Uil'yam SHekspir. Sonety (Per.V.Mikushevicha)
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William Shakespeare. Sonnets
Perevod Vladimira Mikushevicha
M., Vodolej Publishers, 2004
OCR Bychkov M.N.
Ispol'zovanie etogo perevoda v seti Internet ekslyuzivno predostavleno
biblioteke Lib.ru. Po lyubym voprosam, svyazannym s etim proizvedeniem,
sleduet obrashchat'sya k literaturnomu agentu V.B.Mikushevicha Evgeniyu
Vitkovskomu (www.vekperevoda.com)
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Bessmertnaya kniga sonetov U. SHekspira vpervye vyhodit v perevode,
vypolnennom krupnejshim sovremennym perevodchikom V. Mikushevichem. Novyj
perevod traktuet shekspirovskij tekst kak edinuyu poemu s syuzhetom i
dejstvuyushchimi licami, a ne kak cep' otdel'nyh proizvedenij. Perevodchik
snabdil svoyu versiyu interesnejshej stat'ej, obosnovyvayushchej takoj podhod,
prosledil vstrechayushchiesya v raznyh sonetah povtory otdel'nyh strok i chut' li
ne slov i skrupulezno otrazil ih v svoem perevode. Rabota Mikushevicha s
SHekspirom stanovitsya etapom vo vsej istorii russkoj perevodcheskoj shkoly.
Sonety SHekspira ozadachivayut sovremennogo chitatelya, kak ozadachivali,
edva poyavivshis'. V principe sonet ocharovyvaet predvkusheniem tradicionnosti,
dazhe esli eto predvkushenie srazu zhe oprovergaetsya. Sonet - "monument
momenta", kak pisal Dante Gabriel' Rossetti, i prochityvaetsya sonet za
neskol'ko sekund, no i togda, kogda sonet lish' nachinal zvuchat' vmeste s
kansonami trubadurov, ego forma vosprinimalas' ne kak novaya, a kak
iskonnaya, raz navsegda dannaya, chto zalozheno v samoj strukture soneta, pochemu
sonet i dozhil do nashih dnej. Predvkushenie tradicionnosti podkrepleno i
vizual'nym, graficheskim obrazom. Vidya pered soboj dva chetverostishiya i dva
trehstishiya, chitatel' uzhe znaet, chto pered nim sonet. Pravda, pronicatel'nomu
erudirovannomu chitatelyu izvestno, chto eto mogut byt' i tri chetverostishiya i
odno dvustishie i chto eto vse ravno sonet, tol'ko osobennyj, anglijskij ili
shekspirovskij. Esli v stihotvorenii chetyrnadcat' strok, a v pervyh dvuh
chetverostishiyah k tomu zhe dve obshchih rifmy, znachit, eto so- net, hotya v
shekspirovskom sonete obshchih rifm, kak pravilo, ne byvaet, no eto vse ravno
sonet, poskol'ku v nem chetyrnadcat' strok. Takov ukorenivshijsya predrassudok,
predopredelyayushchij ne tol'ko mnenie o sonete, no i ego vospriyatie. Sonet po
inercii sootnosyat obychno s lyubovnoj lirikoj, no voobshche gospodstvuet
ubezhdenie, chto lyuboe soderzhanie, vlozhennoe v chetyrnadcat' strok, stanovitsya
sonetom, i ekzoticheskim paradoksom kazhetsya mysl' Oskara Uajl'da,
utverzhdavshego, chto ne hudozhnik vkladyvaet ideyu "v slozhnuyu metriku
chetyrnadcati strok, a naprotiv, sama forma soneta vnushaet emu, kakoj
intellektual'nyj i emocional'nyj smysl pridat' ej" {Oskar Uajl'd. Polnoe
sobranie sochinenij. 1912. T. III-IV. Kn. 7. S. 261.}. Mezhdu tem inspiraciya
ili dazhe diktat soneta dejstvitel'no sushchestvuyut i opredelyayut ego specifiku.
Nastoyashchemu sonetu svojstvenno ottorgat' chuzhduyu emu "soderzhatel'nost'", i
potomu ne vsyakoe stihotvorenie v chetyrnadcat' strok s obshchimi rifmami v dvuh
pervyh dvustishiyah yavlyaetsya sonetom.
Imeyutsya akademicheskie predpisaniya, vyvodimye iz kompozicii
klassicheskogo soneta ili predpisyvayushchie ee, chto, razumeetsya, vozmozhno tol'ko
otchasti. Soglasno etim predpisaniyam, pervoe chetverostishie soneta (katren)
vyskazyvaet opredelennuyu mysl' ili oboznachaet situaciyu, kotoruyu razvivaet
ili var'iruet vtoroe chetverostishie, svyazannoe s pervym obshchimi rifmami, posle
chego pervoe trehstishie (tercet) vydvigaet nekuyu antitezu k mysli, zadannoj
katrenami. Pervaya stroka poslednego terceta vozvrashchaetsya k mysli (situacii)
katrenov, pervaya stroka poslednego terceta prodolzhaet pervyj tercet, a
poslednie dve stroki podytozhivayut sonet, primiryaya tezu i antitezu. |ta shema
vo vse vremena byla dovol'no priblizitel'noj, tak kak tezu i antitezu v
poezii nel'zya opredelit' s logicheskoj tochnost'yu, no do izvestnoj stepeni ona
harakterizovala kompoziciyu ital'yanskogo klassicheskogo soneta {I. R.
Gal'perin. Ocherki po stilistike anglijskogo yazyka. M.. 1958. S. 303.}.
I vse zhe ne tak prosto opredelit', sootvetstvuet li etoj sheme dazhe
vpolne klassicheskij sonet Petrarki:
Kogda by za predel svoej temnicy
Blazhennaya dusha do sroka vzmyla,
Naverno, ustupali by svetila
Siyan'yu novoyavlennoj dennicy;
Projdya chetyre gornie granicy,
Ona by solnce krasotoj zatmila,
CHtoby vokrug vlekla blagaya sila
K nej, pravednoj, dostojnye zenicy;
I na puti svoem k chetvertoj sfere
Ona by prevzoshla byluyu slavu
Treh svetochej, podverzhennyh potere;
Hot' pyatyj krug ej, vidno, ne po nravu,
YUpitera v ugodu pylkoj vere
I vseh drugih zatmit ona po pravu.
(Perevod V. Mikushevicha)
Sonet napisan v svyazi s bolezn'yu Laury v 1434 g. Kommentatory vozvodyat
ego k stihu Vergiliya iz "Georgik": "Tuque adeo, quern mox quae sint habitura
deorum concilia incertum est" [1, 24-25] ("Ty, nakonec, - kak znat', kakie
sobran'ya bessmertnyh vskore vosprimut tebya...", perevod S. V. SHervinskogo).
Trudno najti sonet bolee klassicheskij, chem etot, i vse-taki lish' s izvestnoj
stepen'yu dostovernosti mozhno utverzhdat', chto pervyj tercet yavlyaetsya
antitezoj k pervym katrenam, poskol'ku blazhennaya dusha Laury tak ili inache
zatmevaet vse sfery, skvoz' kotorye voznositsya. Pyatyj krug ej ne po nravu,
tak kak eto nebo Marsa, mrachnoj zvezdy. Blazhennaya dusha prevyshaet ne tol'ko
vse sfery Vselennoj, vklyuchaya samogo YUpitera, - s kazhdoj sferoj ona prevyshaet
sama sebya. Podobnoj dinamikoj samoprevysheniya formiruetsya ne tol'ko etot
sonet Petrarki, no i sonet v principe, porozhdennyj kul'turoj
znamenatel'nosti, kogda veshch' znamenuet svoj vysshij proobraz, v svoyu ochered'
znamenuyushchij vysshee v sebe i nad soboj, ierarhiyu vysshego, prodolzhayushchuyusya v
neischerpaemoj glubine tvoryashchego Bozhestva {V. Mikushevich. Tri epohi v istorii
kul'tury / Akademicheskie tetradi: yubilejnyj sbornik statej. 2003. S 21-54.}.
U togo zhe Petrarki v kancone 360 Amor govorit poetu:
Moj vysshij dar, cennejshij, nesomnenno:
Podnyat'sya nadelennomu krylami
Nad brennymi telami
Po lestnice podobij bezvozvratno
K Sozdatelyu, pochtiv ego hvalami,
Svoej nadezhde sleduya smirenno,
On mog by postepenno
Dostich' pervoprichiny blagodatnoj,
O chem v stihah veshchal neodnokratno.
(Perevod V. Mikushevicha)
Osnovyvayas' na etoj lestnice podobij (scala al Fattor), poetessa Mariya
Rastorgueva nazvala znamenatel'nost' v kul'ture lestnichnost'yu.
Znamenatel'nost'-lestnichnost' skazyvaetsya v konstrukcii soneta, vernee,
obrazuet ee. Rifma vyyavlyaet znamenatel'nost' v slove. Kazhdoe iz rifmuyushchihsya
slov priobretaet znachenie, kotorogo ne imelo by vne rifmy. Kogda rifma v
sonete udvaivaetsya, nad znacheniem slova voznikaet eshche odno sverhznachenie,
vozveshchaya lestnicu znachenij nad soboj. Pri etom v sonete rifmuetsya ne tol'ko
slovo, a vsya stroka, kotoruyu rifmuyushcheesya slovo vovlekaet v lestnichnost'.
Teza i antiteza v sonete - lish' chastnyj sluchaj lestnichnosti. V sonete
udvaivayutsya sakral'nye chisla, tri i sem'. CHetyre v katrenah - udvoenie
dvojstvennosti, a sonet v celom - dvazhdy sem'. Udvoenie - nad stupen'yu
stupen': "Mirozdanie udvaivaetsya v sonete, svidetel'stvuya: net drugogo
vyhoda, krome vyhoda v bespredel'noe" {V. Mikushevich. Probleski. Tallinn:
Aleksandra, 1997. S. 183.}. Udvoenie sakral'no-kosmicheskih chisel v
klassicheskom ital'yanskom sonete napominaet astrologiyu, i sonet Petrarki
astrologichen.
No v anglijskom sonete proishodit nechto inoe. Astrologiya nastorazhivaet
poeta, kak my vidim u SHekspira v sonete 14:
Pust' lish' otchasti mne znakom yazyk
Nebesnyh zvezd, ya tozhe astronom,
Hot' ya sudit' po zvezdam ne privyk
O potryasen'yah na puti zemnom;
Ne znayu, kak predrech' minutam srok
I dozhd', blagopriyatnyj dlya polej;
CHitat' ya ne umeyu zvezdnyh strok,
Ne smeyu obnadezhit' korolej;
No mne chitat' v tvoih glazah dano,
V nadezhnyh zvezdah dazhe v nashi dni,
CHto krasota i pravda zaodno,
I lish' v tvoih glazah zhivut oni.
Glaza tvoi otkryli mne sekret:
Net krasoty bez nih, i pravdy net.
Znamenitaya formula Kitsa iz ego "Ody k grecheskoj vaze", "Beauty is
truth, truth beauty" ("V prekrasnom pravda, v pravde krasota"), yavno
voshodit k stroke iz etogo soneta: "As Truth and Beauty shall together
strife..." No eta istina obretaetsya na puti, protivopolozhnom Petrarke. Ne
glaza vozvodyatsya k zvezdam, a zvezdy svodyatsya k zemnym glazam. Eshche
radikal'nee sonet 130:
Ne solnce, net, moej lyubimoj vzor,
Korally krashe gub, ne ver' molve;
Grud' u nee tusklee snezhnyh gor,
CHerneyut zavitki na golove.
Hot' rozami vesennij sad bogat,
Ee lanitam roskosh' roz chuzhda;
U nej v ustah ne tol'ko aromat,
Primeshan tlen k dyhaniyu vsegda.
Otradoj nezhnyj golos mne zvuchal,
Odnako blagozvuchnee struna;
YA priznayus': bogin' ya ne vstrechal,
A miloj pochva tverdaya nuzhna.
Napyshchennost'yu lzhivoj bredit svet,
A dlya moej lyubvi sravnenij net.
|tim sonetom razitel'no podtverzhdaetsya antipetrarkizm v sonetah
SHekspira. Uzhe pervaya stroka shokirovala by petrarkista, dlya kotorogo
sovershenno neveroyatny stroki: "U nej v ustah ne tol'ko aromat, primeshan tlen
k dyhaniyu vsegda" (v originale "reeks", chto mozhno ponyat' dazhe kak "vonyaet").
Vspominaetsya skoree Vijon, ne pisavshij, pravda, sonetov, no otsyuda ne tak
uzhe daleko i do "Padali" SHarlya Bodlera. Rodstvo SHekspira v sonetah s
proklyatymi poetami ne vyzyvaet somnenij. K podobnomu rodstvu otsylayut i
slova Borisa Pasternaka o "prirodnom, vrozhdennom shodstve SHekspira i
Mayakovskogo" {E. Pasternak. Boris Pasternak: Biografiya. M., 1997. S. 316.}.
Tem samym i Mayakovskij, "luchshij, talantlivejshij poet nashej sovetskoj epohi"
priobshchaetsya k liku pr_o_klyatyh poetov, chemu sposobstvuet ego zhutkaya smert'
pri oficial'nom priznanii, kak i vneshnee "biograficheskoe" blagosostoyanie
pozdnego SHekspira.
Formal'nyj metod schel by epatiruyushchij pafos shekspirovskih sonetov
otverzheniem ischerpannogo, obvetshavshego priema, kotorym, nesomnenno, byla
petrarkiziruyushchaya ideal'nost', stavshaya slishkom rasprostranennoj na
Kontinente. No, ochevidno, v sonete SHekspira skazyvaetsya chto-to bolee
glubokoe, glubinnoe, zhiznennoe. V anglijskom sonete, dazhe na sravnitel'no
rannih ego stadiyah, zametno, kak epoha znamenatel'nosti v kul'ture nachinaet
smenyat'sya epohoj predmetnosti: "Znamenatel'nost' vozvodit obraz k proobrazu
cherez lestnicu podobij. Izobrazitel'nost' ne voshodit, a nishodit po etoj
lestnice, nizvodit proobraz k obrazu, no ne ostanavlivaetsya na etom,
nizvodit obraz k samomu sebe, i v rezul'tate vmesto obraza ostaetsya predmet"
{V. Mikushevich. Tri epohi v istorii kul'tury. S. 52.}. So vremenem epoha
predmetnosti daet sebya znat' i v Italii, natalkivayas' pri etom na upornoe
soprotivlenie znamenatel'nosti, sovpavshej vo mnogom s tradiciej
klassicheskogo ital'yanskogo stiha. Otsyuda protivostoyanie Petrarki i
Mikelandzhelo s ego stihom: "Caro m'e l'sonno, e piu l'esser di sasso" ("Mne
dorog son, i luchshe byt' mne kamnem"). Nebesnyj proobraz ne prosto
nizvoditsya, on vpadaet v kamen', chto podtverzhdaetsya vayaniem Mikelandzhelo,
kogda molotok mastera udalyaet u kamnya vse lishnee, vzlamyvaet kamen' v
poiskah predmeta, okazyvayushchegosya... snom. V etom smysle son Mikelandzhelo
protivopolozhen snu Dante v nachale "Bozhestvennoj Komedii": "Io non so ben
ridir com'io v'entrai, tant'era pieno di sonno a quel punto" (Inf. 1,
10-11). Poet ne mozhet skazat', kak on vstupil tuda (na svoj put'), ibo byl
preispolnen snom, i etot son cherez drugie veshchie sny _vozvedet_ ego na
vershinu bytiya. Naprotiv, son Mikelandzhelo cherez Noch' _nizvodit_ k
ischeznoveniyu bytiya, k molchaniyu v kamne, chto napominaet poslednie slova
Gamleta: "The rest is silence" ("Ostal'noe - molchanie"). |rotika
Mikelandzhelo soprikasaetsya s eroticheskimi snami v sonetah SHekspira:
Svetlejshij den' ya promorgat' ne proch';
Vse, chto ya vizhu, nedostojno vzglyada.
