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Sonnets of Shakespeare.
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Sonety SHekspira.
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1.
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,
Thy self 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, mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
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1.
Prekrasnoe priroda umnozhala,
ZHivyh cvetov zhivitel'nyj magnit,
O krasote, kotoraya siyala,
Naslednik dobryj pamyat' sohranit:
No tot, kto zamknut na sebe odnom,
Svoim pitayas' plamenem naprasno,
Voistinu obmanut mirazhom,
Ty - vrag svoj, i krasa tvoya - uzhasna:
Ved' ty kartiny cel'noj lish' chastica,
I tol'ko vestnik budushchego dnya,
Ne pozvolyaya pochke raspustit'sya,
Zachahnesh', ne ostaviv dazhe pnya:
Opomnis' zhe, inache - grob s mogiloj
Sozhrut tebya, kak mnogih, dannik milyj.
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2.
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 totter'd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, 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 deserv'd 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!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
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2.
Kogda perezhiv¸sh' ty sorok zim,
I vzrezhut lob dve tysyachi morshchin,
Pokazhetsya nenuzhnym i chuzhim,
Ves' garderob, chto vyglyadit bol'shim:
I esli sprosyat: "Gde zhe tvoya stat'?
Gde spryatal klad svoih bespechnyh dnej?";
"V moih glazah", - ty budesh' povtoryat',
Mrachneya s kazhdym slovom vs¸ sil'nej.
O, esli b mog ponyat' sud'by velen'e,
I ukazat' na trud, chto ty sozdal:
"Vot sil moih ushedshih ustremlen'e",
Kak vesko b etot dovod prozvuchal!
Razdumij plod, vzburli klyuchom v krovi,
Sogrej, vzbodri, i serdce ozhivi.
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3.
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.
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3.
Zerkal'nomu skazhi izobrazhen'yu:
"Tvo¸ lico hod vremeni sostarit;
I esli ne nachn¸sh' ty obnovlen'e,
Sud'ba tebe podarkov ne podarit".
Zachem zemle, nevspahannoj, stradat',
I zarastat' bur'yanom, polnoj sil?
I kak togo neschastnogo nazvat',
Kto svoj talant v zemle pohoronil?
Ty - otrazhen'e materi rodnoj,
I voskreshen'e dnej ee mladyh.
I ty, skvoz' okna oseni zlatoj,
Uvidish' urozhaj trudov svoih.
No pomni, smertnyj, esli ty - zhivoj,
S toboj umr¸t zerkal'nyj obraz tvoj.
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4.
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.
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4.
Zachem svoj dar, prirodnoe nasledstvo,
Krasavec-mot, rastrachivaesh' v prah?
Vzajmy tebe dayutsya eti sredstva,
Vs¸, chto istratish', vzvesyat na vesah.
Zachem talant, stol' shchedryj i ogromnyj,
Krasavec-skryaga, ne puskaesh' v hod?
Zachem tebe on dan, kupec nikch¸mnyj,
Ved' skoro srok vozvrata podojdet?
S samim soboj zhelaya torgovat',
Ty v durakah ostavish' sam sebya.
Priroda ej otchet poprosit dat',
CHto skazhesh' ty, gubami shevelya?
Krasivyj prah zabven'yu podlezhit,
No del zhivaya prelest' budet zhit'.
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5.
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.
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5.
Te samye chasy, chto sozdayut
CHudesnyj obraz, vzglyad k sebe manyashchij,
Bezzhalostno razrushat i ub'yut,
Svoej raboty rezul'tat blestyashchij:
Neutomimo vremya, i za letom
Zime uzhasnoj nastupaet srok;
Byluyu krasotu zasyplet snegom,
V derev'yah i kustah zastynet sok:
On, zhidkij plennik, esli sveta malo,
V temnice zamknut ledyanyh kamnej,
I kazhetsya, chto krasota uvyala,
Net ni e¸, ni pamyati o nej:
No kust cvetochnyj, zimu perezhiv,
Vnov' ozhiv¸t; poskol'ku duh v nem zhiv.
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6.
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.
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6.
Itak, chtob ne razrushil zimnij ad,
Tot letnij luch, chto plennika spas¸t:
Sozdaj fial; V n¸m sberegaj svoj klad,
Poka k koncu tropinka ne prid¸t.
