsya krasotoj svoej chernoglazoj vozlyublennoj.
On polushutlivo nazyvaet ee "Muzyka moya" (sonet 128) i sravnivaet klavishi
royalya, na kotorom ona vdohnovenno igraet, s bespardonnymi parnyami-uhazherami,
celuyushchimi pal'chiki ego miloj, i trebuet ot nee byt' bolee sderzhannoj: "Ty
uhazheram v meru potakaj: Daruj im pal'cy, guby mne otdaj!" No uzhe v
sleduyushchem sonete SHekspir obrushivaetsya kak by na samogo sebya, strastno
osuzhdaya plot', bezumnuyu chuvstvennost', berushchuyu verh nad chelovecheskim
razumom:
Bezumna pohot' v bege za mechtoj,
Bezumna pohot' na piru svidan'ya...
Ne v silah izbezhat' ni star, ni mlad
Puti v raj plotskij, chto zavodit v ad.
Tragizm lyubvi vyplesnut na stroki lyubovnyh sonetov i zvuchit to
priglushenno ("Nadmennaya krasa srodni tiranu"; "Za chto korish' menya,
tiran-carica?; Gde, nedostojnaya, ty moshch' vzyala Menya porabotit'?"), a to
gromko i gnevno Poet perechislyaet nedostojnye postupki izmenchivoj i lzhivoj
vozlyublennoj:
Teper' i drug popalsya - oba my
V tvoih rukah...
Ty - buhta, gde brosayut yakorya
Vse korabli; tebe zhe, alchnoj, malo:
Ty vykovala cepi, mne darya
Iz fal'shi puty, chto prochnej metalla...
Dva Duha serdcem teshatsya moim,
Nesut vostorg i muku, im vladeya:
Drug belokuryj - nezhnyj heruvim -
I smuglaya podruga - zlaya feya.
YA slovno v preispodnej v gor'kij chas:
Besovka soblaznyaet heruvima...
I v konce koncov rvushchij dushu tragizm lyubvi Poeta dostigaet neveroyatnoj
vysoty:
Lyubov' - goryachka, zhar ne utihaet,
Naoborot, stanovitsya sil'nej:
Ee tuda vlechet, gde polyhaet
Ogon' vsepozhirayushchih strastej.
Ostavil razum-vrach menya v neschast'e:
Razgnevan: ya sovetom prenebreg;
Smert' nenasytna i smertel'ny strasti,
YA zhdu, kogda pridet poslednij srok.
ZHivu na grani umopomrachen'ya...
Klyuchevym sonetom yavlyaetsya, po nashemu mneniyu, sonet 146, soderzhashchij
filosofskoe kredo SHekspira: odin iz putej pobedy nad Vremenem - neustannaya
tvorcheskaya rabota Duha. Telo brenno, Duh - bessmerten. Ne holi telo i plot',
holi Duh, Dushu. Ne trat' sily i vremya na telo, vremennuyu obitel' Duha, a
rashoduj ih na vzrashchenie Duha, obespechivaya emu bessmertie:
Znaj: telo - rab; sokrovishcha kopi,
Za schet raba zhivi, Smert' ob®edaya,
Bozhestvennuyu budushchnost' skupi,
Letyashchie v nichto dni prodavaya.
Tu Smert', chto zhret lyudej, sam pogloti:
Pozhrav ee, bessmert'e obreti.
Sopostavlyaya zaklyuchitel'nye stroki sonetov 1-go i 146-go ("Pity the
world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due by the grave and
three"; "So shalt thou feed on Death, that feed on men, And Death once dead,
there's no more dying then"), netrudno zametit', chto ih lejtmotivami
yavlyayutsya Smert' i Vozrozhdenie, to est' postoyannaya smena otzhivshego novym -
putem preodoleniya goloda-smerti, dlya oboznacheniya kotoryh SHekspirom
upotreblyayutsya takie klyuchevye ponyatiya, kak "pogloshchenie pishchi", "obzhora",
"obzhorstvo", "zhrat'" i dr.
Esli v 1-m sonete Poet napominaet drugu, chto vozrozhdenie posle smerti
nevozmozhno bez prodleniya roda, ibo otoshchavshij mir nabrositsya i pozhret v
mogile ostanki druga vmeste s nerodivshimsya synom, to v 146-m sonete
vospevaetsya volshebnaya sposobnost' tvorchestva morit' Smer' golodom i szhivat'
ee so sveta, obretaya takim obrazom sobstvennoe bessmertie i ostavayas' v
pamyati chelovechestva.
Sonety, proslavlyayushchie druga, sonety o tragicheskoj lyubvi Poeta k smugloj
vozlyublennoj i, nakonec, dva zaklyuchitel'nyh soneta o krasote i o radosti
lyubvi k zhenshchine, kotorye zakanchivayutsya strokami o vsepobezhdayushchej sile lyubvi:
...but I, my mistress'thrall,
Came there for cure, and this be that I prove,
Love 'sfire heats water, water cools not love.
U miloj v rabstve ya - zhar ne stihaet:
Ognem lyubvi rodnik razgoryachen,
No ohladit' lyubov' bessilen on!