Vo sne tebya mne vozveshchaet noch';
Vo sne siyaesh' ty, moya uslada.
Ty ten', tenyam daruyushchaya svet!
Kakoe ty siyan'e mog by dnyu
Pridat', kogda vo mrake ravnyh net
Tomu, chto ya pod vekami hranyu...
(Sonet 43)
A v sonete 129, predshestvuyushchem sonetu 130:
Lish' ten' blazhenstva tam, gde t'ma tenet,
Sokrovishchem prikinuvshijsya bred.
Vse eto znayut vse, no kto ne rad
Podobnym nebesam, vedushchim v ad!
U Dante cherez ad sovershalos' voshozhdenie na nebesa, u SHekspira podobnye
nebesa vedut v ad, prel'shchaya nishozhdeniem. U Petrarki blazhennaya dusha v svoem
voshozhdenii zatmevaet YUpitera "v ugodu chistoj vere", a sonet SHekspira prosto
prenebregaet boginyami, ottalkivaetsya ot nih:
YA priznayus', bogin' ya ne vstrechal,
A miloj pochva tverdaya nuzhna.
No tverdaya pochva okazyvaetsya zlovonnoj i dazhe podloj (nizkorodnoj):
CHem s vidu krasota tvoya milej,
Tem zapah podloj pochvy tyazhelej.
(Sonet 69)
Podobnaya pochva i vedet k temnoj ledi, delikatno imenuemoj v
shekspirovedenii "smuglaya dama", hotya ona imenno temnaya i dazhe chernaya, kak
chernaya dyra, predel predmetnosti, analogichnyj chernomu kvadratu.
Vse eto ne moglo ne skazat'sya na samoj konstrukcii soneta. Ital'yanskij
sonet so svoej igroj tezami i antitezami ostalsya sonetom voshozhdeniya,
obrazuya, v konce koncov, astrologicheskuyu konstellyaciyu, zakreplennuyu rifmami.
Anglijskij sonet uzhe v svoih nachatkah vstupil na drugoj put', gde SHekspira
predvaryaet Serrej. Rifma v takom sonete funkcioniruet po-drugomu, uklonyayas'
ot ital'yanskoj virtuoznosti. Harakternaya oshibka - perevodit' anglijskij
sonet tremya otdel'nymi chetverostishiyami s perekrestnoj rifmoj i
zaklyuchitel'nym dvustishiem - nanesla perevodu anglijskoj poezii ne men'shij
ushcherb, chem muzhskaya rifma pri perevode ital'yanskogo soneta (a takzhe kancony).
Shema treh chetverostishij s dvustishiem podkupaet svoej prosodicheskoj
prostotoj, tak chto vyrabotalsya dazhe vizual'nyj, graficheskij obraz yakoby
anglijskogo ili shekspirovskogo soneta, rasprostranennyj v russkih perevodah.
Mezhdu tem v anglijskih izdaniyah sonet v takom vide pechataetsya daleko ne
vsegda. Anglijskij sonet s prostoj ili bolee slozhnoj rifmovkoj ochen' chasto
tyagoteet k edinoj, sploshnoj strofe, v kotoroj razve chto poslednee dvustishie
vydelyaetsya sdvigom vpravo. Lyubopytno, chto, kogda pod vliyaniem anglijskih
izdanij russkie perevody pechatayutsya sploshnoj strofoj, tri chetverostishiya s
dvustishiem vse ravno otchetlivo prostupayut, pridavaya stihu gladkost', kak
pravilo, otnyud' ne svojstvennuyu anglijskomu originalu. Perevodchik
shekspirovskih sonetov obychno uhodit ot originala, sbityj s tolku
graficheskim navazhdeniem, chtoby poskol'znut'sya imenno na etoj s vidu
bezmyatezhnoj gladkosti. Anglijskij sonet ne hochet znat' intervalov, kogda
vnutri nego proishodit nechto, kak raz i prevrashchayushchee chetyrnadcat' strok v
konstrukciyu soneta. Rech' idet ne o poligraficheskih prihotyah, kotorye mogut
byt' takimi i syakimi. Vzglyanem na sonet SHekspira 114:
CHto esli ya monarh i potomu,
CHto koronovan ya toboj, mne l'styat,
I vydaet za svet nochnuyu t'mu
Alhimiya tvoya, yavlyaya ryad
Svoih ischadij, chudishch i chudes
I heruvimov, chej proobraz ty,
Prevoznosya durnoe do nebes,
Edva pridav emu tvoi cherty.
Tak duhu l'stit ugodlivoe zren'e,
Somnitel'nyh revnitel'nica uz,
I v chashe predlagaet uveren'e
V tom, chto celebno sladkoe na vkus.
Otrava - men'shij greh na etot raz,
CHem sovrashchen'e upoennyh glaz.
My vidim, kak vzaimodejstvuyut v sonete vozvedenie i nizvedenie, v konce
koncov, berushchee verh (naskol'ko tak mozhno skazat' o nizvedenii). "Tvoe"
shodstvo s heruvimami oznachaet, chto kak budto ty vozvodish'sya k nim, no na
samom dele eto oni nizvodyatsya k tebe imenno svoim shodstvom s "toboj".
Klyuchevoe slovo v sonete - alhimiya. Stroka s etim slovom vyvodit stih za
predely pervogo chetverostishiya, tak chto chetverostishiya perestayut byt'
chetverostishiyami, obrazuya bolee slozhnyj period, v kotorom heruvimy,
okazyvaetsya, alhimicheskie v ryadu drugih ischadij, ibo alhimiya "tvoya"
prevoznosit durnoe do nebes, to est' nizvodit nebesa do durnogo, "edva
pridav emu tvoi cherty", no ostaetsya li pri etom durnoe durnym, esli "otrava
- men'shij greh na etot raz, chem sovrashchen'e upoennyh glaz"? Ochevidno, nechto,
prevrashchayushchee 14 strok v sonet, sovershaetsya zdes' pri perelivanii pervogo
chetverostishiya vo vtoroe. Interesno, chto v devyatoj-odinnadcatoj stroke
epizodicheski poyavlyaetsya zhenskaya rifma v otlichie ot ostal'nyh muzhskih, chto
pridaet monologu liricheskogo "ya" osobyj dramatizm, kogda, tak skazat', ne do
togo, chtoby soblyudat' kanonicheskoe cheredovanie rifm, no "zren'e - uveren'e"
(v originale "seeing - greeing"), rifmuyas', kak raz i peredayut "sovrashchen'e
upoennyh glaz". Stroki perelivayutsya odna v druguyu, i prigotovlyaemyj sostav
perehlestyvaet za chetyrnadcat' strok, chto dostigaetsya sintaksisom i rifmoj.
Kazhushchayasya nebrezhnost' v cheredovan'e muzhskih i zhenskih rifm, brosayushchaya vyzov
akademicheskomu blagozvuchiyu (ne sleduet preuvelichivat' licenzii,
predostavlyaemye anglijskim yazykom) - neot®emlemoe svojstvo shekspirovskih
sonetov i neredko pridaet istinnyj smysl stihu. Vazhnejshij sredi sonetov,
sonet 20, vyderzhan v zhenskih rifmah, napominaya etim ital'yanskij sonet, chto
kak raz podcherkivaet polnuyu protivopolozhnost' soneta 20 ital'yanskomu sonetu.
Neizbezhnaya metafora pozvolyaet govorit' ob astrologii ital'yanskogo soneta i
ob alhimii anglijskogo. V ital'yanskom sonete konstellyaciya, v anglijskom
sonete reakciya, podobnaya alhimicheskoj, chto svojstvenno takzhe anglijskim
sonetam, gde sohranyayutsya chetverostishiya s obshchimi rifmami i s formal'nymi
intervalami. V etom smysle vnutri shekspirovskogo soneta proishodit ne
transformaciya (vo mnogih otnosheniyah sonet SHekspira ostaetsya tradicionnym dlya
anglijskoj poezii); no v duhe toj zhe metafory tochnee govorit' o transmutacii
shekspirovskogo soneta, usugublyayushchej sintezom ego alhimicheskuyu prirodu.
Transmutaciya ne mozhet ogranichivat'sya odnim sonetom. Neizbezhno ona
zatragivaet ostal'nye, vovlekaet ih v sebya. Sonet 114 nachinaetsya slovom,
rifmuyushchimsya v zaklyuchitel'nom dvustishii predydushchego soneta. Neodnokratno
sonety nachinayutsya soyuzami i narechiyami, upotrebitel'nymi v odnoj fraze (but,
then). V avtoritetnom anglijskom izdanii posle soneta 98 postavleno
dvoetochie, do takoj stepeni nachalo sleduyushchego soneta vytekaet iz predydushchego
{Coles, 1980. R. 1207.}. Svyazi mezhdu sonetami ne svodyatsya k podobnym
svyazkam. Inogda tema namechaetsya za sto s lishnim sonetov do togo, kak ona
snova budet podhvachena i dostignet istinno tragicheskogo nakala. Tak v sonete
42 poyavlyayutsya stroki:
Ona tvoya, no eto ne beda;
YA sam ee lyublyu, net, my ne v ssore;
No hudshego ne izbezhat' vreda:
Ona toboj vladeet, vot v chem gore.
|ti stroki var'iruyutsya, usilivayas' v sonete 144, gde, vozmozhno, i
raskryvaetsya ih podlinnyj smysl:
Ona menya davno v Geennu prochit,
Svyatogo pohishchaet u menya
I, silyas' v besa prevratit', morochit,
Tshcheslav'em chistotu ego draznya.
V sonete 38 chitaem:
Desyataya ty muza; v desyat' raz
Ty prevoshodnej prezhnih devyati;
I mozhet bleskom stihotvornyh fraz
Hvalitel' tvoj bessmert'e obresti.
A vot kak nachinaetsya sonet 78:
Kogo kak ne tebya mne muzoj zvat'?
Po-prezhnemu toboj zhivet moj stih,
Mezh tem tebya derznuvshih vospevat',
Po moemu primeru, skol'ko ih?
Tvoi glaza nemogo uchat pet',
Nevezhestvo iskusstvom okryliv,
CHtob krepli kryl'ya v novyh per'yah vpred',
Velikolep'e graciej prodliv.
Skladyvaetsya vpechatlenie, chto vozvrat k teme soneta 38 cherez sorok
sonetov ne sluchaen, chto osushchestvlyaetsya nekaya slozhnaya kompoziciya,
raspolagayushchaya vse sonety opredelennym obrazom. Tochno tak zhe konechnoe
dvustishie soneta 36 rovno cherez shest'desyat sonetov sovpadaet s konechnym
dvustishiem soneta 96:
Osteregis'! Pust' ya s toboj ne shozh,
Ty moj v lyubvi, i ya, kak ty, horosh.
Takoj povtor edva li mozhet byt' sluchajnym. Po vsej veroyatnosti, on
svidetel'stvuet o rasschitannoj kompozicii. CHislo podobnyh primerov netrudno
priumnozhit'. Bessporno, oni svidetel'stvuyut o tom, chto pered nami ne prosto
sobranie stihotvorenij "na sluchaj" i nechto bol'shee, chem cikl sonetov. Zdes'
kroetsya eshche odna prichina perevodcheskih neudach. Popytka perevesti sonety
SHekspira kak razroznennye ili dazhe kak cikl otdel'nyh sonetov edva li mozhet
uvenchat'sya uspehom. Transmutaciya v tom i zaklyuchaetsya, chto, preobrazhaya
otdel'nuyu monadu, ona priobshchaet ee k drugim, preobrazhennym preobrazheniem
kazhdoj i preobrazhayushchim ee v svoyu ochered'. Tak sonety SHekspira sochetayutsya v
edinom proizvedenii, i eto proizvedenie ne chto inoe, kak roman v stihah.
Vyskazyvalos' predpolozhenie, chto oneginskaya strofa v romane Pushkina yavlyaetsya
vol'noj transformaciej soneta. No togda sonet SHekspira tem bolee okazyvaetsya
strofoj slozhnogo, mnogogrannogo stihotvornogo romana, rodstvennogo Kret'enu
de Trua, Vol'framu fon |shenbahu i tomu zhe, v te vremena eshche budushchemu
Pushkinu, nedarom skazavshemu pro sonet, chto "igru ego lyubil tvorec Makbeta".
Sonety SHekspira byli vpervye izdany v 1609 g. Tomasom Torpom, ch'i
inicialy (T. T.) stoyat pod posvyashcheniem sonetov. Takim obrazom, posvyashchenie
ishodit ne ot avtora, a ot izdatelya. Ne sohranilos' nikakih svedenij o tom,
chto izdanie bylo osushchestvleno po avtorskoj vole, tak chto raspolozhenie
sonetov i dazhe ih chislo na sovesti pervogo izdatelya. Sonety byli napisany i
rasprostranyalis' uzhe za odinnadcat' let do svoego pervogo izdaniya. Mires
upominaet sonety SHekspira, "izvestnye ego druz'yam" uzhe v 1598 g. SHekspiru
togda bylo 34 goda, a sonety byli izdany za sem' let do ego smerti.
Sleduyushchee izdanie sonetov bylo osushchestvleno lish' v 1b40 g., iz chego mozhno
zaklyuchit': sonety ne byli zabyty, po-vidimomu, prodolzhali rasprostranyat'sya,
no chto-to prepyatstvovalo ih novomu izdaniyu. Vozmozhno, pervyj izdatel'
dejstvitel'no otvazhilsya napechatat' ih, nedarom oboznachaya sebya slovom
"adventurer", to est' pustivshijsya v avantyuru. Prepyatstvovat' izdaniyu sonetov
mog i sam avtor pri svoej zhizni, a v dal'nejshem to mogli byt' druz'ya,
upomyanutye Miresom i perezhivshie svoego druga. Ne okazal li T. T. durnuyu i
dazhe opasnuyu uslugu avtoru? CHto esli publikacii sonetov togda i v dal'nejshem
prepyatstvoval sam Mr. W. N., edinstvennyj vinovnik ih rozhdeniya, kak mozhno
ponyat' izdatel'skoe posvyashchenie? Na- stol'ko li on byl vliyatelen dlya etogo?
Ved' vyskazyvalos' predpolozhenie, chto Mr. W. H. vsego lish' peredal
izdatelyu rukopis' sonetov (po vsej veroyatnosti, tem bolee vopreki vole
"nashego bessmertnogo poeta", kak lestno otozvalsya ob avtore izdatel').