Kupec, uznavshij etot vernyj put',
Dovolen, chto dolgi vern¸t obratno;
Schastlivec tot, kto vidit svoyu sut',
Kto vidit bol'she, schastliv mnogokratno;
Tak, desyat' raz svoj obraz voploshchaya,
Ty otrazh¸n v desyatkah slov zhivyh:
CHto mozhet smert', kogda ty, umiraya,
Svoj svetlyj oblik ostavlyaesh' v nih?
A esli net, bud' hot' svetlee sveta,
CHervyam dostanetsya vsya svetlost' eta.
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7.
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.
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7.
|j! na vostoke svetlyj, dobryj luch,
Kosnulsya glaz, pod®¸m svoj nachinaya,
I vs¸ zhivoe, raduyas' teplu,
Ego velich'yu trepetno vnimaet;
Legko vzobravshis' na nebesnyj holm,
Kak zdorovyak, shturmuyushchij pregrady,
Disk solnechnyj na nebe golubom
Darit lyubov' i privlekaet vzglyady;
No vot, ustav, kak nemoshchnyj starik,
Zakanchivaet den', mir, do svidan'ya,
No vsled tomu, chej prezhnij vid ponik,
Uzhe ne smotryat smertnye sozdan'ya:
I tvoj zakat ne nuzhen nikomu,
Solncepodobnyj, ty id¸sh' vo t'mu.
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8.
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.'
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8.
Melodiyu pechal'nuyu ty slyshish'?
Sonety ne voyuyut s krasotoj.
Tak otchego, moj svet, ty grust'yu dyshish',
Uzheli razdrazh¸n stihov igroj?
V soyuze garmonichnom eti zvuki,
Byt' mozhet, obizhayut nezhnyj sluh,
Tak samogo sebya vini za muki,
Poskol'ku kak medved' ty tugouh.
Kogda b imel sposobnost' zamechat',
Svyatyh asketov vnyal by pesnopen'yu,
Poyut tebe otec i syn i mat',
Ih gimn - pol¸t dushi i voshishchen'e:
Mnogo zagadok, razgadka odna:
"Nespetaya pesnya tvoya ne slyshna".
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9.
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt 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.
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9.
Otvet', ty v odinochestve zatem,
CHtoby zhena ne sdelalas' vdovoyu?
Vdova ne plachet, znachit, net problem.
No plachet mir, ves' mir belugoj vzvoet;
Tvoej vdovoyu zarydaet mir,
Ujdya, ty ne ostavil dazhe tochki,
Vdova hot' uteshaetsya det'mi,
Najdya ushedshego v glazah u dochki.
Pojmi, bol' neizbezhnogo uhoda,
Nit' zhizni ne prerv¸t ni vglub', ni vshir';
No krasota, ne davshaya priploda,
Ne sad ostavit na zemle - pustyr'.
Kto svoj talant vpustuyu rastochaet,
Ne luchshe, chem ubijca postupaet.
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10.
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.
O, 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.
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10.
Styd! nrav medvezhij i lyubov' medvezh'ya,
K licu l' tebe, ostav', peremenis'.
Ty nelyubim, no izmenis' v nadezhde,
CHto mir tebya polyubit, toropis';
Tvoj mozg v plenu krovavogo zlodeya,
CHto kozni izmyshlyaya, gubit plot'.
Ishchi zhe put', kak zolotom vladeya,
Izvlech' ego, i besa poborot'.
O, izmenis', izmenitsya sonet!
Uzheli zlo tebe milej lyubvi?
Bud' svetlym, ibo ty i sam - est' svet,
Inache svet - zlodeya umertvit:
Pokuda krasota tvoya zhivaya,
Stan' krasotoj, lyubov'yu zaklinayu.
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11.
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.
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11.
Na zemlyu upadi posevom skorym,
V rost, v rost naprav' zerno, skorej, skorej;
I posle iz zerna, umr¸sh' v kotorom,
Ty ozhiv¸sh', tak toropis', uspej.
I v etom sila, smysl i krasota:
Inache glupost', starost' i raspad:
Inache put', vedushchij v nikuda,
Smert' ot bolezni let tak v shest'desyat.
Dlya grubiyana, vora i lguna
Konec odin - pogibel'nyj udar:
Vs¸, chto zahochesh', to voz'm¸sh' spolna;
No preumnozh' Prirody svetlyj dar:
Tebe doveryat tajnuyu pechat',
No tol'ko ugovor - ne poteryat'.
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12.
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.
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12.
