ed the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night, But day by night and night by day oppressed; 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 him thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven; So flatter I the swart-complexioned 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. , - , , __, , - , , , , , - , - __ , , ? , , __ , __ , _ _, ; , _, _, , . , . , , , , ? , , , - , - , . , , , . , , . . , - , , , , , , ? , : , . - , , ; - , . , . . 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 friends possessed, 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 rememb'red such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. , , , , , , , - , , - , ; , , , , , , , , . , , , , , . , , , - , - , . , - , , , . . . . , , , , , , , , , , , , - , ; , , - , , . , . . 30 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 cancelled woe, And moan th'expense of many a vanished 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. __ , , , , __ , . , , __ , ; , , ; , , , , . , , . . , . , , . , . , , , , , . , , . . , , , . , , , , , , . , , , , , . , , , . . 31 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. __ , , , ; , , , , . [] , , , , ! - , , , , , , . , - - . - , - . , , . , , , , , ! - , . , , , . , - , , , . . - , , , , . , , ! , , , , . , . , - - . . 32 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 bett'ring of the time, And though they be outstripped by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. 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 their style I'll read, his for his love.' , [], , , , , , , , . : " , , , __ {*}, , , __ , - ". {* - , "equipage" "", "". , .} , , , - , , , , , ; - . : " , . , - - . , , - !" . , , , , , , , , . : " , , , , . , , , ". . 33 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 alcumy, 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 splendor on my brow; But out alack, he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath masked him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth: Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth. , __ [], , , , , , , . , , , - . : , . , . , , , , . , - , . : . . , , , , , . . , - . , ! . 34 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 brav'ry 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: Th'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 sheeds, And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. __ , , ? , , , , . ; , : , . - , , - . ? - . - - . , , ? , . , . , . . , , , , . , - , - , , , . , . , . - - . . 35 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, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than their 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. , : , - ; , . , - __, , , , , {*}. - - . , , . {* . "their" (): "Excusing their sins more than their sins are", " "thy" (), . , : "... , ( )".} : , - , , ... - : - , - . - , , ; , , , . . , : , , - , . . - , , , , . , , , , , , . . 36 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 effect, 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. , , __ , __, , , . - , - , , , . , , , ; , , . ; , , , - . , , . , . , . , . , , , . : - . . : , . , . , . , . , , , . , - . . 37 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, Intitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, I make my love ingrafted 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. , , [] , , {*} , , , , , , - , , - , , - {**}, __ , __ , , , _ _ {***}, . , , ; , . {* , "lame" () . ** , . *** (shadow) (substance), . 53.} , , , . , , , - , , , . , , , , , , - . , , . . , , , , , . , , , : , - . : - , , . , , - : . . 38 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? 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. , __ [] , , , ? , - _ _ , [], , ? , [ ] , , , , , . , , - . , , ? , - . , , - . , , ! , , . , , - . . , , , , ? , - . : . , , , , . , , - . . 39 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 deserv'st alone. 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. , , - ? ? , , , ? , - , , , . , , , , , , , _ _ . , , - , ? ? - , , , , . , , .