Dzhon Benson, pereizdavshij sonety v 1640 g., pomenyal v tekste vse "he"
na "she", vopreki svoemu dobromu namereniyu lish' napomniv i usugubiv
skandal'nye sluhi, vsegda soputstvovavshie sonetam. S teh por tolkovateli i
perevodchiki sonetov neredko rukovodstvuyutsya etim izdaniem, dazhe esli ono
samo im nedostupno ili dazhe neizvestno. Mnogie iz nih predpochli by, chtoby
vmesto "nego" v sonetah okazalas' "ona", chto znachitel'no uprostilo by ih
zadachu. Nevol'no splosh' i ryadom v perevodah tak i delaetsya. Uchenye s
akademicheskoj dobrosovestnost'yu dokazyvayut, chto v epohu Renessansa lyubov' i
druzhba govorili odnim yazykom. V takom sluchae prihoditsya dopustit', chto yazyk
etot otlichalsya shokiruyushchej eroticheskoj intimnost'yu. Tak, v sonete 20 avtor
namekaet na polovoj organ "vladyki-vladychicy" svoih zhelanij, uprekaya prirodu
v tom, chto ona ego (vse-taki) "koe -chem nekstati odarila". Po svidetel'stvu
issledovatelya, podobnyj namek unikalen i bol'she ne vstrechaetsya v poezii togo
vremeni (da, pozhaluj, i drugih vremen) ni v Anglii, ni na Kontinente, gde
somnitel'nye eroticheskie vol'nosti predpolozhitel'no zahodili gorazdo dal'she
{Rictor Norton. "Enter Willie Huges as Juliet: or Shakespeare's Sonnets
Revisited". The Queer Canon, updated 9 Jan. 2000.
\http\\www.infopt.demon.co.uk\shakespe.Htm. P. 5.}. Kommentatory pytayutsya
ubedit' nas, chto etot namek dokazyvaet otsutstvie fizicheskoj blizosti mezhdu
liricheskim "ya" i liricheskim "ty", no naprashivaetsya vyvod, kak raz obratnyj:
kakova zhe dolzhna byla byt' stepen' intimnosti mezhdu nimi, chtoby avtor
(liricheskoe "ya") pozvolyal sebe takie nameki. Tak chto u mistera W. H. ili u
ego naslednikov (doverennyh lic) byli veskie osnovaniya prepyatstvovat'
publikacii sonetov, i osobyj interes dazhe pomimo svoej pikantnosti
priobretaet problema: kto vy, Mr. W. H.?
V kandidaturah s podobnymi inicialami nedostatka net. Nekotorye iz nih
raspolagayut k sebe svoej vovlechennost'yu v domashnij obihod poeta, kak,
naprimer, Uil'yam Hart, plemyannik SHekspira, ili Uil'yam Hetauej, ego shurin.
Sredi nevol'nyh pretendentov poet Uil'yam Hanis i mal'chik-posyl'nyj Uil'yam
Holl {Rictor Norton. P. 2.}. Byl eshche Uil'yam Hetklif, molodoj yurist,
rasporyaditel' prazdnestv v Grejz Inne, no esli eto on, sonety dolzhny byli
byt' napisany let na desyat' ran'she {Ajvor Braun. ZHenshchiny v zhizni SHekspira.
M., 2002. S. 304.}. Kandidatury eti pol'zuyutsya men'shej populyarnost'yu sredi
shekspirovedov, tak kak im ne hvataet bleska, a plemyannik SHekspira byl
nesovershennoletnim, kogda pisalis' sonety, tak chto sovet poskoree zhenit'sya
neumesten ili dazhe bessmyslen, esli rech' idet o nem, chto otnositsya,
veroyatno, i k mal'chiku-posyl'nomu: edva li ego "muzhnij posev" byl by mil
kazhdomu "zhenskomu lonu" (sonet 3). Issledovatelej, estestvenno, privlekayut
bolee blistatel'nye, aristokraticheskie kandidatury. Ih, po men'shej mere,
dve. Vo-pervyh, eto tretij graf (Earl) Sautgempton, pokrovitel'stvovavshij
SHekspiru s ego teatrom. V 1598 g. lordu Sautgemptonu ispolnilos' 25 let, tak
chto molodomu otprysku znatnoj sem'i i vpryam' pora bylo prodolzhit' svoj rod:
sovet zhenit'sya mog otnosit'sya k nemu. Vprochem, v sonetah kroetsya odna
tonkost', skoree prepyatstvuyushchaya, chem sposobstvuyushchaya budushchemu braku molodogo
lorda. V pervyh sonetah vospevaetsya isklyuchitel'no on, a ne sootvetstvuyushchaya
ona, ego vozmozhnaya izbrannica, i podspudno vnushaetsya mysl', chto, esli emu
pri ego sovershenstvah dostupna lyubaya zhenshchina, nikakaya zhenshchina ego
nedostojna, i, stalo byt', ego lyubvi nedostojna... zhenshchina. Konechno, nuzhna
byla poeticheskaya derzost', chtoby obrashchat'sya k svoemu pokrovitelyu s podobnymi
nezhnymi derzostyami, byt' mozhet, nedvusmyslennymi s glazu na glaz, no, mozhet
byt', podobnye sonety uslazhdali presyshchennuyu chuvstvennost' molodogo vel'mozhi,
i potomu on snishoditel'no pozvolyal tak sebya teshit'. Imeyutsya i vozrazheniya na
etu izyskannuyu gipotezu. Inicialy lorda Sautgemptona ne sovsem te: Henry
Wriothesley (H. W ., a ne W. H.). Ne novaya li derzost' - perestavlyat'
inicialy aristokrata? Ili eto ocherednoj namek dlya posvyashchennyh, pozvolyayushchij v
sluchae chego ujti ot otvetstvennosti, no pri etom lish' podcherkivayushchij, komu
eti sonety v dejstvitel'nosti posvyashcheny? Eshche odno vozrazhenie: sudya po
portretam, lord Sautgempton ne byl krasavcem, no razve krasota ne v glazah
smotryashchego i razve poet ne volen vospevat' krasotu kak on ee ponimaet ili
chuvs tvuet? Tret'e vozrazhenie kasaetsya lichnoj zhizni lorda. U grafa
Sautgemptona byla vozlyublennaya pridvornaya dama |lizabet Vernon, ona rodila
ot nego rebenka, lord popal dazhe v tyur'mu za ee sovrashchenie i vynuzhden byl na
nej zhenit'sya, tak chto poeticheskie zaklinaniya v sonetah po povodu ego
zhenit'by okazalis' by bestaktnymi i, huzhe togo, smeshnymi.
Zato inicialy W. H. v tochnosti sovpadayut s inicialami tret'ego grafa
(Earl) Pembroka: William Herbert. Lordu Pembroku bylo 18 let, kogda on
priehal iz Oksforda v 1598 g. v London, gde sblizilsya s SHekspirom. Vozmozhno,
blizost' s Pembrokom pobudila SHekspira porvat' s grafom Sautgemptonom, tak
kak novym pokrovitelem poeta stal molodoj graf (Earl) Pembrok. Mat' Uil'yama
Herberta ledi Pembrok, sestra poeta Filipa Sidni, sama ne chuzhdaya poezii,
hotela, chtoby krasavec-syn kak mozhno ran'she zhenilsya, chtoby uberech' ego ot
razvrata, i poeticheskie zaklinaniya sonetov mogli ej imponirovat', dazhe
esli ne byli napisany po ee pros'be ili po ee zakazu, kak inogda polagayut;
pri etom ne tayat li prizyvy k braku v sonetah kakoj-to inoj, bolee tonkij
smysl: "Puskaj dva vernyh duha vstupyat v brak" (sonet 116)? Takomu li
poeticheskomu zaklinaniyu vnyal Uil'yam Herbert, tretij graf (Earl) Pembrok,
kogda v svoe vremya, uzhe pri korole Dzhejmse, sochetalsya brachnymi uzami s
docher'yu grafa SHruzberi? To byl yavno brak po raschetu, i pri vseh svoih
ochevidnyh material'nyh vygodah on ne prines grafu schast'ya. No kakovy by ni
byli ego tajnye naklonnosti v molodosti, zhenshchinami on tozhe ne prenebregal i
obzavelsya-taki eshche do braka synom, hotya i ne takim respektabel'nym obrazom,
kak rekomenduyut - ne dlya vidu li? - emu sonety. |ta istoriya na
dokumental'noj osnove vovlekaet grafa Pembroka v krug i v kontekst sonetov,
tak kak rebenka, vskore umershego, rodila emu v 1601 g. nikto inaya, kak
predpolagaemaya temnaya ledi sonetov, kotoruyu po-russki prinyato nazyvat'
smugloj.
Na rol' temnoj ledi imeyutsya i drugie pretendentki. Nedarom v anglijskoj
tradicii ona nazyvaetsya Bespokojnym prizrakom. Tradicionno schitaetsya, chto
pervye 126 sonetov posvyashcheny svetlomu krasavcu, a sonety 127-152 - temnoj
krasavice. No ne tol'ko v sonete 42, kak my uzhe videli, no i v sonete 41
garmoniyu mezhdu lyubyashchimi muzhskimi "ya" i "ty" narushaet zhenshchina:
Ty, nadelennyj prelest'yu cvetov,
Skazhi, kto v cvete let na vysote?
Syn zhenshchiny, ty razve ne gotov
Pokorno sdat'sya zhenskoj krasote?
YA vizhu, kak ty yun i kak ty svezh.
Tvoyu li ya branit' reshus' mechtu?
Ty vovlechen v bezuderzhnyj myatezh,
Narushiv dvazhdy vernost' naletu:
Neveren ej, v sebya ee vlyubiv;
Sebe neveren, druga oskorbiv.
Myagko govorya, eti strastnye upreki neskol'ko protivorechat nedavnim
prizyvam oschastlivit' zhenskoe lono. S drugoj storony, yarostnoe
stradal'chestvo soneta 129 mozhet otnosit'sya k vozlyublennym oboego pola:
Duh, rastochaemyj cenoj styda,
Vot strast' v razgare, i dotole strast' -
Predatel'stvo, muchitel'stvo, vrazhda,
Smyaten'e, bujstvo, pagubnaya vlast'.
CHto zhe kasaetsya vozlyublennoj v sonetah, krome cveta ee volos i glaz
opredelenno oboznacheno eshche odno: ona muzykal'na, bolee togo, ona muzykantsha.
Otdel'nyj sonet posvyashchen ee igre na muzykal'nom instrumente, trebuyushchem ne
tol'ko talanta, no i virtuoznoj vyuchki:
Kogda letyashchim naperegonki,
O muzyka moya, perstam tvoim
Tak nezhno vtoryat gammy-pozvonki,
Zvuk v dereve, kotorym sluh tomim,
Zaviduyu schastlivym pozvonkam;
Dlya nih tvoya zhelannaya ruka,
Dlya dereva, sposobnogo k pryzhkam,
Ot gub moih zapretno daleka.
Moi by guby vmesto etih shchep
Tancuyushchih vkusili torzhestvo.
Sudi sama: ne gluh ya i ne slep,
ZHivehonek, a derevo mertvo.
CHto derevyashki! Hvatit s nih persta,
A mne tvoi by celovat' usta.
(Sonet 128)
Tancuyushchie shchepy - "those dancing chips" - yavno klavishi. Dolzhno byt', ona
igraet na spinete, predshestvovavshem klaviru. V svyazi s etim rasprostranyaetsya
predpolozhenie, chto rokovaya bryunetka - |miliya Bassano, v zamuzhestve Lan'er,
professional'naya muzykantsha, zanyataya pri dvore {SHekspir. Sonety. M., 1984.
S. 262.}. No v muzyke byla iskushena i drugaya pretendentka na rol' temnoj
ledi. Ee nazyvali chernaya Lyusi ili dazhe Lyusi Negrityanka. Hodili sluhi, chto
ona byla dejstvitel'no afrikanskogo proishozhdeniya. Sluhi eti ne
podtverdilis'. ""CHernaya" v razgovornom yazyke teh dnej moglo oznachat'
"pohotlivaya"", - pishet Ajvor Braun {Ajvor Braun. Tam zhe. S. 304.}, chto
prolivaet dopolnitel'nyj svet na samo vyrazhenie "dark lady". Nastoyashchee imya
chernoj Lyusi - Lyusi Morgan; ona umerla v 1610 g. ot durnoj bolezni, kak
soobshchaet epitafiya. Uzhe v 1595 g. govorili, chto ona zarazhaet sifilisom.
Timon Afinskij v tragedii sovetuet afinskim krasotkam Frinii i Timandre
mstit' nenavistnym lyudyam rasprostraneniem zarazy, nesomnenno, venericheskoj,
chto bylo anahronizmom po otnosheniyu k drevnim Afinam i zloboj dnya po
otnosheniyu k shekspirovskoj sovremennosti. Doktor P. M. Simpson v svoej knige
"SHekspir i medicina" utverzhdaet: "Nikogda ne bylo napisano bolee zhivogo
klinicheskogo opisaniya tret'ej stadii sifilisa, chem v rechi Timona, kogda on
obrashchaetsya k dvum kurtizankam s sovetom, kak im mstit' muzhchinam" {Ajvor
Braun. Tam zhe. S. 318.}. Est' predpolozhenie, budto v isstuplennyh tiradah
Timona Afinskogo skazyvaetsya lichnyj opyt SHekspira, zarazivshegosya sifilisom
ot chernoj Lyusi, esli "temnaya ledi" - eto ona. Nekotorye issledovateli
nahodyat v pozdnih proizvedeniyah SHekspira otvrashchenie k seksu, svyazannoe s
bolezn'yu na podobnoj pochve. Posledstviya bolezni mogli zajti dovol'no daleko.
V proizvedeniyah SHekspira nahodyat nameki na sifiliticheskuyu syp'. Ne isklyuchayut
dazhe, chto poslednij period svoej zhizni on provel v Stratforde, chastichno
paralizovannyj na pochve sifilisa. |tim ob®yasnyayut nechetkie, inogda pochti
nerazborchivye podpisi pod vazhnymi dokumentami. Net skol'ko-nibud'
ubeditel'nyh dokumental'nyh podtverzhdenij dlya etih domyslov. Zato v sonetah
tajnaya gubitel'naya zaraza (infection) zapechatlena s zhutkoj ubeditel'nost'yu,
pravda, snachala v svyazi s vozlyublennym, a ne s vozlyublennoj:
Cvetku do voshishchennyh dela net;
Kak, sladostnyj, rascvel, tak i zasoh,
No, mozhet byt', zaraznyj v nem sekret,
I predpochtitel'nej chertopoloh.
(Sonet 94)
V sleduyushchem sonete 95 "ty" "kak roza s chervotochinoj, lyubim".
Zarazitel'naya bolezn' upominaetsya i v svyazi s "temnoj ledi":
Tak zabluzhden'e muchaet menya,
Bolezn'yu zarazitel'noj kaznya.
(Sonet 137)
No v etom sonete eto voobshche zaraza lzhivosti (false plague), a ne
chervotochina, v kotoroj mozhno zapodozrit' sifilis. S drugoj storony, edva li
ne vse sonety, posvyashchennye temnoj ledi, pronizany oshchushcheniem gibel'noj
zarazy, dazhe esli eto sama lyubov', iz chego ne sleduet, chto oni posvyashcheny
Lyusi Morgan, i ne prinyato polagat', budto ona zarazila sifilisom oboih
druzej. Mezhdu poetom i ego belokurym drugom, soglasno tradicii, voznikaet
drugaya ledi.
V odnoaktnoj p'ese Bernarda SHou "The Dark Lady of the Sonnets" (v
perevode "Smuglaya ledi sonetov") geroinya gor'ko zhaluetsya na SHekspira: "YA
goryu ot styda, chto unizilas' do lyubvi k cheloveku, kotoromu moj otec ne
pozvolil by derzhat' moe stremya, kotoryj govorit obo mne vsem i kazhdomu,
kotoryj vynosit moyu lyubov' i moj pozor na posmeshishche v svoih p'esah i
zastavlyaet menya krasnet', kotoryj pishet obo mne takie sonety, pod kotorymi
ne podpisalsya by ni odin blagorodnyj chelovek" {Bernard SHou. Izbrannoe. M.,
1946. S. 311.}. |tu ledi ee rodnoj otec nazyval "dobroporyadochnoj dvoryankoj",
obvinyaya v durnom povedenii po otnosheniyu k nej nikogo inogo, kak Uil'yama
Herberta, grafa Pembroka, to est' predpolagaemogo mistera (ili mastera) W.