Kogda ya nablyudayu za chasami,
I vizhu den', plen¸nnyj mgloj nochnoj;
Kogda fialki traur pred glazami,
Skvoz' sneg gorchashchej pryad'yu smolyanoj;
Kogda ves' cvet, stoyavshih molodcami,
Derev'ev, vizhu, obletel, suhoj,
I vizhu vody, skovannye l'dami,
I travy so shchetinoyu sedoj;
Togda, krasa moya, ya voproshayu,
Iz teh li ty, komu izmeren srok?
Ved' prelest' nastoyashchaya, zhivaya,
Umr¸t, otdav preemniku svoj sok;
Ne trat' sekund, idi, togo vzrasti,
Kto dolzhen chudnyj obraz obresti.
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13.
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.
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13.
Ty byl soboj! teper' zhe, uchenik,
Ne budesh' zhit' kak prezhde, no inache:
Ty mozhesh' podgotovit', esli vnik,
Sebe preemnika, derzaj, udachi.
Tak krasota naslednaya tvoya
Ne znaet: gde ty budesh' posle smerti,
Medvezh'ya li berloga zhd¸t tebya,
Drugoj li obraz rok tebe raschertit.
Kto poruchitsya v tom, chto krepkij dom
Upadka izbezhit, i chto hozyajstvo
Ne razorit zima, vojna, pogrom,
Pozhar, meteorit il' razgil'dyajstvo?
Vs¸ mozhet byt'! No znaj zhe, milyj syn,
Est' tvoj otec: i vnuk da budet s nim.
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14.
Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' 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.
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14.
YA mudrost' zv¸zd ne pohishchayu, net;
Hotya i izuchil nebesny svody,
Ne dam prognoz ni bedstvij, ni pobed,
Ni goloda, ni mora, ni pogody;
Primety ne tolkuyu, ne suzhu
O kazhdom grome, vetre i dozhde,
Naslednym princam ya ne rasskazhu
O schast'e predveshchayushchej zvezde:
Tvoi glaza - vot vernyh dve zvezdy,
CHto govoryat ob istine i svete,
CHto seyal, chto vzoshlo, chto sdelal ty,
Vsyu pravdu mne otkroyut zv¸zdy eti.
I esli pravdy s krasotoj v nih net,
To dlya tebya zakonchilsya sonet.
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15.
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.
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15.
Kogda ya dumayu, chto vs¸ zhivoe
Dostignet sovershenstva, no na mig.
A chto est' mig? nichto! nichto inoe,
Kak tajnoe vliyan'e zv¸zd nochnyh;
YA dumayu, chto lyudi, kak i travy,
Dostich' pytayas' neba golovoj,
Smeyutsya, pravo, ved' zenit ih slavy -
Predvestnik kraha pamyati byloj;
I eta malost', vzl¸t s zabven'em ryadom,
Istochnik dlya menya kartin inyh,
Kak intriguet Vremya-mot s Raspadom,
ZHelaya den' zagnat' v boloto t'my.
Protiv tebya Raspad idet vojnoj,
Soyuznik-Vremya s nim, voitel' zloj.
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16.
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.
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16.
No pochemu by Vremeni-Tiranu
Svyashchennuyu vojnu ne ob®yavit'?
I v bok emu na slavnom pole, brannom,
Kop'¸ iz slaboj rifmy ne vonzit'?
O, razmahnis' ruka sil nebyvalyh,
Na svete mnogo devstvennyh lesov,
Kuda medvezh'ya lapa ne stupala,
V palitre mnogo krasochnyh cvetov:
O, kist' moya, ne to chto kist' tirana,
Ves' mir, tot, chto snaruzhi i vnutri,
Izobrazi pravdivo, bez obmana,
Ostanovi mgnoven'e, raz, dva, tri.
Ty budesh' zhit', hotya ujd¸sh', takim,
Kakov tvoj cvet, horoshim il' plohim.
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17.
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 touch'd 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.
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17.
Ty sprosish', kto poverit slovesam,
V kotoryh obraz tvoj zhivej zhivogo?
Kakim ty byl, izvestno nebesam,
A prah mogiloj skryt, i net inogo.
I esli ya vospel tvoj yasnyj svet,
I krasotu, i tvoj nebesnyj dar,
Ne skazhut li potomki: "Lzh¸t poet:
Sej svet i ne svetil nam nikogda".
I ot nasmeshek smorshchitsya bumaga,
Kak staryj ded, hvastun i mrakobes,
Poet, razgnevan, shvatitsya za shpagu,
I zagrustit geroj antichnyh p'es:
No esli ty ostavish' sled na svete,
Ty dvazhdy zhiv; v n¸m i - mo¸m sonete.
