87.
Proshchaj! ty dorog mne i net pregrady,
Sposobnoj uderzhat' moguchij duh:
Uznaj, chto cepi rabskie raz®yaty;
Idi, kuda vlech¸t svobodnyj sluh.
K chemu derzhat' mne v kreposti tebya?
CHtob sil'nym stal ty, ne mo¸ l' zhelan'e?
Svobody put' - est' vernaya stezya,
Lyuboj drugoj - naprasnoe skitan'e.
CHto ty da¸sh', ty sam togo ne znaesh',
No znayu ya, svet istiny tvoej;
Zerno lyubvi, kotorym prorastaesh',
Vern¸t mne radost' yunyh moih dnej.
Ty videl son: zverej, carej, rabyn';
Prosnis', korol'! ocepenen'e skin'.
88.
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.
88.
Kogda ischeznet svet v moih glazah,
Il' etot svet odobrit mir prezren'ya,
YA utoplyu sebya i ih v slezah,
I dokazhu vozmozhnost' vozrozhden'ya.
Mne luchshe vseh izvestny ih prokazy,
V rasskaz pravdivyj fal'sh ih obernu,
CHtob kazhdyj, obnaruzhiv lozhnost' frazy,
Smog obresti, prezrev menya, triumf:
No triumfator, vs¸-taki, ya tozhe;
Poskol'ku ya lyubov'yu pobezhd¸n,
Poskol'ku ya lyubov'yu unichtozhen,
Sogret vdvojne celebnym ya ogn¸m.
Ty moj uchitel', ya tvo¸ tvoren'e,
Medved', kotoromu vernulos' zren'e.
89.
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.
89.
Ostavlen ya, oshibki ispravlyayu,
Pust' obo vseh rasskazhet vernyj stih,
Skazhi "hromoj", i tochno zahromayu,
Zashchity net ot dovodov tvoih;
Beschestiem lyubov' ne mozhet byt',
Ona ne potrevozhit son bol'nogo,
No hochesh', ya sebya dam izuchit',
Ves' tihij uzhas omuta chuzhogo;
Kogda vyhodit doktor iz palaty,
YAzyk vlyubl¸nnyj nachinaet beg,
Kak ya, on schastliv donesti sobratu
O tom, chto ego doktor luchshe vseh.
YAzyk gotov so mnoyu dazhe sporit',
On nenavidit vseh, s kem ty v razdore.
90.
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 'scoped 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.
90.
Voznenavid' menya; da, i sejchas;
Poka menya zemlya eshch¸ vynosit,
Zatkni mne rot i vyrvi slabyj glaz,
I pust' zloj veter prah ego unosit:
Ah, ne vhodi kak vor iz-za spiny,
Kogda pechal' sgorit v serdechnom toke;
Pust' t¸mnoj nochi grozovye sny
Zakonchit utro v gulkom vodostoke.
Ne bud' poslednim, kto menya ostavil,
Kogda pechalej melkih zloj potok
Terzaet plot' moyu, i dushu plavit,
Pust' pervym tvoj kinzhal vonzitsya v bok,
Togda pechal' tvoyu sravnyu s drugimi,
I zlobno nadrugayus' ya nad nimi.
91.
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.
91.
Odin rozhden'em gord, drugoj umen'em,
Bogatstvom etot, strojnym telom tot,
Odezhdoj kto-to, kto-to uvlechen'em,
A kto-to psom svoim bezmerno gord;
Stremitsya kazhdyj k milym razvlechen'yam,
Najti otradu, schast'e i pokoj;
No u menya inoe ustremlen'e;
On luchshe vseh, prekrasnyj doktor moj.
Ego lyubov' chudesnej voskreshen'ya,
Bogatstv bogache znatnyh korolej,
I psy ego dostojny voshishchen'ya;
Bezumno gord lyubov'yu ya moej:
No ogorchayus' tem negodnyj ya,
CHto vsem odin gorzhus', lyubov' moya.
92.
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.
92.
No huzhe to, chto uskol'zaesh' ty,
Mo¸ lico imeya v etoj zhizni,
A zhizn' ne dol'she derzostnoj mechty
Ponyat' tvoj obraz, milyj i kapriznyj.
Nenuzhnyj strah drugogo opasat'sya,
Put' zavershaya, ne ponyav tebya.
Raz ty vo mne, to nuzhno postarat'sya
Tebya uznat', i polyubit' sebya;
Nevernoj mysl'yu ty draznit' ne mozhesh',
Ved' zhizn' togda moya podnimet bunt.