H. Tak, po krajnej mere, "glasit predan'e". Esli predanie dostoverno,
umen'shitel'noe imya etoj ledi upominaetsya v tret'ej scene pervogo dejstviya
komedii "Dvenadcataya noch'", gde govoritsya o darah ili darovaniyah,
nuzhdayushchihsya v zavese, ibo inache oni mogut zapylit'sya, kak portret mistris
Moll. Ital'yanizirovannoe imya Malvolio iz "Dvenadcatoj nochi" ponimaetsya v
takom sluchae kak "Hochu Moll", otchego ne perestaet znachit' "Zlonamerennyj".
Moll - umen'shitel'noe imya gospozhi Meri Fitton, kotoraya byla lady-in-waiting,
to est' frejlinoj pri dvore korolevy Elizavety, otkuda etu "dobroporyadochnuyu
dvoryanku" udalili s pozorom. V 1598 g. ej dolzhno bylo ispolnit'sya dvadcat'
let, ona byla muzykal'na i tak blistala v tancah, chto sama koroleva shla
tancevat' v otvet na ee priglashenie. Moll Fitton vovleklas' v riskovannyj
roman s Uil'yamom Herbertom, i vpolne vozmozhno, chto on otbil ee u svoego
druga Uil'yama po familii SHekspir, esli mozhno nazvat' drugom togo, komu
molodoj graf Pembrok pokrovitel'stvuet. Ot grafa Pembroka (Uil'yama Herberta)
Meri Fitton rodila syna, chto sovsem ne obradovalo mat' Uil'yama Herberta,
grafinyu Pembrok, dazhe esli poeticheskie prizyvy v sonetah k yunomu krasavcu
rodit' naslednika ishodyat ot nee. Mozhet byt', ona sochla legkomyslennuyu Meri
Fitton nepodhodyashchej mater'yu dlya svoego naslednika. No v nastoyashchee otchayan'e,
kak eto vidno v sonetah, lyubov' yunogo krasavca k zhenshchine privela kak raz
avtora sonetov, prizyvavshego ego esli ne polyubit' zhenshchinu, to obzavestis'
naslednikom svoej krasoty, chto, kazalos' by, bez zhenshchiny nevozmozhno.
Nezakonnyj naslednik umer vskore posle rozhdeniya. A Meri Fitton posle etogo
dvazhdy vyhodila zamuzh, rozhala detej i umerla v 1647 g., perezhiv Uil'yama
SHekspira na tridcat' odin god, a Uil'yama Herberta na semnadcat' let.
Meri Fitton, takim obrazom, naibolee veroyatnaya pretendentka na rol'
"temnoj ledi" v sonetah, poskol'ku ee svyaz' s grafom Pembrokom zafiksirovana
bolee ili menee dostoverno, hotya etogo i nel'zya skazat' o ee svyazi s
SHekspirom, bolee ili menee legendarnoj. Funkciya Moll - podtverzhdat', chto
William Herbert - Mr. W. H. Graf Sautgempton v sluchae, esli eto Moll,
opredelenno otpadaet, tak kak roman s Moll byl u grafa Pembroka, a ne u
grafa Sautgemptona (po sohranivshimsya dannym, razumeetsya). No, pri vsej
veroyatnosti treugol'nika SHekspir-Uil'yam Herbert-Meri Fitton, v nego ne
vpisyvayutsya nekotorye svedeniya. |ti svedeniya idut ot portretov, kotorye
dejstvitel'no mogut zapylit'sya, kak pred osteregaet "Dvenadcataya noch'", no
prodolzhayut svidetel'stvovat' ne v pol'zu dannoj versii. Tak, sudya po
portretam, Meri Fitton ne byla zhguchej chernoglazoj bryunetkoj, kotoruyu
risuyut sonety. U nee byli kashtanovye volosy i serye glaza, hotya na dvuh
cherno-belyh portretah ee volosy i glaza kazhutsya chernymi {Ajvor Braun. Tam
zhe. S. 302.}. Uil'yam Herbert priehal v London lish' v 1598 g., kogda,
soglasno Miresu, sonety uzhe byli izvestny druz'yam SHekspira, mezhdu tem,
soglasno sonetam, ih avtor znaet yunogo krasavca ne pervyj god:
Moj drug, ty ne stareesh' dlya menya,
Hot' minovali celyh tri zimy
S togo obvorozhitel'nogo dnya,
Kogda naveki povstrechalis' my.
(Sonet 104)
V 1598 g. starshij graf Pembrok byl eshche zhiv i umer lish' tri goda spustya,
v 1601 g., a v sonete 14 o nem govoritsya kak ob umershem:
Puskaj tebya pomyanet kto-nibud',
Kak ty otca ne mog ne pomyanut'.
I, nakonec, opyat'-taki portretnoe shodstvo ili neshodstvo. Volosy u
tret'ego grafa Pembroka byli ne svetlye, a temnye {Rictor Norton. P. 3.}.
Vprochem, cvet volos i glaz v sonetah mozhet ne imet' pryamogo otnosheniya k
volosam i glazam istoricheskih prototipov, esli oni byli. Vozmozhno, cvet
volos i glaz v sonetah opredelyaetsya storonami lyubovnogo treugol'nika, a ne
vneshnost'yu real'nyh dejstvuyushchih lic:
Tak ya zhivu vo vlasti duhov dvuh:
Hranitelyu perechit nedrug moj;
Muzhchinoj predstaet mne svetlyj duh,
A zhenshchina grozit mne vechnoj t'moj.
(Sonet 144)
Togda vozlyublennyj svetel (a man right fair), a vozlyublennaya temna (a
woman colour'd ill: pagubnogo, zloveshchego cveta), tak chto glaza i volosy u
oboih okrasheny soobrazno ih funkcii.
Veskij argument protiv rasprostranennyh gipotez vydvinul Oskar Uajl'd,
usomnivshis' v tom, chto kto by to ni bylo osmelilsya v nachale semnadcatogo
veka oboznachit' lorda Sautgemptona ili lorda Pembroka abbreviaturoj Mr. W.
H. - nedopustimaya derzost' po otnosheniyu k tomu i k drugomu lordu. K tomu zhe
Mr. oznachalo togda dazhe ne "mister", a "master", "molodoj gospodin", tem
bolee nevozmozhnoe obrashchenie k lordu {Rictor Norton. P. 2.}. Takim obrazom,
lico, kotoromu posvyashcheny sonety, ne moglo byt' aristokraticheskogo
proishozhdeniya. Ishodya iz etogo, Oskar Uajl'd predpolozhil, chto sonety
SHekspira posvyashcheny yunomu krasavcu-akteru iz ego truppy, igravshemu v p'esah
SHekspira zhenskie roli, tak kak zhenshchinam poyavlyat'sya na scene togda
zapreshchalos'. Imya etogo aktera Willie Huges (W. H.), Villi H'yus, vyvoditsya
Oskarom Uajl'dom iz soneta 20: "A man in hue, all hues in his controlling":
"chelovek v cvetu, vse cveta (mozhet byt', vse obrazy) v ego vlasti". Oskar
Uajl'd ne otrical, chto u ego gipotezy net istoricheskih dokazatel'stv, i
vmesto nih napisal charuyushchuyu novellu "Portret mistera W. H.". Geroi etoj
novelly ubezhdayut drug druga v sushchestvovanii Villi H'yusa, kak v dogmate
very, zhertvuya zhizn'yu, chtoby pridat' etomu obrazu real'nost'. Nado skazat',
chto Oskaru Uajl'du udalos' vvesti Villi H'yusa v shekspirovedenie. Svoeobrazie
ego metoda zaklyuchaetsya v tom, chto sushchestvovanie Villi vyvoditsya ne iz
istoricheskih dannyh, a iz samih sonetov. Dazhe podlog, sovershennyj vo imya
Villi H'yusa, obretaet istinnost'. Avtor sonetov zaklinaet svoego
vozlyublennogo peredat' svoyu krasotu potomstvu, no eto potomstvo - ne deti vo
ploti, a roli, kotorye on sygraet v teatre SHekspira, pust' eti roli - teni,
no drugogo bessmertiya i ne byvaet, esli sama istina dlya Oskara Uajl'da -
istina masok, a Prospero v "Bure" govorit, chto nash sostav podoben sostavu
snov, i k Villi H'yusu vpolne mogut byt' otneseny stroki:
Kakov, skazhi mne, plotskij tvoj sostav?
Odnoyu ten'yu kazhdyj nadelen.
Prisvaivaesh' teni, zablistav;
Ih u tebya, dolzhno byt', million.
Adonis byl by na tebya pohozh,
Bud' on, kak ty, plenitel'no krasiv;
No, kak sama Elena, ty horosh,
V otlichie ot grekov drevnih zhiv.
(Sonet 53)
Avtor sonetov predlagaet yunomu krasavcu brak ne so smertnoj zhenshchinoj, a
so svoej muzoj, ot kotoroj rodyatsya bessmertnye deti:
Ne bojsya! Nevozmozhen tvoj zakat,
I dlya potomstva yasnye cherty
Ostanutsya; vospetyj mnoyu klad,
Do svetoprestavlen'ya budesh' ty.
(Sonet 55)
Izmena i pozor yunogo krasavca svyazany, po Oskaru Uajl'du, ne s "temnoj
ledi", a s ego perehodom v teatr drugogo dramaturga. Namek na takuyu izmenu
takzhe vstrechaetsya v sonetah:
Nachav pisat', ya duhom past' gotov;
Tebya vospel vladyka iz vladyk,
Neprevzojden v mogushchestve stihov,
Tak chto nemeet u menya yazyk.
No v okeane sovershenstv tvoih
Derzaem plavat' oba: on i ya,
Bol'shoj korabl' sred' burnyh voln morskih
I malen'kaya, zhalkaya lad'ya.
(Sonet 80)
Oskar Uajl'd ubeditel'no dokazyvaet, chto molodoj akter izmenil SHekspiru
s Kristoferom Marlo. V istoricheskoj drame Kristofera Marlo "|duard II" Villi
H'yus dolzhen byl igrat' Gevestona, tozhe yunogo krasavca, v kotorogo |duard II
vlyublen. Lankaster v drame Marlo upodoblyaet Gevestona "grecheskoj shlyuhe", i
ne na eto li upodoblenie ssylaetsya stroka v sonete 53: "No, kak sama
Elena, ty horosh"? Korol' ne v silah porvat' s Gevestonom; on otkryto
predpochitaet Gevestona koroleve, za chto ta zhestoko mstit svoemu suprugu.
Korol' |duard II teryaet prestol, on uzhe ne dorozhit zhizn'yu, utrativ
Gevestona. Geveston vyzyvaet nenavist' vseh anglijskih baronov, no v etoj
nenavisti ugadyvaetsya strast' k nemu; ego ubivayut, potomu chto pered nim
nevozmozhno ustoyat'. Prostoe upominanie Villi H'yusa v roli Gevestona pridaet
emu v novelle Oskara Uajl'da takuyu soblaznitel'nuyu zhiznen- nost', chto ne
tol'ko Oskar Uajl'd izoshchryaetsya, nahodya dokazatel'stvo ego sushchestvovaniya. Ne
zabudem, chto stat'ya Riktora Nortona tak i nazyvaetsya: "Villi H'yus kak
Dzhul'etta". Imenno Oskar Uajl'd vyskazyvaet predpolozhenie, chto rol'
Dzhul'etty v tragedii SHekspira igral Villi H'yus i eto podtverzhdaet sonet 101:
Konechno, on horosh i bez pohval,
No, Muza, ty molchanie narush',
CHtob nad vekami vostorzhestvoval
On, perezhiv zlatoj grobnicy glush'.
Familiya "H'yus" byla tak rasprostranena v Anglii, chto predpolagaemogo
Villi H'yusa, ego rodichej i dvojnikov najti netrudno sredi akterov,
muzykantov i poetov. Oskar Uajl'd uveryaet, chto Mr. W. H. ne mog byt'
znatnogo proishozhdeniya, no sredi argumentov Oskara Uajl'da po men'shej mere
odin ne podtverzhdaetsya sonetami. Slovo "birth" v sonete 37 vryad li mozhet
oznachat' chto-nibud', krome znatnogo proishozhdeniya, da eshche v sochetanii s
velikolepiem:
Kak znatnosti, kak tonkomu umu
Izyashchestvom sebya ne proyavit'!
I ya k velikolep'yu tvoemu
Moyu lyubov' osmelilsya privit'.
A znatnost' snova vlechet za soboj izyskannyj obraz molodogo lorda i
bespokojnyj prizrak pridvornoj damy, kakaya by temnaya ili dazhe chernaya ona ni
byla.
Alhimiya v treh licah
Oskar Uajl'd balansiruet na grani anahronizma. Esli sonet 80 namekaet
na Kristofera Marlo, sonet dolzhen byt' napisan ne pozdnee 1593 g., kogda
Marlo byl ubit, a Mires, kak my pomnim, datiruet "sladostnye sonety"
SHekspira 1598 godom, hotya sonety mogli byt' napisany ran'she. Poeticheskaya
gipoteza Oskara Uajl'da ne stanovitsya ot etogo menee veroyatnoj, chem drugie
gipotezy, v svoyu ochered', ne bolee veroyatnye, chem gipoteza Oskara Uajl'da.
Istoricheskie dannye lish' otchasti, ne bez neuvyazok i nesoobraznostej
dokumentiruyut roman v sonetah SHekspira i ostayutsya lish' nabroskami k etomu
romanu, kotoryj ne vyvoditsya iz nih, a naprotiv, oni svodyatsya, v konce
koncov, k nemu zhe.
V romane dva geroya i geroinya: starshij drug, mladshij drug i temnaya ledi.
Intriga romana zaklyuchaetsya v tom, chto starshij drug prihodit v gnevnoe
otchayan'e, kogda mladshij gotov, nakonec, obresti zhenskoe lono,
prednaznachennoe dlya prodleniya roda, a k chemu, esli ne k etomu, prizyval
mladshego starshij drug v pervyh sonetah. Esli prinyat' versiyu s Uil'yamom
Herbertom i s Meri Fitton, to zhenskoe lono po etoj versii otnyud' ne bylo
besplodnym i moglo peredat' po nasledstvu charuyushchuyu krasotu mladshego druga.
No dazhe esli otvlech'sya ot lorda Pembroka, mladshij drug kak budto ispolnyaet
zavet starshego, a starshij v otchayan'e. Vozmozhno, ego otchayan'e vyzvano
revnost'yu: mladshij drug sovratil vozlyublennuyu starshego, ili ona sovratila
ego. No esli starshij drug neistovstvuet ot revnosti, revnuet li on svoyu
vozlyublennuyu k mladshemu drugu, ili mladshego druga - k svoej vozlyublennoj?
Sonety opredelenno zastavlyayut predpolozhit' vtoroe.
Na muzhnem poseve v zhenskom lone, po sushchestvu, nastaivayut lish' pervye
poltora desyatka sonetov. V sonete 16 starshij drug eshche propoveduet
prevoshodstvo zhizni nad iskusstvom:
Devich'i raspuskayutsya sady,
Gde dlya tebya ni v chem otkazu net,
I mogut poyavit'sya tam plody,
Kotorym ustupil by tvoj portret.