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18.
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 sometime 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.
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18.
Pozvol', sravnyu tebya i letnij den'?
Ty bolee krasiv, umeren takzhe:
Ved' vetry rvut cvetushchuyu siren',
A den' projd¸t, i slovno ne byl dazhe:
Poroyu solnce svetit slishkom yarko,
I chasto etot zhar - nedobryj znak;
Byvaet, gibnet tvar', kogda ej zharko,
Sluchajno, net li, no byvaet tak;
No letu vechnomu ne potusknet',
Ne strashen zhar i holod vechnym pochkam;
Ne strashen mrak tomu, i zlaya smert',
Kto v vechnyh, dobryh knigah pishet strochki:
Poka zhiv¸t i vidit hot' odin,
Ty zhiv, poet! i zhizn' daesh' drugim.
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19.
Devouring Time, blunt thou 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.
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19.
Obzhora-Vremya, kogti l'vam tupi,
S peskom sravnyaj vse kamni piramid;
Iz pasti tigrov zuby s krov'yu rvi,
Pust' feniks-dolgozhitel' v nej sgorit;
Smeshaj sezony, zemlyu i efir,
Topchi nogami, kak ugodno zlis',
Vs¸ unichtozh', vsyu krasotu, ves' mir;
Ot gnusnosti odnoj lish' uderzhis':
Ne rezh' moyu lyubov'; poka rezcom,
Rezcom antichnym ne ostavit znak;
Idushchim sledom na puti zemnom,
Pust' put' osvetit krasoty mayak.
A, vprochem, Vremya: hochesh' ili net,
Sonet hranit lyubov', i yunyj cvet.
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20.
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,
Much 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.
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20.
O, car' i gospozha moej lyubvi,
V tvo¸m lice est' myagkost' zhenskih krasok;
I b'¸tsya serdce zhenskoe v grudi,
Pod lzhivym odeyan'em modnyh masok;
Ne stol' vertlyav tvoj yasnyj zhenskij glaz,
On zoloto ot gryazi otlichaet;
A, polnyj sily, muzhestvennyj glas
Izbrannic i sopernikov plenyaet.
Ty sozdan bogom ran'she, chem nasedka;
Strashatsya gory gneva tvoego,
I, chtoby ne obidet' slovom edkim,
Odno pribavlyu, bol'she nichego.
Kol' shpil'koyu ukolot, muk ne dli,
Ispol'zuj zhe sokrovishcha svoi.
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21.
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 than like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
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21.
Sonet - tvoren'e Muzy i mechty,
Kartin prekrasnoe izobrazhen'e,
Gde nebo - chast' ornamenta, kak ty,
Gde krasota v chudesnom obramlen'e
Rozhdaet svyaz', i gordoe sravnen'e
S lunoj i solncem, morem i zeml¸j,
S aprel'skim cvetom neobyknovennym,
I vsem, chto imenuyut krasotoj.
O, ver' v pravdivyj smysl moih rechej,
CHto ya, kak syna mat', tebya lyublyu,
Hotya lyubov' sgorayushchih svechej,
Vozmozhno, prevzojd¸t lyubov' moyu:
Pust' skazhut bol'she, chem rasslyshit sluh;
Cel' ne obman, ostavim pohvalu.
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22.
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.
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22.
CHto star ya, ne uverit vid zerkal'nyj,
YA star i molod tak zhe, kak i ty;
Net u tebya sledov morshchin pechal'nyh,
Smert' ne izmenit i moi cherty.
Vsya krasota tvoya, sam rassudi,
Est' odeyan'e serdca moego,
Kotoroe zhiv¸t v tvoej grudi:
Kak mozhesh' ty molozhe byt' ego?
Poetomu, kak ya, bud' ostorozhen,
Ne za sebya boyus', a za tebya;
Pytayus' sdelat' vs¸, chto tol'ko mozhno,
Tvo¸ medvezh'e serdce vozlyubya.
Zakroesh' serdce, ya umru opyat';
Ono vo mne, ne zabiraj nazad.
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23.
As an unperfect 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.
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23.
Kak nezadachlivyj akt¸r na scene,
Vdrug iz boyazni pozabyvshij rol',
Ili kak lyutyj monstr v uzhasnoj pene,
CHto duhom pal i poteryal kontrol'.