O, schast'ya mig, ty moi sily mnozhish',
Lyublyu lyubov' moyu i smertnyj grunt!
No pochemu zhe strah ne propadaet?
Vdrug ty obman, i chto togda - ne znaet.
93.
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, thy 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!
93.
YA budu zhit', dopustim, ty ne vr¸sh',
Kak schastliv muzh, svoih rogov ne znaya;
Vot, ulybayas', ty vonzaesh' nozh;
So mnoj ulybkoj, serdcem izmenyaya:
Itak, vo vzglyade nenavisti net,
YA v n¸m zhivu, ne vedaya podvoha.
Kak stranno: istoricheskij syuzhet
Napolnen uzhasom krovavyh vzdohov,
A ty s luchistoj iskroyu v glazah,
Kotoruyu zazhglo svyatoe nebo;
Ne iskazit ih svet ni bol', ni strah,
CHerv' yarosti ne vspyhnet v nih svirepo.
Sovsem kak v yabloke v sadu dal¸kom,
CH'ya krasota manit zapretnym sokom!
94.
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.
94.
Kto ukrotil soblazny razrushen'ya,
Vladeya siloj tysyachi slonov,
Kto izbezhit vojny opustoshen'ya,
I obuzdat' agressiyu gotov,
Voistinu nebesnoe nasledstvo
Tot zasluzhil spokojstviem svoim;
I cenit mir ego dobrososedstvo,
I prevoshodstvo prizna¸t za nim.
Prekrasny letnej lilii cvety,
Hot' dlya sebya zhivut i umirayut,
No esli vstretyat sornye zhguty,
Kotorye ih podlo prezirayut,
To izmenyaetsya ih krotkij nrav;
Gnien'ya zapah huzhe sornyh trav.
95.
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.
95.
Kak svezhij dar tvoj v styd oborotilsya,
Slovno zhuchok, cvetochnyj starozhil,
Buton pyatnaet, tot, chto raspustilsya!
O, ty krasivo greh ogorodil!
Biograf tvoj, rasskazyvaya vnukam,
Pikantnye istorii zabav,
Uspeshen budet, raspuskaya sluhi;
Sredi bol'nyh portret tvoj ukazav.
V tvoih horomah zlobnye poroki
Vs¸ zatyanuli tinoj metastaz,
Vual'yu skryli prelesti istoki,
I krasoty ne vidit chistyj glaz!
O, serdce, beregi svoyu mechtu;
V pyli klinok teryaet ostrotu.
96.
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.
96.
Oshibka, skazhut, yunost', il' razvrat;
Drugie skazhut, luchshie mgnoven'ya;
No obe tochki zreniya greshat;
Pod®¸ma ne byvaet bez paden'ya.
Kak na ruke siyatel'nogo princa
My pochitaem nizmennyj bril'yant,
Tak i tvoi chudovishcha zverinca,
Vedya na svet, tebya obogatyat.
Kak mnogo zhertv golodnyj volk utashchit,
Prikinuvshis' yagn¸nkom, diversant!
Kak mozhet mnogih slabyh odurachit'
Tvoj strannyj i nedyuzhinnyj talant!
Ne delaj tak; lyublyu tebya, ved' ty -
Ocharovanie moej mechty.
97.
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 burden 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.
97.
S toboj razluka kak moroz zimoj,
Kak mimol¸tnyj roscherk revizora!
Polyarnoj nochi holod ledyanoj!
I nishcheta dekabr'skogo prostora!
Odnako zhe, ne tol'ko holod svoj
S soboj nes¸t predatel'skaya stuzha,
No i rozhden'e zhizni molodoj,
Kak plod neschastnoj, shoronivshej muzha:
Ne tol'ko izobil'e dlya menya ty,
No sirote nadezhda na priyut;
Dni letnie tvoim teplom ob®yaty,
A ty ujd¸sh', i pticy ne poyut;
A zapoyut, tak skuchnye psalmy,
Kak list, pobityj holodom zimy.
98.
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 seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play:
98.
S toboj, moj princ, rasstalsya ya vesnoj,
Kogda Aprel' nadmennyj ukrashalsya,
Odezhdoyu lyubuyas' molodoj,
I v put' Saturn ves¸lyj ustremlyalsya.