Sumeet zhizn' sebya zapechatlet',
Zatmiv iskusstvo, vremya nizlozhiv;
V glazah lyudej ty mozhesh' ucelet',
Bez moego pera v gryadushchem zhiv.
Takoe smirenie pache gordosti, i ne nastaivaet li avtor na obratnom ot
protivnogo: utonchennomu vkusu mogut oprotivet' devich'i sady, "gde dlya tebya
ni v chem otkazu net". Uzhe v sleduyushchem sonete predpolagaemyj otprysk mladshego
druga i stih starshego uravnoveshivayutsya v sovershenstvah:
Togda napomnit' mog by otprysk tvoj:
Ty v nem, kak i v stihe moem, zhivoj.
Iz soneta v sonet narastaet vera v svoj stih: "Cela v moem stihe moya
lyubov'" (sonet 19). V dvadcatom sonete proishodit vzryv nezhnosti ili
kul'minaciya: zhenstvennaya priroda mladshego druga otkrovenno prevoznositsya
nad zhenskoj:
Tvoj lik prirodoj zhenstvennoj otmechen;
Vladyka, ty vladychica zhelanij,
Po-zhenski nezhen ty, no bezuprechen:
Izmenchivyh ne znaesh' kolebanij.
Sprashivaetsya, neuzheli starshij drug sovetuet predpochest' sovershenstvu
nesovershennuyu zhenstvennost', da i sposobna li ona peredat' po nasledstvu
sovershennuyu krasotu? Mladshemu rekomenduetsya dopuskat' k svoim usladam ne
zhenshchinu, a zhenshchin, tak chto rech' yavno idet ne o zhenit'be na odnoj iz nih, a
"zavetnym kladom" mladshij ostaetsya dlya starshego, chto ne vyzyvaet somnenij v
eroticheskoj blizosti mezhdu nimi. Starshij predosteregaet mladshego, chto eta
blizost' postydna v glazah neposvyashchennyh:
YA ne mogu tebya nazvat' moim,
Ne opozoriv druga navsegda;
Priznaesh'sya, chto ya toboj lyubim,
I ne uberezhesh'sya ot styda.
(Sonet 36)
Istinnyj smysl prizyvov k braku v tom, chto mladshij vstupaet v brak s
muzoj starshego, i starshij gor'ko zhaluetsya, kogda etot brak rasstraivaetsya:
"Itak, moej ty muze ne suprug" (Sonet 82). Tem ne menee, pervye sonety
ponimayutsya ne tol'ko perevodchikami, no i mnogimi dobrosovestnymi
kommentatorami kak dopodlinnyj sovet zhenit'sya i obzavestis' det'mi. Sovet ne
bez gorechi, no gorech' etu ob®yasnyayut neschastlivoj semejnoj zhizn'yu starshego
druga. No dazhe esli prinyat' takuyu tochku zreniya, nel'zya ne priznat', chto
gde-to okolo soneta 20 matrimonial'nye zaklinaniya smenyayutsya obeshchaniyami
poeticheskogo bessmertiya. Odno iz dvuh: ili starshij otchayalsya obratit'
mladshego na put' istinnyj, ili mladshij obratil starshego v svoyu veru,
prepodav starshemu urok erotiki, pered kotoroj starshij ne ustoyal.
"Kak znatnosti, kak tonkomu umu izyashchestvom sebya ne proyavit'", i vpolne
mozhno sebe predstavit', kak yunyj aristokrat-intellektual chitaet starshemu
poetu "Pir" Platona so svoimi vol'nymi kommentariyami. Skrytye i otkrytye
citaty iz "Pira" vstrechayutsya v sonetah; mozhno dazhe utverzhdat', chto sonety
osnovany na etih citatah:
Ne potomu li my obrecheny
Na etom svete drug bez druga zhit'
I na dva sushchestva rassecheny,
CHtoby toboj mne bol'she dorozhit'?
(Sonet 39)
V "Pire" Aristofan povestvuet: "Skazav eto, on (Zevs - V. M.) stal
razrezat' lyudej popolam, kak rezhut yajco voloskom... I vot kogda tela byli
takim obrazom rassecheny popolam, kazhdaya polovina s vozhdeleniem ustremilas' k
drugoj svoej polovine, oni obnimalis', spletalis' i, strastno zhelaya
srastis', umirali ot goloda i voobshche ot bezdejstviya, potomu chto nichego ne
hoteli delat' porozn'" {Platon. Sobr. soch.: V 4-h t. M., 1993. T. 2. S.
99.}. CHto zhe kasaetsya strastnyh prizyvov ostavit' potomstvo v pervyh
sonetah, to oni prochityvayutsya v slovah Diotimy: "Delo v tom, Sokrat, chto vse
lyudi beremenny kak telesno, tak i duhovno, i kogda oni dostigayut izvestnogo
vozrasta, priroda nasha trebuet razresheniya ot bremeni. Razreshit'sya zhe ona
mozhet tol'ko v prekrasnom, no ne v bezobraznom" {Platon. T. 4. S. 116-117.}.
|ta beremennost', svojstvennaya lyudyam oboego pola, pri stremlenii rodit' v
prekrasnom, i zapechatlena v sonetah. Otsyuda stroki:
Svoih podobij, skazhem, desyati
Ne pozhalej dlya budushchih vremen;
Smert' ne sob'esh' li ty togda s puti,
Desyatikratnym schast'em nadelen.
Ne ostavlyaj v nasledstvo krasotu
Mogil'nomu chervyu ili krotu.
(Sonet 6)
No priroda etih podobij ne tak prosta, kak mozhet pokazat'sya chitatelyu
sonetov. Diotima v "Pire" vyskazyvaetsya nedvusmyslenno: "Te, u kogo
razreshit'sya ot bremeni stremitsya telo, obrashchayutsya bol'she k zhenshchinam i
sluzhat |rotu imenno tak, nadeyas' detorozhdeniem priobresti bessmertie i
schast'e i ostavit' o sebe pamyat' na vechnye vremena". Tak i govoritsya v
sonetah:
Oplatish' krasotoj svoeyu schet,
I krasota tebya perezhivet.
(Sonet 4)
No Diotima na etom ne ostanavlivaetsya. Ona prodolzhaet: "Beremennye zhe
duhovno - ved' est' i takie, - poyasnila ona, - kotorye beremenny duhovno, i
pritom dazhe v bol'shej mere, chem telesno, - beremenny tem, chto kak raz dushe i
podobaet vynashivat'. A chto ej podobaet vynashivat'? Razumenie i prochie
dobrodeteli. Roditelyami ih byvayut vse tvorcy i te iz masterov, kotoryh mozhno
nazvat' izobretatel'nymi" {Platon. Tam zhe. S. 119.}. Vot vstrechnoe
iskushenie, kotoroe vydvigaet starshij, prel'shchaya svoego mladshego sovratitelya:
Dlya ran lyubovnyh vremya - eliksir,
I, kazhetsya, mne smert' podchinena;
I ya v moih stihah bessmertno sir,
Bezgramotnye vymrut plemena.
Moim stiham nevedom etot risk.
Drugoj tebe ne nuzhen obelisk.
(Sonet 107)
Bukval'no to zhe samoe govorit Diotima: "Da i kazhdyj, pozhaluj,
predpochtet imet' takih detej, a ne obychnyh, esli podumaet o Gomere, Gesiode
i drugih prekrasnyh poetah, ch'e potomstvo dostojno zavisti, ibo ono prinosit
im bessmertnuyu slavu i sohranyaet pamyat' o nih, potomu chto i samo
nezabyvaemo i vechno" {Platon. Tam zhe. S. 120}. Tut v rechah Diotimy
proishodit harakternyj sdvig, proishodyashchij i v sonetah: "...nelepo dumat',
budto krasota u vseh tel ne odna i ta zhe" {Platon. Tam zhe. S. 120.}. Dal'she
eta mysl', tak skazat', utochnyaetsya: "I tot, kto blagodarya pravil'noj lyubvi k
yunosham podnyalsya nad otdel'nymi raznovidnostyami prekrasnogo i nachal postigat'
samo prekrasnoe, tot, pozhaluj, pochti u celi" {Platon. Tam zhe. S. 121.}.
Pavsanij v "Pire" formuliruet etu mysl' eshche pryamolinejnej i rezche: "|rot zhe
Afrodity nebesnoj voshodit k bogine, kotoraya, vo-pervyh, prichastna tol'ko
muzhskomu nachalu, no nikak ne k zhenskomu - nedarom eto lyubov' k yunosham, a
vo-vtoryh, starshe i chuzhda prestupnoj derzosti" {Platon. Tam zhe. S. 90.}.
Esli govorit' ob |pohe Vozrozhdeniya pri vsej somnitel'nosti etoj metafory,
togda, nesomnenno, vozrozhdalas' platonicheskaya lyubov' takogo roda, i v
opravdanie SHekspira, esli on nuzhdaetsya v opravdanii, sleduet skazat', chto
roman v sonetah - ne apofeoz, a tragediya takoj lyubvi, bezyshodnoj, gor'koj i
razrushitel'noj pri vseh svoih utonchennyh soblaznah. V atmosfere
platonovskogo "Pira" temnaya ledi bezuslovno inorodnoe telo, i strast' k nej
ne mozhet ne privodit' v yarost', zastavlyaya upivat'sya otvrashcheniem k ee
prelestyam. V dvuh poslednih sonetah, obrazuyushchih epilog romana, bog lyubvi
pogruzhen v son i svoej ushcherbnost'yu napominaet |rota, o kotorom govorit
opyat'-taki Diotima: "... on vsegda beden i vopreki rasprostranennomu mneniyu
sovsem ne krasiv i ne nezhen, a grub, neopryaten, ne obut i bezdomen; on
valyaetsya na goloj zemle, pod otkrytym nebom..." {Platon. T. 4. S. 113.}. V
sonete 153 on "fakel svoj zabyl v trave", i kogda v oboih poslednih sonetah
ih avtor proizvodit ot nego svoj nedug, eta izyashchnaya metafora vopreki
uhishchreniyam literaturnosti obretaet zloveshchuyu, smertel'nuyu ubeditel'nost', na
chem i prostroen roman v sonetah.
No sonety ne ischerpyvayutsya i takim podhodom. Uzhe v pervom sonete
poyavlyaetsya roza, stol' tradicionnaya dlya zhanra sonetov; v romane SHekspira
roza ne vsegda yavlyaetsya simvolom vozlyublennoj ili vozlyublennogo, i v pervom
sonete roza - simvol razmnozheniya, no oznachaet ona skoree nekuyu
preemstvennost', nezheli nasledstvennost':
Kak zaveshchaet roza krasotu
Gryadushchej roze prezhde uvyadan'ya.
Na etu rozu strannym obrazom prolivaet svet nekij alhimicheskij
manuskript, napisannyj v 1606 g., za tri goda do publikacii sonetov i cherez
vosem'-desyat' let posle ih predpolagaemogo napisaniya, iz chego ne sleduet,
chto svedeniya, soobshchaemye manuskriptom, ne mogli skazat'sya i v sonetah,
buduchi kuda bolee drevnimi. V manuskripte privodyatsya izobrazheniya desyati
retort. Uzhe iz pervoj retorty voznikayut tri cvetka, iz vtoroj chetyre zolotyh
cvetka; iz devyatoj retorty voznikaet "zolotaya belaya roza", kotoraya v desyatoj
retorte smenyaetsya krasnoj rozoj {Menli Palmer Holl. |nciklopedicheskoe
izlozhenie masonskoj, germeticheskoj, kabbalisticheskoj i rozenkrejcerovskoj
simvolicheskoj filosofii. M., 2003. S. 722-723.}. |to cheredovanie roz,
vozmozhno, imeet otnoshenie k roze, zaveshchayushchej svoyu krasotu drugoj roze v
pervom sonete. Alhimiya pryamo upominaetsya v sonete 114, gde ona svojstvenna
mladshemu drugu, vydaet za svet nochnuyu t'mu, a glavnoe, koronuet starshego
druga, chto nevozmozhno bez alhimicheskogo zolota. Uzhe v sonete 33 nebesnaya
alhimiya zolotit reki. V sonete 12 fialka vozveshchaet ugrozu vremeni, na
kotoruyu otvet izvesten:
Serp vremeni ostree chto ni god.
Plodis' - i sam sebe sozdash' oplot.
Fialka vozvrashchaetsya v sonete 99, u kotorogo lishnyaya stroka i kotoromu
predshestvuet znamenatel'noe dvoetochie:
Moshennica-fialka, - govoryu, -
Pohitila tonchajshij aromat
Iz ust, lyubov' moya, tvoih; zaryu
Prisvoil by bledneyushchij zakat.
Fialka, eshche odin simvol mladshego druga, ne prosto sootnositsya s fialom,
v kotorom sovershaetsya alhimicheskaya reakciya; fialkoj oboznacheno dvupoloe:
"Vladyka, ty vladychica zhelanij", i v to zhe vremya fialka - simvol
alhimicheskogo Rebisa (Rebis), a Rebis - kamen', odna veshch', sozdannaya iz dvuh
veshchej {|zhen Kasel'e. Alhimiya. M.: |nigma, 2002. S. 72.}.
Takoj Rebis dolzhny obrazovat' starshij i mladshij drug v sonetah. Smysl
alhimii v tom, chtoby sochetat' elementy, sami po sebe ne sochetayushchiesya v
prirode. V alhimii preobladaet sochetanie v otlichie ot himii, v kotoroj
preobladaet razlozhenie. No sochetaniyu elementov, obrazuyushchih filosofskij
kamen', predshestvuet raspad i gnienie {Tam zhe, s. 50.}. Ne otsyuda li
chervotochina v roze (sonet 95)? CHernota ("nigrum nigrius nigro", "chern'
chernee chernoj cherni") igraet v sonetah rokovuyu rol'. Alhimii znakoma
chernaya zhenshchina, kotoraya stanovitsya beloj {Tam zhe, s. 84.}, no v sonetah
etogo ne proishodit. Starshij drug i mladshij drug - elementy, kotorye ne
sochetayutsya sami po sebe, no ih moglo by soedinit' Velikoe Iskusstvo (Ars
Magna). CHernaya zhenshchina (v sonetah temnaya ledi) estestvenno sochetaetsya s
kazhdym iz nih, no kak raz tem samym delaet nevozmozhnym ih edinenie mezhdu
soboj. Otsyuda tragediya vseh treh. Namechaetsya lzhetriada, v kotoroj chernaya
zhenshchina ne dostigaet zhelannoj belizny, raz®edinyaya dva svetlyh nachala. Temnaya
ledi - odin iz puzyrej zemli, kotorymi yavlyayutsya ved'my Makbeta, poistine
Bespokojnyj Prizrak. Zato element W. H. transformiruetsya. K nemu podhodit
eshche odno tolkovanie, soglasno kotoromu W. H. - eto William Himself, to est'
avtor sonetov. Togda nesluchajno v posvyashchenii on oboznachen kak edinstvennyj
porodivshij (Begetter) nizhesleduyushchie sonety, i oni prinesli bessmertie emu i
ego drugu, kto by ni byl mladshij drug.
TO. THE. ONLIE. BEGETTER. OF.
THESE. INSVING. SONNETS.
MR. W. H.
ALL. HAPPINESSE.
AND. THAT. ETERNITIE.
PROMISED. BY.
OVR. EVER-LIVING. POET.
WISHETH.
THE. WELL-WISHING.
ADVENTVRER. IN.
SETTING.
FORTH.
T. T.
EDINSTVENNOMU. PORODIVSHEMU.
NIZHESLEDUYUSHCHIE SONETY.