Esli Vijon povedal nam o zhizni, o Boge i poroke, o smerti i bessmertii,
a Rable pokazal nam telo i ego radosti, to SHekspir osudil vsepozhirayushchee
Vremya, opredelil Smert' kak neobhodimuyu stupen' k vozrozhdeniyu novyh zhiznej,
vospel krasotu i radost' lyubvi i, glavnoe, raskryl slozhnyj i protivorechivyj
vnutrennij mir cheloveka.
"Sonety - klyuch, otmykayushchij shekspirovskoe serdce" - skazal U. Vordsvort.
V predstavlennyh v etoj knige perevodah Sonetov nami predprinyata ocherednaya
popytka peredat' na russkom yazyke bolee tochno duh, smysl i stil' originala.
Naskol'ko udalos' eto - sudit' chitatelyu.
Igor' Fradkin
O perevodchike
Peterburgskij poet Igor' Zalmanovich Fradkin rodilsya v 1929 g. v
Leningrade. Perezhil leningradskuyu blokadu. Stihi nachal pisat' s detskih let.
Posle vojny on okonchil Leningradskoe rechnoe uchilishche i rabotal
topografom v izyskatel'skoj ekspedicii v Karelii, na Belomorsko-Baltijskom
kanale. Zatem postupil v Leningradskij politehnicheskij institut i vyuchilsya
na inzhenera-gidrotehnika.
Eshche buduchi kursantom uchilishcha, horosho ovladel anglijskim yazykom, za chto
poluchil prozvishche "anglichanin". V eti zhe gody delal pervye (uvy, ne slishkom
udachnye) popytki perevoda anglijskih poetov-klassikov. I prodolzhal pisat' i
pisat' stihi.
Poeticheskoe masterstvo v 1950-h godah ottachival v literaturnom
ob®edinenii "Narvskaya zastava", kotoroe izvestno tem, chto v nem vzrastalo
masterstvo luchshego liricheskogo poeta sovremennosti Nikolaya Rubcova.
Pervye poeticheskie publikacii I. Fradkina otnosyatsya k etim zhe godam.
Kak inzhener-gidrotehnik on uchastvoval v proektirovanii
gidroelektrostancij na Irtyshe i v Albanii, sooruzhenij Belomorsko-Baltijskogo
kanala, prichalov v Leningrade i na rekah Dal'nego Vostoka, a takzhe kompleksa
sooruzhenij zashchity Leningrada ot navodnenij. Za proektirovanie sooruzhenij
Volgo-Baltijskogo vodnogo puti imeet pravitel'stvennye nagrady.
Kak poet-perevodchik neodnokratno byl uchastnikom "SHekspirovskih chtenij"
i simpoziumov po problemam teorii i istorii soneta.
Za ego plechami bol'shoj opyt perevodcheskoj raboty, kotoruyu otlichaet
vysokoe masterstvo. V poslednie gody v perevodah I. Fradkina izdany takie
knigi, kak "Sonety anglijskih poetov XVI-XIX vv." (1997), "Amerikanskaya
poeziya"(1998), "Anglijskaya poeziya XVI-XX vv." (1998), a takzhe dvuyazychnye
izdaniya, posvyashchennye 300-letiyu Sankt-Peterburga - "Dzhon Donn. Izbrannoe"
(2002) i "Persi Bishi SHelli" (2002).
Sonety SHekspira neodnokratno publikovalis' na russkom yazyke. Odnako,
krupnejshij uchenyj, literaturoved i iskusstvoved A. Anikst eshche v 1976 g. v
stat'e, kotoraya predvaryala publikaciyu Sonetov SHekspira v novyh perevodah A.
Finkelya, otmetil, chto "...pri ogromnoj talantlivosti S. Marshaka, ego
perevody ne peredayut v polnoj mere svoeobraziya liriki SHekspira" i dalee -
"tak pri prelesti stihov B. ZHukovskogo "SHil'onskij uznik", on v svoih
perevodah ne sohranyaet osobennostej energichnoj i strastnoj poezii Bajrona.
To zhe proishodit i s SHekspirom v perevodah Marshaka". ("SHekspirovskie chteniya
1976". M., Nauka, s. 218.) Podobnuyu mysl' vyskazal i vydayushchijsya russkij
perevodchik V. Levik o sushchestvuyushchih perevodah _Sonetov_ SHekspira, govorya o
tom, chto my ne budem imet' nastoyashchego SHekspira na russkom yazyke "poka ne
yavitsya poet, kotoryj perevedet SHekspira zanovo tem svezhim, bezuderzhnym
bujnym i mnogocvetnym yazykom, kotorym pisal velikij Vil'yam".
Dvadcat' let nazad I. Fradkin "zagorelsya" SHekspirom. Ego mnogoletnij
podvizhnicheskij trud tak ocenen izvestnym shekspirovedom Elenoj Lavrovoj:
"Igor' Fradkin uspeshno spravlyaetsya s zadachej peredachi stilya _Sonetov_.
Ego perevody mogut sopernichat' s perevodami S. Marshaka, i, kak nynche modno
govorit', dolzhny stat' ih al'ternativoj, potomu chto oni bolee tochny v
peredache smysla i stilya, bolee sovremenny po yazyku i vysokohudozhestvenny".
Last-modified: Wed, 09 Mar 2005 11:21:43 GMT