Ni ptichij gam, ni zapahi lesnye
Eshch¸ svoj aromat ne obreli,
Ne rasskazali sny svoi cvetnye,
Ne ukazali mesto, gde vzrosli;
Ne izumlyalsya lilij belizne ya,
I rozy alyj cvet ya ne hvalil,
P'yanili kraski ih chut'-chut' pozdnee,
Prirodnyj skul'ptor ih s tebya lepil.
Eshch¸ zima, kazalos', net tebya,
I ten'yu ya tvoej igral, lyubya:
99.
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.
99.
Snachala ya fialku uprekal:
"Skazhi, vorishka, iz ego grudi li
Ukral ty zapah? Carstvennyj nahal,
Tebya ego sledy izoblichili,
Ibo ty krov'yu shch¸ki zapyatnal".
YA v lilii cled ruk tvoih zametil,
A majoran ukral kopnu volos:
Eshch¸ s shipami rozy ya primetil,
V pechali beloj, v aloj kraske sl¸z;
Drugie rozy, bez styda i gorya,
Tvoj vzdoh ukrali, l¸gkij i zhivoj;
No, s naglymi grabitelyami sporya,
ZHuchok ih est, otvazhnyj mstitel' tvoj.
Mnogo cvetov eshch¸ ne videl ya,
No vse voruyut svezhest' u tebya.
100.
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.
100.
Tvoj chistyj golos, Muza, byl prekrasen,
O, pochemu teper' on ne po¸t?
Rastrachen pyl na sonmy nizkih basen?
Teper' ty s nimi vodish' horovod?
Vernis', zabytaya, i iskuplen'em
Potrachennoe vremya vozvrati;
Napolni dushu mne chudesnym pen'em,
Istorgni tyazhest' iz moej grudi.
Zapomni svezhij cvet moej lyubvi;
I, esli Vremya vysechet morshchiny,
Nad nim posmejsya, yunost' ozhivi,
I prevrati ego dobro v ruiny.
Proslav' lyubov' moyu naperekor godam;
Kosoyu ostroyu pust' ne chinit vreda.
101.
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.
101.
Kak mozhno, Muza prazdnaya, ispravit'
Nebrezhnost' pravdy na holste lyubvi?
Byt' mozhet, krasoty chut'-chut' dobavit'?
Ona, byt' mozhet, kraski ozhivit?
Otvetstvuj, Muza: ty li govorila:
"Ne nuzhno pravdu cvetom iskazhat';
A krasota i tak vsegda pravdiva;
No vs¸ zhe luchshe ih peremeshat'?"
Molchat' ty budesh', raz pohval ne zhd¸sh'?
No lozh' ne izvinit tvo¸ molchan'e;
Razve bessmert'e v sklepe obret¸sh',
Sred' zolota v neskromnom odeyan'e.
Vot tvo¸ mesto, Muza; bez prikras,
Bessmertno to, chto istinno sejchas.
102.
My love is strengthen'd, 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.
102.
Hot' s vidu slabaya, lyubov' sil'na;
Tem bol'she svet e¸, chem men'she vidno:
Ved' ta lyubov', kotoraya vidna,
Uvlechena torgovleyu postydnoj.
Nasha lyubov' byla v ob®yat'yah maya,
I gimny pel tebe ya, moj geroj,
Kak Solovej po¸t, iyun' vstrechaya,
No zamolkaet znojnoyu poroj.
Ne men'she lyubit traurnyj pevec
Nochnyh melodij strojnoe zvuchan'e,
No zvuk ego prichudlivyh kolec
Sred' zvukov novyh tonet bez vniman'ya.
I potomu, molchi, yazyk moj smelyj,
YA ne hochu, chtob pen'e nadoelo.
103.
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.
103.
Uvy, granicy gordosti svoej,
Vozdvigla Muza bednaya moya,
Slovam pohval'nym pustoty moej
Granicy eti protivostoyat!
Ne osudi, s trudom slova pishu!
Moj mozg tumanit tvoj dvojnik zerkal'nyj,
O snishozhdenii ego proshu,
No on pozorit moj sonet pechal'nyj.
Razve ne greh, pytayas' preuspet',
Razrushit' prezhnih pesen osnovan'e?
Inogo ne hochu ya, lish' vospet'
Tvoj dar i svet ego ocharovan'ya;
No, verno, luchshe slova moego
Rasskazhet zerkalo, vglyadis' v nego.
104.
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.
104.
Ty dlya menya ne budesh' starym, drug,
S teh por, kak povstrechalis' my, edva li
Ty izmenilsya. Stuzhi zimnih v'yug
Tri raza gordost' letnyuyu skovali,
I tri vesny sozreli urozhaem,
I trizhdy szh¸g iyun' aprel'skij sled,
No tvoj aprel' ostalsya, ne szhigaem,
I svezh po-prezhnemu tvoj yunyj cvet.