MISTERU W. H.
VSYACHESKOGO SCHASTIYA.
I OBETOVANNOJ VECHNOSTI.
VOZVESHCHPNNYH
BESSMERTNYM PO|TOM.
ZHELAET.
BLAGOZHELATELXNYJ
IZDATELX.
OTVAZHIVSHIJSYA.
NAPECHATATX IH.
T. T.
Sonnet I
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.
Ty posmotri, kak mnozhatsya v cvetu
ZHelannye, prekrasnye sozdan'ya,
Kak zaveshchaet roza krasotu
Gryadushchej roze prezhde uvyadan'ya.
Lyubovnik nezhnyj sobstvennyh ochej,
Gotovyj predpochest' samosozhzhen'e,
Soboj pitaya zhar svoih luchej,
Ty prazdnuesh' svoe unichtozhen'e.
Tebya poslala nam sama vesna,
I dlya nee drugogo net oplota,
No krasota v tebe pogrebena:
Skupec, ty rastochitel'nee mota.
Sokrovishchem svoim upivshis' vslast',
Vselennuyu ty mozhesh' obokrast'.
Sonnet II
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.
Kogda vojska zimy sorokovoj
Obezobrazyat rvami gordyj lob,
Ty budesh' shozh s pobleksheyu travoj,
V kotoroj zatailsya vethij grob.
I esli sprosyat vdrug tebya v upor:
"Kuda deval ty krasotu tvoyu?"
Otvetish' li, skryvaya svoj pozor:
"Ee v glazah zapavshih ya tayu"?
A ty by mog parirovat' udar,
Skazav: "Moj syn prekrasnej rascvetet
I, opravdav otca, kotoryj star,
Prigozhestvom svoim oplatit schet.
Tvoya zastynet krov', odnako v nem
Ona vzygraet sladostnym ognem.
Sonnet III
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 shall 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, i skazhet lik tvoj zrimyj:
"Vselenskoe ty sohrani edinstvo,
Vozobnovi sebya, nepovtorimyj,
Daruya devstvennosti materinstvo".
Kakomu lonu zhenskomu ne mil
Blagoslovennyj muzhnij tvoj posev,
I kto sebya v sebe pohoronil,
Sebyalyubivo sklep zapechatlev?
V tebe uvidet' materi dano
Aprel', v kotorom vsya ee vesna;
Dlya starosti svoej gotov' okno,
CHtoby tvoya vesna byla vidna.
Sebya ne zaveshchaesh' v svoj chered,
I milyj obraz tvoj s toboj umret.
Sonnet IV
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self 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 thy self alone,
Thou of thy self 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 tombed with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
Ty poluchil v nasledstvo krasotu,
Zachem zhe vvodish' sam sebya v razor?
Priroda govorit nachistotu:
"YA dlya svobodnyh chestnyj kreditor".
Prekrasen ty, skupec, odnako prost,
I tvoj uron poetomu velik,
Kak esli by, davat' reshayas' v rost,
Bespechnyj razorilsya rostovshchik.
Pohitiv svoj zhe sobstvennyj zalog,
Ty sam sebya nameren obmanut',
Kak dumaesh' ty podvesti itog,
Kogda otpravish'sya v poslednij put'?
Oplatish' krasotoj tvoeyu schet,
I krasota tebya perezhivet.
Sonnet V
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 checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beautyo'er-snowed and bareness everywhere:
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.
Sluzhit' gotovy ramoyu chasy
Dlya obraza, prel'shchayushchego vzor,
Odnako ne shchadyat oni krasy
I ej vynosyat smertnyj prigovor;
Tak vremya letu konchit'sya velit
Ugryumoj nepriglyadnoyu zimoj,
Kak budto sok derev'ev golyh slit
S bezzhiznennoyu, zasnezhennoj t'moj.
I esli by essenciej svoej,
Tomyashchejsya sredi steklyannyh sten,
Ne nadelilo leto zimnih dnej,
Ostalsya by nam razve tol'ko tlen;
Odnako zhe essenciya v cvetah
Bessmertnaya, vse ostal'noe - prah.
Sonnet VI
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one, -
Ten times thy self 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-willed, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
Tak pust' persty kostlyavye zimy
Ne rashishchayut leta tvoego;
|ssenciyu svoyu ty daj vzajmy,
Greh ubivat' svoe zhe sushchestvo,
Puskaj s desyatikratnoyu lihvoj
Tvoya dolzhnica dolg tebe vernet.
Procent bez kolebanij ty prisvoj!
Rostovshchika ona ne proklyanet.
Svoih podobij, skazhem, desyati
Ne pozhalej dlya budushchih vremen;
Smert' ne sob'esh' li ty togda s puti,
Desyatikratnym schast'em nadelen?
Ne ostavlyaj v nasledstvo krasotu
Mogil'nomu chervyu ili krotu.
Sonnet VII
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 climbed 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 outgoing in thy noon
Unlocked on diest unless thou get a son.
Svet podnimaet zhguchee chelo
I dvizhetsya s vostoka na prostor,
Gde srazu zhe siyan'e privleklo
K sebe blagogovejnyj smertnyj vzor.
A skol'ko voshishchennyh pylkih dush
Vziraet, ne spuskaya glaz, potom,
Kak shestvuet nad mirom yunyj muzh
V svoem palomnichestve zolotom.
A popoludni prodolzhaet put'
On, merknushchij, pod gnetom sediny,
I na byloe nekomu vzglyanut':
Ne na nego glaza ustremleny.
Umresh', svoj byvshij blesk v nochi gubya,
Kogda ne budet syna u tebya.
Sonnet VIII
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st 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."
Ot muzyki, ty muzyka dlya sluha,
Uslada suprotiv inyh uslad,
Ispytyvaesh' ty upadok duha.
Zachem zhe ty podobnoj skorbi rad?
Ne potomu li mozhet ogorchat'
Tebya svoim soglasiem akkord,
CHto predpochel otdel'no ty zvuchat',
Razladom svoevol'nym etim gord?
K suprugam-strunam struny priterpelis',
Garmonii zhivuyu dan' platya,
Kak budto by mezhdu soboyu spelis'
Roditeli i nezhnoe ditya;
Edinoe poet v nih sushchestvo;
A kto odin, schitaj, chto net ego.
Sonnet IX
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thy self 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 murd'rous shame commits.
Neuzhto ty vstupat' ne hochesh' v brak,
O budushchej vdove svoej skorbya?
No celyj mir odenetsya vo mrak,
Utrativ neozhidanno tebya.
Tvoya vdova Vselennaya togda
Zaplachet, ne najdya tvoih primet
Ni v kom, a zhizn' samoj sebe chuzhda,
Kogda nigde tvoih podobij net.
V bezumstve rastochitel'nyh shchedrot
Tyagchajshaya utrata v mire mnima;
Za vekom vek idet krugovorot,
I tol'ko krasota nevospolnima.
Ot chelovekolyubiya dalek
Tot, kto soboj postydno prenebreg.
Sonnet X
For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thy self art so improvident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident:
For thou art so possessed with murderous hate,
That "gainst thy self 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.
Stydis'! Tebe neuzhto ne obidno?
Priznajsya, ty zhe mnogimi lyubim,
No nikogo ne lyubish', ochevidno,
Tvorya nasil'e nad soboj samim.
Ubijstvennoyu nenavist'yu ty
Ohvachen, zagovorshchik; ty gotov
Dotla razrushit' zdan'e krasoty,
Hotya tvoj dolg - hranit' prekrasnyj krov.
Opomnis'! Nakonec, menya utesh'!
Zachem vrazhde plenitel'nyj chertog?
Ty podnyal sam protiv sebya myatezh,
Ne bud' zhe k samomu sebe zhestok.
Ne otkazhi v podobii svoem
Ty miru, gde s toboyu my vdvoem.
Sonnet XI
As fast as thou shall wane, so fast thou grow'st
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which yoimgly thou bestow'st,
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 carv'd thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
Nachnesh' ty uvyadat', i rascvetesh'
V svoem lyubimom otpryske ty snova,
Svoeyu krov'yu krov' ego sochtesh',
Kotoraya vzygrat' uzhe gotova,
Vot krasota, vot mudrost', vot rascvet;
Inache starcheskaya dur' s toskoj;
Dostatochno shestidesyati let,
CHtob vymer pogolovno rod lyudskoj.
Puskaj ischeznet posle pohoron
Kakoj-nibud' ubogij i bezlikij,
A ty prirodoj shchedro odaren;
Greh rastochit' podobnyj dar velikij.
Pojmi: pechat' prirody ty teper'.
Svoyu zhivuyu kopiyu zaver'.
Sonnet XII
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 silvered 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 slyshu, kak chasy idut,
I v lone dnya noch' mrachnaya vidna,
I smerti po vesne fialki zhdut,
A v byvshih chernyh pryadyah sedina,
Kogda na skvoznyake lesnoj tropy,
Ozyabnuv, list'ya zhalobno drozhat,
Kogda beloborodye snopy
Na vseh telegah trupami lezhat,
Togda ya zadayu sebe vopros,
Kak uberech'sya krasote tvoej
Sred' neizbezhnyh gibel'nyh ugroz
V sumyatice rozhdenij i smertej.
Serp vremeni ostree chto ni god.
Plodis' - i sam sebe sozdash' oplot.
Sonnet XIII
O! That you were your self; but, love, you are
No longer yours, than you your self 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 vse eshche sebe prinadlezhish',
Lyubimyj, potomu chto ty zhivoj,
Odnako smerti ty ne izbezhish'...
Tem dragocennej byl by obraz tvoj.
Ty vzyal nevol'no krasotu vzajmy,
Kotoraya tvoeyu mozhet stat',
Kogda pozvolish' ty, dobycha t'my,
Tvoeyu formoj bez tebya blistat'.
Kto, krome rastochitelya, svoj dom
Podvergnet yarosti smertel'nyh zim,
Pobrezgovav supruzheskim trudom
I, sledovatel'no, soboj samim?
Puskaj tebya pomyanet kto-nibud',
Kak ty otca ne mog ne pomyanut'.
Sonnet XIV
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 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.
Pust' lish' otchasti mne znakom yazyk
Nebesnyh zvezd, ya tozhe astronom,
Hot' ya sudit' po zvezdam ne privyk
O potryasen'yah na puti zemnom;
Ne znayu, kak predrech' minutam srok
I dozhd', blagopriyatnyj dlya polej;
CHitat' ya ne umeyu zvezdnyh strok,
Ne smeyu obnadezhit' korolej;
No mne chitat' v tvoih glazah dano,
V nadezhnyh zvezdah, dazhe v nashi dni,
CHto krasota i pravda zaodno,
I lish' v tvoih glazah zhivut oni;
Glaza tvoi otkryli mne sekret:
Net krasoty bez nih i pravdy net.
Sonnet XV
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 checked 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.
Kogda v proizrastan'e vizhu tlen,
A sovershenstvo hrupkoe - na mig,
I zhizn' - teatr, gde smenu bystryh scen
Lish' tajnyj zvezdnyj hor davno postig;
Kogda smotryu, kak chelovek vzrashchen
Vse tem zhe nebom, i v rascvete let
Byvaet rost vnezapno prekrashchen,
I v pamyati zateryan byvshij sled,
Kogda nepostoyanstvo nashih dnej
Tvoej bespechnoj krasote grozit
I predannoj lyubvi moej vidnej,
Kak vremya etu roskosh' iskazit,
Za krasotu ne bojsya ty tvoyu,
Ee tebe ya zanovo priv'yu.
Sonnet XVI
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify your self 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 you 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 your self in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.
Tvoj lyutyj nedrug - Vremya! Tem sil'nej
Ty v shvatke s nim; zachem tebe moj stih,
Kogda ty sam v rascvete yunyh dnej,
Vo vseoruzh'e prelestej svoih?
Devich'i raspuskayutsya sady,
Gde dlya tebya ni v chem otkazu net,
I mogut poyavit'sya tam plody,
Kotorym ustupil by tvoj portret.
Sumeet zhizn' tebya zapechatlet',
Zatmiv iskusstvo, vremya nizlozhiv;
V glazah lyudej ty mozhesh' ucelet',
Bez moego pera v gryadushchem zhiv;
Otdav sebya, perezhivesh' ty t'mu,
Sebe obyazan etim samomu.
Sonnet XVII
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.
I kto poverit moemu stihu,
Tvoj byvshij blesk pytayas' ugadat'?
Dopustim, ya pravdiv, kak na duhu,
V grobu tvoih dostoinstv ne vidat'.
Opisyvat' glaza tvoi reshu,
No dazhe esli ya pri etom prav,
Mne mogut vozrazit', chto ya greshu,
Nebesnoe zemnomu pripisav.
Svidetel'stvu poblekshego listka
Uchenyj ne doveritsya yunec,
Priznav, chto eti bredni starika -
Drevnejshej pesni vethij obrazec;
Togda napomnit' mog by otprysk tvoj:
Ty v nem, kak i v stihe moem, zhivoj.
Sonnet XVIII
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 dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Ne s letnim li tebya sravnit' mne dnem?
No krasota milee bez prichud,
A v mae my vetrov holodnyh zhdem,
I bystro dni pogozhie projdut.
CHto holodom sperva povrezhdeno,
Potom byvaet vyzhzheno zharoj,
I zolotu pobleknut' suzhdeno,
I narushaetsya prirodnyj stroj.
Neprehodyashchim letom bleshchesh' ty,
Ne vedaesh' muchitel'nyh utrat,
Leleet vremya divnye cherty,
I ne grozit prekrasnomu zakat;
Poka dyshat' my budem i smotret',
Ne mozhesh' ty s prekrasnym umeret'.
Sonnet XIX
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-Iiv'd phoenix, in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet's t,
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.
Ty, Vremya, lapy l'vov obezoruzh',
Na zemnorodnyh zemlyu natravi,
Lesnomu tigru chelyusti razrush'
I feniksa sozhgi v ego krovi!
Mchis', chereduya radost' i pechal'
V neumolimom bege zim i let;
Kogda uslad zemnyh tebe ne zhal',
Neistovstvuj, no pomni moj zapret:
CHasam ne pozvolyaj polosovat'
Ty moego lyubimogo chela,
Ne smej na nem uzorov risovat',
Pust' budet krasota ego cela.
Kak hochesh', vprochem, ty mne prekoslov'.
Cela v moem stihe moya lyubov'.
Sonnet XX
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.
Tvoj lik prirodoj zhenstvennoj otmechen;
Vladyka, ty vladychica zhelanij,
Po-zhenski nezhen ty, no bezuprechen:
Izmenchivyh ne znaesh' kolebanij,
YAsnee zhenskih glaz tvoi zenicy,
Ty celyj mir svetit'sya zastavlyaesh',
Net muzhestvu blestyashchemu granicy:
CHaruya zhen, muzhej ty osleplyaesh'.
Tebya zhenoj priroda sotvorila,
Odnako zhe v tebya vlyubilas', vidno,
I koe-chem nekstati odarila.
Vot ot chego mne bol'no i obidno.
Ty zhenshchin dopuskaj k svoim usladam,
A dlya menya prebud' zavetnym kladom.
Sonnet XXI
So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirred 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 fixed in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
YA ne iz teh, ch'ya muza napokaz
Iz vychur stih slagaet naletu
I znat' ne hochet neba bez prikras,
Krasivost'yu pyatnaya krasotu;
Pyshnejshie sravnen'ya gromozdyat,
Kak budto by do neba dva shaga.