Tak ya, upomyanut' sovsem zabyl,
Odnako vazhno soblyusti obryad,
Kol' kazhetsya, chto vybilsya iz sil,
Na samom dele, sily prosto spyat.
O, prosypajsya, kniga. Bud' moim
Glashataem, nemym zagovorivshim,
Oratorom iskusnym, no prostym,
I slovom, v podnebes'e vosparivshim.
Pust' bol'she, chem yazyk, rasskazhet slovo:
Pust' glaz uslyshit zvuk i mysl' nemogo.
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24.
Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is the 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.
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24.
Moj glaz - hudozhnik, mo¸ serdce - stol,
Ty - chistyj holst, lezhashchij na stole.
CHtob obraz ochertanie obr¸l,
Izobrazim kartinu na holste.
Iskusstvo v tom, chtoby ponyat' naverno,
V ch¸m iskazhen'e vernogo lica;
Grud' - studiya; s otvagoyu primernoj
Vsmotris' v ne¸ glazami mudreca.
I za igroyu glaz teper' smotri:
Moj glaz risuet; obraz dlya menya -
Okno k tebe. Vdrug v studii, vnutri
Svet vspyhnul lyubopytnogo ognya.
Pytlivyj vzor zhelaet znat' itog;
No chto uvidit, kto by vedat' mog.
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25.
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph 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.
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25.
Pust' zvan'em, imenem, vysokoj chest'yu
Gorditsya tot, kogo ved¸t zvezda,
YA nevedom, uspeh mne neizvesten,
No u menya inaya vysota.
Vysokij princ zhiv¸t s bol'shim razmahom,
No zhizn'yu l¸gkoj letnego cvetka,
Kol' skrylos' solnce, to id¸t vs¸ prahom,
I gordyj blesk smenyaet pustota.
Zavoevatel' mira, voin bravyj,
Iz tysyachi odnazhdy proigrav,
Lishitsya vmig imperii i slavy,
I mir zabudet groznyj ego nrav:
Kto lyubit i lyubim, tot schastliv bol'she,
Takoe schast'e dlitsya mnogo dol'she.
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26.
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.
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26.
Moj princ, moj gospodin, moya lyubov',
Menya i Vashu chest' sud'ba svyazala,
Otpravit' k Vam posol'stvo etih slov
Velit mne dolg smirennogo vassala:
Dolg tak velik, a um moj tak nichtozhen,
CHto tochnyh slov mne trudno podobrat',
No dobraya dusha, nadeyus', vs¸ zhe,
Zaputannost' sumeet prochitat';
Ah, esli b putevodnaya zvezda
Mne ukazala vernuyu dorogu,
Ukrasila b almaznaya gryada
Moi slova, v kotoryh malo proku:
Kak byl by gord lyubov'yu ya moeyu;
Poka zhe, princ, glavy podnyat' ne smeyu.
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27.
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.
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27.
Ot del ustav, ya padayu v krovat',
Vs¸, otdyh, spi, izmuchennoe telo;
No tol'ko nachinayu zasypat',
Prihodit myslej roj, im net predela:
Speshat oni, podobno golubicam,
V dal¸kij put' ko vzglyadu tvoemu,
Pokoya net slabeyushchim glaznicam,
Vpivayutsya, otkrytye, vo t'mu,
I mnitsya, chto dushi neyasnyj kvant -
Est' tvoya ten', nevidimaya glazu,
Kotoraya kak solnechnyj bril'yant,
Gorit vo mgle, i osveshchaet razum.
|j! Stop, zaboty dn¸m, a dumy noch'yu
Moj mir privychnyj razdrobili v kloch'ya.
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28.
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 either'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 them 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 grief's strength seem stronger.
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28.
Kak mne vernut' sebe schastlivyj vid,
Kogda lishilsya sna ya i pokoya?
Kol' noch' dnevnye rany ne celit,
I den' kak noch', nu chto eto takoe?
Vrazhdu zabyv, drug drugu pomogaya,
Menya terzayut, duh moj iznemog;
Odin trudom, viden'yami drugaya,
Kak ya ustal, i kak zhe ty dal¸k.
Poslushaj, den', on yasen, kak i ty,
Kogda pechal'nyh tuch na nebe net:
Smuglyanka, u nego tvoi cherty,
Nochnoj zvezdoyu svetit ego svet.
No den' za dn¸m lish' umnozhayut gore,
I nochi etoj strannoj pesne vtoryat.
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29.
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 friend |