Ah! mozhet krasota podobno strelke,
CHto u chasov krad¸t nezrimyj hod;
Il' izmenen'ya shag nastol'ko melkij,
CHto glaz ne vidit, no ono id¸t:
A mozhet, chtob krasa ne izmenyalas',
Pred tem kak ty rodilsya, princ, skonchalas'.
105.
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.
105.
Ne uprekaj v yazychestve menya,
Moya lyubov' ne idolu sluzhen'e,
Hotya stihi moi igroj ognya
Napomnyat igry prezhnih posvyashchenij.
V chas pozdnij, vecherom il' utrom yasnym
Odna lyubov' moya v siyan'e dnej;
Edin moj stih v razlichii prekrasnom,
V predelah vernyh vernosti moej.
Vot dovody, "dobro i krasota,
I istina", i bol'she slov ne nuzhno;
Tri dovoda, v kotoryh chistota
V odnom perepletenii vozdushnom.
"Dobro, i istina, i krasota",
Vedi nas, putevodnaya zvezda.
106.
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,
Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
106.
Kogda ya v hronikah proshedshih let
Portret vstrechayu doblestnogo muzha,
I dame adresovannyj sonet,
Mne rifmy starye terzayut dushu,
YA vnov' i vnov' chitayu voshvalen'e
Umershih glaz, i krasotu brovej,
I stol'ko strasti v divnom pesnopen'e,
Kak v luchshih rifmah nashih slavnyh dnej.
Kak svetloe prorochestvo dlya nas
Proobraz tajnyj, pasmurnyj, dal¸kij;
Prekrasnyj svet tvoih chudesnyh glaz
Ugadan masterom chuzhoj epohi:
Nash sovremennik mozhet v nih smotret',
No net poeta, kto b ih smog vospet'.
107.
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.
107.
Ni strah moj i ni solnechnyj prorok
Ne smogut vzyat' lyubov' moyu pod strazhu,
YA dumayu, chto sila etih strok
Spas¸t ot zloj bedy nadezhdu nashu.
Zatmeniya pechal' snesla luna,
Orakuly smeyutsya nad soboyu;
I mir venchaet serdce veshchuna,
I vetv' olivy nad sedoj glavoyu.
Moej lyubvi eshch¸ svezho chelo,
I sporyu ya so smertnoyu stihiej,
CHto v rifme budu zhit' ya, ej nazlo,
Poka pokorny plemena nemye:
I tvoyu pamyat' stroki sohranyat,
Kogda ustanet ot tiranov ad.
108.
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.
108.
Est' chto-nibud', o ch¸m by ni skazal ya?
Est' svetlyj duh, chto ne v tebe, moj drug?
Est' novizna, pokrytaya vual'yu,
Nevyrazhennyj znak tvoih zaslug?
Net nichego; no, slovno bozh'e slovo,
Bez ustali ya dolzhen povtoryat',
"Ty moj, ya tvoj", hot' eto i ne novo,
No imya chtu prekrasnoe opyat'.
V larce chudesnom vechnaya lyubov',
Ni vremeni, ni tlenu nedostupnom,
Na drevnij zov lyubvi otkliknis', krov',
Prekrasnym, sil'nym, chistym zvukom trubnym.
Ved' kto najd¸t prichudlivyj larec,
ZHiv i togda, kogda prid¸t konec.
109.
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.
109.
Ne govori, chto serdce izmenilo,
Puskaj, moj drug, tebya omolodit
Ne prah moj, chto lezhit v zemle unyloj,
A duh moj, chto zhiv¸t v tvoej grudi:
Tam dom moej lyubvi: posle skitanij,
K istokam prihozhu, smiryaya pryt',
Ne znaya vremeni i rasstoyanij,
I vodu prinoshu, chtob pyatna smyt'.
Ne ver', chto rok vsegda karaet slepo,
Mercaet plamya v carstve temnoty,
I mozhno vs¸ ispachkat' tak nelepo,
CHto ne uvidish' dobrye cherty;
ZHivaya roza, tol'ko ty netlenna
Ostanesh'sya odna vo vsej vselennoj.
110.
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.
110.