Vot-vot oni s razmahu prigvozdyat
K cvetam aprel'skim zvezdy-zhemchuga;
Drugie lgut, a ya v lyubvi pravdiv
I predpochtu lyubov' moyu sberech',
Kak mat' uberegla ee, rodiv.
CHto mne do zolotyh nebesnyh svech!
V cene moya lyubov' il' ne v cene,
Ostalas' by navek ona pri mne.
Sonnet XXII
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 gav'st me thine not to give back again.
Mne v zerkalo ne strashno posmotret'.
Ty molod, znachit, ya v rascvete let,
S morshchinami tvoimi mne staret';
V nih smert' moya, ot nih spasen'ya net.
Drug nenaglyadnyj, sam ty posudi:
Ty otdal serdce mne - prekrasnyj dar!
Moe zhe serdce u tebya v grudi.
I kak mogu ya byt' pri etom star?
Lelej zhe serdce nezhnoe ty nezhno,
Kak ya sebya ne ubereg shutya,
Kak nyan'ke sleduet berech' prilezhno
Boleznennoe robkoe ditya.
Ty ne zabud', chto v chayan'e utrat
Mne serdce otdal ty ne naprokat.
Sonnet XXIII
As an imperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside 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'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's might.
O! let my looks 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 plohon'kij akterishka poroj
Sposoben rol' ot straha zabyvat',
Kak v yarosti bezuderzhnoj geroj
Ot boli v serdce mozhet iznyvat',
Tak pravdy ya v otchayan'e strashus'
I, narushaya strogij ritual,
Tebe v lyubvi priznat'sya ne reshus',
Kakih by slov krasivyh ni iskal.
Nadeyus', ty moih chitatel' knig,
Gde kazhdaya toboj zhivet stroka,
CHtob, s knigoj grud' moyu otkryv, ty vnik
V to, chto sletet' ne mozhet s yazyka.
Uchis' chitat' v molchanii moj duh.
Pojmi: lyubov' glazam daruet sluh.
Sonnet XXIV
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 pictur'd 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.
Tvoj glaz-hudozhnik napisal portret,
CH'ya ramka do mogily - grud' moya;
Hranit iskusstvo luchshij svoj sekret,
Tvoj obraz perspektivoyu taya.
V hudozhnike umen'e razglyadi,
Kotorym obraz tvoj zapechatlen,
On u menya po-prezhnemu v grudi,
Tvoimi zhe glazami zasteklen.
Tak nezhno predany glaza glazam.
Moi tvoyu izobrazhayut sut';
V tvoih svoe zhe serdce vizhu sam,
Kak v oknah; solncu v nih by zaglyanut'!
Tak serdce ot menya tvoe taya,
Glazami dvizhet zhivopis' moya.
Sonnet XXV
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 foiled,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
Puskaj svoej zvezdoj gorditsya tot,
Kto titulami bleshchet sred' vel'mozh;
A ya sud'boj lishen takih vysot,
I dlya menya drugoj udel horosh.
Uyutno procvetat' vremenshchikam,
Kak barhatcam u solnca na glazah;
No sdastsya solnce hmurym oblakam,
I ot cvetov ostanetsya lish' prah.
Voitel', pobezhdavshij ves' svoj vek,
Srazhen'e v zhizni proigrav odno,
Zabven'ya rokovogo ne izbeg:
Emu vospryanut' snova ne dano.
Moej sud'be privyk ya doveryat'.
Krome lyubvi, mne nechego teryat'.
Sonnet XXVI
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 tottered 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.
Lyubvi moej derzhavnyj syuzeren!
Pozvol' posredstvom etogo pis'ma
Zapechatlet' moj dobrovol'nyj plen:
Moj v etom dolg, a ne igra uma.
Moj dom velik, a ya umom ubog,
I shlyu k tebe ya pomysly nagie;
Voobrazhen'em ty odin by mog
Ih oblachit' v naryady dorogie.
Kakaya by zvezda ni provozhala
Menya v siyayushchuyu vysotu,
Pobedu lish' by nezhnost' oderzhala,
Mne v nishchete daruya krasotu.
Greh govorit' mne o lyubvi s toboyu,
Poka tebya v sebe ya ne otkroyu.
Sonnet XXVII
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 seej
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.
Ustalym telom ya hochu prilech';
Pristanishche moe - moya postel',
A mysli v golove vzyskuyut vstrech
S toboj, moya edinstvennaya cel'.
V tvoyu obitel' mysl' moya speshit,
Revnivaya, ne znayushchaya sna;
Glaza tarashchu, t'ma menya strashit:
Slepomu den' i noch' ona vidna.
V moem voobrazhen'e tvoj portret,
Lish' ten' tvoya, no moj nezryachij vzor
Staruhe Nochi darit samocvet;
Omolodil ee takoj ubor.
Dnem telo ustaet, a dlya dushi
Uspokoen'ya net v nochnoj tishi.
Sonnet XXVIII
How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eas'd 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 length seem stronger.
Kak mne k trudam v dnevnoj vernut'sya svet,
Kogda mne noch' pokoya ne daet?
Noch' mne vredit, i den' prinosit vred,
I den' i noch' odin i tot zhe gnet.
Mezhdu soboj vedushchie vojnu,
Oni rukopozhat'em splocheny.
Meshaet noch' celitel'nomu snu;
Den' mne sulit muchitel'nye sny.
A ya pytayus' dnyu pol'stit' v otvet,
I, v oblakah priznav tvoe vliyan'e,
YA nochi govoryu, chto, esli net
Zvezd v nebe, u nee tvoe siyan'e.
No chto ni den', moya pechal' dlinnee,
I chto ni noch', ona eshche sil'nee.
Sonnet XXIX
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 my self 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 remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Kogda glumitsya nado mnoyu rok
I ya, izgoj, nastol'ko oskudel,
CHto dokrichat'sya do nebes ne smog,
Lish' proklinaya zhalkij svoj udel,
Kotoromu gotov ya predpochest'
Roskoshestvo talantov i zaslug,
Naklikavshih ugodlivuyu lest',
CHtob mnozhilis' poklonniki vokrug,
ZHelaniya takie prezirayu,
Ocenivaya sobstvennyj udel;
Kak zhavoronok, v nebe nabirayu
YA vysotu, v hvalebnyh pesnyah smel.
Poka, lyubim toboj, tebya lyublyu,
Zavidovat' mne stydno korolyu.
Sonnet XXX
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 restor'd and sorrows end.
Kogda vospominaniya na sud
Zovu kak na pominki ya, kogda
Utraty snova prigovora zhdut,
A zhalost', kak i vstar', sud'be chuzhda,
Togda v slezah nel'zya ne potonut'
Glazam, hot' slez ne znal ya do sih por;
Druzej, davno umershih, ne vernut',
Lish' prezhnij vozvrashchaetsya ukor.
Za nim bylye skorbi po pyatam,
Styd s nimi, kak rodimoe pyatno;
Prihoditsya platit' mne po schetam,
Kotorye oplacheny davno.
No chto mne vse utraty, esli vdrug
YA nenarokom vspomnyu: ty moj drug.
Sonnet XXXI
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 remov'd 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 lov'd, I view in thee,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.
V tvoej grudi bien'e vseh serdec,
Kotorye utrachennymi mnil
YA, pripisav im gorestnyj konec,
Uverivshis', chto ya ih shoronil.
A skol'ko slez iz-za moih poter'
YA prolil, mertvyh vse eshche lyubya;
Ko mne vernulis' vse oni teper':
Vselilis' mertvye moi v tebya.
Mogila ty. V tebe ya uznayu
Vseh teh, kogo teryal do sej pory;
Vmestil naveki ty lyubov' moyu,
Komu, kak ne tebe, moi dary.
Vse te, kogo lyubil ya, - eto ty;
V tvoih chertah ya vizhu ih cherty.
Sonnet XXXII
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.
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 their style I'll read, his for his love'.
Kogda by posle pohoron moih,
Ponyav, na chto obrek neutolennyj
Moj pyl menya, perechital ty stih,
Kotoryj napisal v tebya vlyublennyj,
K stiham ty snishozhden'e proyavi;
So vremenem iskusnej rifmovat'
Nauchatsya, zato moej lyubvi
Posmertnoj ne zatmit' i ne prervat'.
I ty podumaj ne bez torzhestva:
"Pokojnik byl ne hudshij uchenik.
Bud' zhiv moj drug, on v tajny masterstva
Novejshego s drugimi by pronik.
Oni priobreli horoshij slog,
A on lyubov'yu vremya prevozmog".
Sonnet XXXIII
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.
Uvidel, kak vershinam gornym l'stit
Svoim siyan'em utro kazhdyj raz,
Luga celuet, reki zolotit
Alhimiej svoih nebesnyh glaz;
No v nebesah doroga daleka,
I, predveshchaya sumrachnyj zakat,
Siyan'e dnya pyatnayut oblaka
Sredi drugih gubitel'nyh utrat.
Kak na rassvete solncu moemu
Predvidet', chto ono obrecheno
I chto do pogruzheniya vo t'mu
Postydnoj budet mgloj omracheno?
Grozit svetilu v nebesah durnoe.
Za chto zhe solnce mne hulit' zemnoe?
Sonnet XXXIV
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.
Zachem ty yasnyj den' mne posulil
I bez plashcha menya otpravil v put',
CHtob s neba dozhd' potom holodnyj lil
I mne durnuyu mglu prishlos' vdohnut'?
Ty moego kasaesh'sya lica
Siyaniem vrachuyushchim svoim,
No esli iscelyayutsya serdca,
Po-prezhnemu pozor neizlechim.
Puskaj obidchik sam teper' skorbit,
Ne legche oskorblennomu nesti
Tyazhelyj krest muchitel'nyh obid,
Hot' oskorbitel' govorit: "Prosti!"
No tak tvoya sleza mne doroga,
CHto vse iskupyat eti zhemchuga.
Sonnet XXXV
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 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.
Bylogo popustu ne beredyat.
V protochnom serebre taitsya gryaz'.
Zatmen'ya solncu i lune vredyat,
CHerv' pakostit, v buton cvetka vnedryas'.
Ni v chem tebya ne smeyu obvinit';
Sam za tebya gotov ya postradat';
Sebya predpochitayu ochernit',
Lish' by tebya, lyubimyj, opravdat'.
Ne poddaetsya chuvstvennost' vrazhde;
Protivnica moya - tvoya vina,
I ya zhe tvoj zashchitnik na sude:
Lyubov' moya - grazhdanskaya vojna,
Obkradennyj sladchajshim iz vorov,
YA sam emu potvorstvovat' gotov.
Sonnet XXXVI
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.
Daj mne priznat'sya: ty ne to, chto ya;
Pust' na dvoih lyubov' u nas odna,
No ty, svoih dostoinstv ne taya,
Izbavish'sya ot moego pyatna.
Na dve lyubvi u nas odin predmet,
No celi ne dostignut' nam vdvoem,
I my, hot' izmenen'ya v chuvstve net,
CHasy u naslazhdeniya kradem.
YA ne mogu tebya nazvat' moim,
Ne opozoriv druga navsegda,
Priznaesh'sya, chto ya toboj lyubim,
I ne uberezhesh'sya ot styda.
Osteregis'! Pust' ya s toboj ne shozh,
Ty moj v lyubvi, i ya, kak ty, horosh.
Sonnet XXXVII
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 despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,
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, starcheskim razbit paralichom,
Otec za syna molodogo rad,
Tak ya sogret siyayushchim luchom
Tvoih dostoinstv sred' moih utrat.
Kak znatnosti, kak tonkomu umu
Izyashchestvom sebya ne proyavit'!
I ya k velikolep'yu tvoemu
Moyu lyubov' osmelilsya privit'.
Pust' ya ne beden, pust' ya ne urod,
Lovlyu ya ten' tvoih obil'nyh blag,
I dlya menya sredi tvoih shchedrot
Tvoej chastica slavy - dobryj znak.
Vse, chto tvoe, moe ne napokaz.
Ty schastliv, ya schastlivej v desyat' raz!
Sonnet XXXVIII
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 thy self the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thy self 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.
Zachem syuzhety mne izobretat',
Kogda v moih poemah ty dusha?
Ne kazhdomu zhe o tebe chitat',
Vul'garnye bumagi vorosha.
Ne sam li na sebya, lyubimyj moj,
Ty smotrish', vzglyad brosaya na menya,
Kogda ne proslavlyaet lish' nemoj
Izyashchnyj otsvet milogo ognya?
Desyataya ty muza; v desyat' raz
Ty prevoshodnej prezhnih devyati;
I mozhet bleskom stihotvornyh fraz
Hvalitel' tvoj bessmert'e obresti.
Moya zhe muza dlya tebya ploha,
No ty velich'e moego stiha.
Sonnet XXXIX
O! I how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thouart 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.
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.
Kak mog by ya tebya blagoslovlyat',
Kogda by ty sovpal so mnoj vpolne?
Reshus' li sam sebya ya proslavlyat',
Postignuv, chto ty luchshee vo mne?
Ne potomu li my obrecheny
Na etom svete drug bez druga zhit'
I na dva sushchestva rassecheny,
CHtoby toboj mne bol'she dorozhit'?
Razluka by izmuchila menya,
Kogda b ne uslazhdala gor'kij srok
Lyubov' mechtami nezhnymi draznya
Vsyu protyazhennost' mrachnuyu dorog.
Nas nadvoe razluka rassekla,
No zdes' i tam s toboj moya hvala.
Sonnet XL
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 receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceives!
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.
YA vse moi lyubovi otdayu
Tebe, moya lyubov', no vse ravno
Zaranee ty vsyu lyubov' moyu
Obrel nepopravimo i davno.
Ty prav, lyubov'yu pol'zuyas' moeyu,
No esli svoenravno otvergaesh'
Ty dar, v kotorom otkazat' ne smeyu,
Na samogo sebya ty posyagaesh',
Proshchayu ya tebya, prelestnyj tat',
Ne poshchadivshij vlyubchivoj nuzhdy,
Hotya strashnee ot lyubvi stradat',
CHem ot privychnoj, vspyl'chivoj vrazhdy.
Pust' krasota tvoya ub'et menya,
Umru, tebya v ubijstve ne vinya.
Sonnet XLI
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 assail'd;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till he have prevail'd?
Ay me! but yet thou might'st 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.
Iz-za tebya sluchalos' mne stradat',
Poskol'ku ty i molod, i krasiv,
A serdca tvoego ne pokidat'
Ne mog ya, ogorchenij ne vkusiv.
Ty, nadelennyj prelest'yu cvetov,
Skazhi, kto v cvete let na vysote?
Syn zhenshchiny, ty razve ne gotov
Pokorno sdat'sya zhenskoj krasote?
YA vizhu, kak ty yun i kak ty svezh,
Tvoyu li ya branit' reshus' mechtu?
Ty vovlechen v bezuderzhnyj myatezh,
Narushiv dvazhdy vernost' naletu:
Neveren ej, v sebya ee vlyubiv;
Sebe neveren, druga oskorbiv.
Sonnet XLII
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.
Ona tvoya, no eto ne beda;
YA sam ee lyublyu, net, my ne v ssore;
No hudshego ne izbezhat' vreda:
Ona toboj vladeet, vot v chem gore;
Nevernye v lyubvi, ya vas proshchayu;
Ee, vinovnuyu v tvoem neduge,
YA ne klyanu, no i ne zashchishchayu;
Lyubov' moyu vy lyubite drug v druge,
Utrachen mnoyu, ty uhodish' k nej,
Ej bez tebya mogu ya doveryat',
I kazhdaya poterya tem cennej,
CHto ya boyus' oboih poteryat'.
No vse-taki s toboyu my odno,
Tak chto lyubim ya eyu vse ravno.