Uvy, vs¸ pravda, shutovskoj naryad,
Nosil ya gordo i s bol'shoj lyubov'yu,
Pronzal prostranstvo moj ves¸lyj vzglyad,
Latal zaplaty ya svoeyu krov'yu;
Vs¸ pravda, prinimayu ya ukor,
Stihi nelepy, v etom net somnenij:
No, hudshih shutok zauryadnyj sor
YA tkal iz samyh luchshih pobuzhdenij.
Vs¸ v proshlom, hot' ne skoro moj konec:
Pojdu vper¸d bez lishnih ekivokov,
Moi druz'ya i lyubyashchij otec
Pojmut vsyu tyazhest' moih tyazhkih vzdohov.
Daj ruku i v pol¸t, v pol¸t, v pol¸t,
ZHd¸t chistota nemerknushchih vysot.
111.
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.
111.
Radi menya Fortunu proklyani,
Prichinu moih pagubnyh pristrastij,
Iz-za e¸ nesnosnoj pyaterni
V glazah lyudej vinovnik ya neschastij.
Pugayut moim imenem detej,
A mne ono dostalos' ot rozhden'ya,
Kak metka ch¸rnaya sud'by moej:
O, poshchadi, ya zhazhdu obnovlen'ya;
Primernyj pacient, ya pit' gotov
Lyubyh mikstur nemyslimye dozy,
Pust' truden put' k spasen'yu i surov,
Pereterpet' soglasen bol' i sl¸zy.
Dlya iscelen'ya, veryu! moego
Dostatochno lish' slova tvoego.
112.
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.
112.
Lyubov' i zhalost', zhalost' i lyubov'
Sotrut rubcy, izbavyat ot muchenij;
No dlya chego sud'ba kromsala brov'?
I dlya chego svershilos' iscelen'e?
Ty znaesh' t'mu i svet, i tajny mira,
Ty znaesh' styd i cenu mne, skazhi:
Dobra i pravdy ukazhi punktiry,
Zachem byl bolen ya, zachem ya zhiv.
V puchinu propasti ya broshen byl,
Gde chuvstva spyat, i gady koposhatsya,
Gde zvuki prizrakov, i ten' mogil.
Skazhi, kak mne, upavshemu, podnyat'sya:
Ty tak borolsya za bol'nuyu dushu,
CHto ves' privychnyj mir moj ty razrushil.
113.
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.
113.
S toboj v razluke, mysl' zamena zren'yu;
Mysl' - povodyr' moj, chto ved¸t menya
Svoej slepoj tainstvennoyu ten'yu,
I budto svet prekrasnyj vizhu ya;
Ne razlichaet mysl' razmer i formu,
Silki il' ptica, roza ili plen:
Ni duh cvetka, ni kryl'ev vzmah provornyj
Ne vedayut svoih surovyh sten:
Na grubyj mir vzglyanu otvazhnym vzorom,
Vezde sledy tvoi, tvoi cherty,
Den' svetlyj, noch' li, golub' ili voron,
Morya il' gory, ty povsyudu, ty:
Krome tebya ne vizhu nichego ya,
Glaza obmannye tomu vinoyu.
114.
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.
114.
Moya li mysl' mne l'stit, tvo¸ nasledstvo,
Monarshij kubok podnosya s chumoj?
Il' glaz moih vrozhd¸nnoe estetstvo
Vosprinimaet mir sovsem inoj,
Rozhdaya chudishch, groznyh velikanov,
CHtob pozzhe nadelit' ih krasotoj,
S toboj sravnit' urodov etih strannyh,
I zabavlyat'sya strannoyu igroj?
Net, pervoe; prinyat' pit'¸ reshayas',
Mne l'styat glaza i sovrashchayut mozg:
Glaza otlichno znayut, soglashayas',
Obmannogo vina fal'shivyj losk:
Esli otrava, tvoj greh nevelik,
Snachala yad v glaza moi pronik.
115.
Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment 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?
115.
YA govoril "lyublyu" i tak privyk,
CHto stalo lozh'yu slovo popugaya,
Ne znal togda ya, plameni yazyk
Menya kosn¸tsya, serdce obzhigaya.
No vremeni zagar krasoj svyashchennoj
Vzglyad oslepil, ot celi uvodya,
A million neschastij i izmeny
Ispytyvali klyatvy korolya.
Zachem, uvy, so vremenem v razdore
V dne zavtrashnem ne byl uveren ya,
I ne skazal s otvagoyu vo vzore:
"Mechta moya, teper' lyublyu tebya"?
Lyubov' - malysh; on vs¸ eshch¸ rast¸t,
Kak ocenit' ne prervannyj pol¸t.
116.
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