Sonnet XLIII
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 stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.
Svetlejshij den' ya promorgat' ne proch';
Vse, chto ya vizhu, nedostojno vzglyada,
Vo t'me tebya mne vozvrashchaet noch';
Vo sne siyaesh' ty, moya uslada,
Ty ten', tenyam daruyushchaya svet!
Kakoe ty siyan'e mog by dnyu
Pridat', kogda vo mrake ravnyh net
Tomu, chto ya pod vekami hranyu,
Kak voshishchali by menya luchi,
YAvlyaya mne tebya sred' bela dnya,
Kogda poddel'nyj obraz tvoj v nochi
Tak charoval i radoval menya.
Dni bez tebya polnochnoj t'my chernej;
Ty snish'sya mne, i nochi luchshe dnej.
Sonnet XLIV
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 remov'd 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 either's woe.
V mysl' obrativ gromozdkij moj sostav,
Durnuyu dal' ya prevozmog by v mig,
I, nad prostranstvom vostorzhestvovav,
Gde b ni byl ty, tebya by ya nastig.
I pust' neveroyatno ty dalek,
K tebe, minuya sushu i morya,
Moyu by mysl' moj pomysel uvlek,
Mne blizost' vozhdelennuyu darya.
No ya ne mysl', i mysl' menya ub'et;
Ko mne moya v nej kroetsya vrazhda.
YA plot', i ya terplyu tyagchajshij gnet,
Kak brennaya zemlya i kak voda;
A ya stihij medlitel'nyh chertog,
Gde slezy - postoyannyj gor'kij tok.
Sonnet XLV
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 recured
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.
Ogon' i vozduh legche na pod®em;
Vlekut ih otdalennye kraya.
V otsutstvii-prisutstvii tvoem
ZHelanie moe i mysl' moya.
V stihiyah chetyreh zaklyuchena
ZHizn'; dve dolzhny vblizi tebya bluzhdat',
A zhizn' moya bez nih obrechena
Smertel'noj melanholiej stradat'.
V dalekoj pobyvali storone
I radostno toropyatsya nazad;
ZHizn' dobroj vest'yu vozvrashchayut mne:
Ty tam zdorov, i, znachit, zdes' ya rad,
No vnov' poslov ya posylayu vdal',
I ostaetsya mne odna pechal'.
Sonnet XLVI
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 pierc'd with crystal eyes,
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him thy fair appearance lies,
To "cide this title is impannelled
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 thine outward part,
And my heart's right, thine inward love of heart.
Moj glaz i serdce, vtyanutye v spor,
Iz-za tebya gotovy vrazhdovat'.
Tebya dobyl moj nenasytnyj vzor,
I vporu kazhdomu svoe urvat'.
Nastaivaet serdce, chto ono
Tvoj obraz luchshe sohranit ot glaz;
Perechit glaz: lish' v nem zataeno
Dostoinstvo tvoe ne napokaz.
Sudebnuyu kollegiyu prishlos'
Formirovat' iz myslej, dorozha
Serdechnoj pravdoj, chtoby udalos'
Osushchestvit' podob'e delezha.
Glaz vneshnost'yu tvoeyu zavladel.
Lyubov' - dlya serdca pravednyj udel.
Sonnet XLVII
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 thy picture or my love,
Thy self 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 eyes' delight.
V soyuze glaz i serdce u menya.
ZHizn' bez tebya im kazhetsya nedugom;
Tebya v zapase berezhno hranya,
Oni toboyu delyatsya drug s drugom.
Piruet glaz, kogda ty pered nim,
I pyshnym pirom serdce veselit,
No glaz byvaet golodom tomim,
I serdce golod etot utolit.
Mysl' o tebe so mnoj ili ty sam;
Kuda by ni vela tvoya stezya,
S toboyu mysl' moya i zdes', i tam,
A s mysl'yu razluchit' menya nel'zya.
I esli glaz moj snom otyagoshchen,
Tvoj obraz glazu serdcem vozvrashchen.
Sonnet XLVIII
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.
V put' otpravlyayas', v dome ya zapru
Vse veshchi, pozabochus' ya vser'ez,
CHtoby ushcherba moemu dobru
Dobrozhelatel' mnimyj ne nanes.
V sravnenii s toboj almaz - pustyak;
Kak byt', chto delat', sam ty posudi,
Kogda sredi dorozhnyh peredryag
Tebya ne doschitayus' ya v grudi?
Net larchika drugogo, gde by ty
Tait'sya mog, hotya tebya tam net.
CHto esli v nezhnoj skryne lish' mechty,
A tvoj davno prostyl prelestnyj sled?
Kogda tebe tak vysoka cena,
Boyus', chto dazhe vernost' neverna.
Sonnet XLIX
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,
Called to that audit by advis'd respects;
Against that time when thou shall 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 my self 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.
V to vremya zloe (vdrug ono pridet?),
Kogda tvoya lyubov' ko mne, moj drug,
Moim iz®yanam poteryaet schet,
Issyaknet, net, minuet, kak nedug;
V to vremya, zloe dlya menya, kogda
Vo vzglyade nezhnom ty otkazhesh' mne,
A bezrazlich'e huzhe, chem vrazhda,
I solnce stynet v zimnej vyshine;
V to vremya spryachus' ya v moyu vinu,
I pomnya i ne pomnya o bylom;
YA ruku podnimu i prisyagnu,
CHto ya toboj nakazan podelom.
Tvoj prigovor, konechno, spravedliv:
Ty prav, menya, bednyagu, razlyubiv.
Sonnet L
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 lov'd not speed being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.
CHem bolee v puti mne tyazhelo,
Izmuchennomu dumoyu odnoj,
Kak mnogo mil' dokuchnyh proleglo
Mezhdu moim vozlyublennym i mnoj.
Moj kon' pletetsya s gorem popolam,
Ustalosti ne v silah prevozmoch',
Kak budto ugadal on, chto ya sam
Ne rasstavat'sya, drug, s toboj ne proch'.
Prishporivayu do krovi konya,
CHtob, nakonec, on bodro poskakal,
No vopl' ego bol'nee dlya menya,
CHem dlya nego bezzhalostnyj metall.
Moj stonet kon', i kak zabyt' mne vpred':
Pokinuv radost', edu ya skorbet'.
Sonnet LI
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.
YA priznayus', kon' u menya dryannoj,
No i konyu menya kak budto zhal';
Lish' nehotya mezhdu toboj i mnoj
Priumnozhaet on durnuyu dal'.
No kon' kakoj nastol'ko budet skor,
CHtoby k tebe nesti menya stremglav?
YA naletu ne obojdus' bez shpor,
Neuderzhimyj veter osedlav.
Poprobuj moj poryv ostanovi,
ZHelan'e rasstoyaniem draznya,
Kogda v doroge rzhanie lyubvi
Operezhaet zhalkogo konya.
Kon' plelsya, pomysel moj razgadav.
Pust' medlit on; lechu k tebe stremglav.
Sonnet LII
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.
Hranyashchij dragocennost' pod zamkom,
Bogach glazam svoim ne doveryaet;
Lyubuyas' eyu izredka tajkom,
On etim naslazhden'e obostryaet.
Moj pyl otvazhivaetsya edva
Izvedat' moj charuyushchij sekret;
V techen'e goda redki torzhestva;
Est' v ozherel'e glavnyj samocvet.
Vo vremeni ty zapert, kak v larce,
Ty v garderobe luchshij moj naryad;
Redchajshij prazdnik ty v moem dvorce;
Toboj gorditsya moj vlyublennyj vzglyad.
Vot moj triumf - toboyu obladat',
A bez tebya tebya s nadezhdoj zhdat'.
Sonnet LIII
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 external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
Kakov, skazhi mne, plotskij tvoj sostav?
Odnoyu ten'yu kazhdyj nadelen.
Prisvaivaesh' teni, zablistav;
Ih u tebya, dolzhno byt', million.
Adonis byl by na tebya pohozh,
Bud' on, kak ty, plenitel'no krasiv;
No kak sama Elena, ty horosh,
V otlichie ot grekov drevnih zhiv.
Vesna - tvoih nositel'nica char;
Menyaet god oblichil, kak ty;
Prinosit osen' svoj roskoshnyj dar,
Podobie tvoej zhe krasoty.
Vse prelesti sredi tvoih lichin,
No postoyanstvom slaven ty odin.
Sonnet LIV
O! How much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it 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 vade, my verse distills your truth.
Prekrasnej krasota, kogda verna
Ona sebe, i vneshnij vid pravdiv;
Luchitsya sut' ee, izvne vidna,
Blagouhan'em oblik podtverdiv.
Prel'shchayut s chervotochinoj cvety
Takoj zhe tochno roskosh'yu raskraski;
Sredi shipov podob'yam krasoty
Daruet leto prazdnichnye maski.
Im suzhdeno cvesti ni dlya kogo.
Kto pozhelaet budushchej truhi?
Drugie rozy - nashe torzhestvo.
Iz ih smertej sladchajshie duhi.
Ne bojsya otcvesti kogda-nibud',
V moem stihe svoyu ostaviv sut'.
Sonnet LV
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 judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
Zabven'yu obrekaya carskij prah,
Neryaha-vremya mramory chernit,
No prosiyaesh' ty v moih stihah,
Tebe ono vreda ne prichinit.
Vojna i smuta statui krushat,
Vzryvaya s kornem kamennyj chertog.
Drugih mech Marsa i ogon' strashat,
A ty ugrozy eti prevozmog.
Ne bojsya! Nevozmozhen tvoj zakat,
I dlya potomstva yasnye cherty
Ostanutsya; vospetyj mnoyu klad,
Do svetoprestavlen'ya budesh' ty.
Do voskresen'ya mertvyh ty v moih
Glazah vlyublennyh, vernyh, kak moj stih.
Sonnet LVI
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 sharpened in his former might:
So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness.
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;
As call it winter, which being full of care,
Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.
Ty vechno obnovlyaesh'sya, lyubov'.
Edva ty svoj nasytish' appetit,
Uzhe gotov on obostrit'sya vnov'.
ZHelan'yu vozderzhanie pretit.
Neuzhto ty, lyubov', ne takova?
Vostorgom ne uspeesh' ty upit'sya,
I vnov' glaza nesyty, kak sperva:
Nikak lyubov' ne mozhet pritupit'sya.
Svoeyu grustnoj dal'yu okean
Daruet pyl serdechnyj dvum vlyublennym,
I kazhdomu iz nih svoj bereg dan,
CHtob drug tomilsya s drugom otdalennym.
Zimoj zovetsya skorbnaya pora,
No tem zhelannej letnyaya zhara.
Sonnet LVII
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 anything, he thinks no ill.
CHego delat' mne, rabu, kak ne lovit'
Tvoi zhelan'ya v cherede chasov?
Ih ne uskorit', ne ostanovit',
Poka na tvoj ne otzovus' ya zov.
Ne klyast' zhe mne tot beskonechnyj chas,
Kogda pokorno na chasah stoyu,
Poka ne otoshlesh' menya ty s glaz.
Tak volyu vypolnyayu ya tvoyu.
Pechal'nyj rab ne smeet voproshat'
Revnivoj mysl'yu, gde ty, gospodin,
Kogo gotov soboyu uteshat'
Naedine, kogda ty ne odin.
Kakoj by na sebya ni vzyal ty greh,
Dlya durochki lyubvi ty luchshe vseh.
Sonnet LVIII
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.
Menya, vsego lish' tvoego raba,
Da sohranit Gospod' ot nablyudenij
Nad gospodinom, hot' vlechet sud'ba
Tebya stihiej greshnyh naslazhdenij.
K stradan'yu mne davno ne privykat';
Moya svoboda u tvoej v plenu.
Kak hochesh', mozhesh' mnoyu pomykat';
YA vse ravno tebya ne proklyanu.
Ty priznaesh' lish' sobstvennuyu vlast',
Sebe prisvaivaesh' kazhdyj mig,
I esli v greh ty soizvolish' vpast',
Ty sam sebe sud'ya i duhovnik.
A ya po milosti tvoej v adu
Blazhenstva vse eshche naprasno zhdu.
Sonnet LIX
If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd,
Which labouring for invention bear amiss
The second burthen of a former child.
Oh 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 where better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
Oh sure I am the wits of former days,
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
CHto esli novoe - vsego lish' bred
Obmanutogo mozga, i ditya
Dolzhno rodit'sya prezhnee na svet,
Uhudshennomu veku dan' platya?
CHto esli obraz tvoj let za pyat'sot
Do nas najdu ya v knige, ch'ya cena
Tem vyshe sred' plenitel'nyh krasot
S teh por, kak sushchestvuyut pis'mena;
Togda by mog skazat' ya, nakonec,
Mir luchshe, huzhe ili zhe takov,
Kak byl, i ty bessmertnyj obrazec
Prekrasnogo v techenie vekov,
No menee prekrasnomu hvala
Izyskannee v drevnosti byla.
Sonnet LX
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 crowned,
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.
Kak b'yutsya volny v kamenistyj breg,
CHtoby razbit'sya kazhdoj v svoj chered,
Tak za minutoyu minuta v beg
Puskaetsya i, probezhav, umret.
Rozhden'e - svet v techenii vremen,
Kotoryj dvizhet nami do pory;
Zatmen'yami on budet iskrivlen,
I vremya sokrushit svoi dary.
Ono pronzaet prelest' yunyh form,
Userdstvuet, morshchiny uglubiv;
Priroda dlya nego - vsego lish' korm,
I vechnyj serp ego trudolyubiv.
No ty ne bojsya; mnoyu ty vospet
Dlya nyneshnih i dlya gryadushchih let.
Sonnet LXI
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 tenor 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.
Tvoya li volya mne meshaet veki
Smezhit', kogda vo t'me nochnoj vidnej
Tvoj obraz, ty podob'e divnoj vehi
Sredi tvoih nasmeshlivyh tenej?
Ne tvoj li duh presleduet menya,
Revnivyj soglyadataj v tishine,
Menya v postydnoj prazdnosti vinya,
Moj tajnyj styd napominaya mne?
Pust' lyubish' ty, no lyubish' ty ne tak,
CHtob, ten'yu mnimoj druga dorozha,
So mnoj vperyat'sya v nepriglyadnyj mrak,
Kak delayut nochnye storozha.
YA grezhu vdaleke, voobrazi!
No esli ty ne spish', ne ya vblizi...
Sonnet LXII
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 tanned 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.
Moj greh - lyubov' ko mne zhe samomu.
Glaza i serdce zavorozheny.
Kakoe ya lekarstvo ni primu,
Lyubov'yu chleny vse zarazheny.
Mne kazhetsya, licom ya krashe vseh,
I vneshnij vid moj do togo pravdiv,
CHto dolzhen ya vsegda imet' uspeh,
Sopernikov nichtozhnyh pobediv.
No v zerkale ya vizhu, kak ya star,
I zrimye sledy dushevnyh ran
Perechat obayan'yu lozhnyh char,
CHtoby razoblachit' samoobman.
Tak ya prisvoil prelest' yunyh let,
V tebe, moj drug, uvidev moj portret.
Sonnet LXIII
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 vanished 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.
Kogda udary vremya naneset,
Kak mne kogda-to, drugu moemu,
Postigshemu, chto vremya krov' soset,
I kanet utro yunoe vo t'mu,
Kuda vlechet obryvistaya noch',
I prelesti, kotoryh on korol',
Ischeznut, kak vesna uhodit proch',
Ostaviv po sebe tupuyu bol',
Togda potom naprasno budet vek
Grozit' emu; ya veku dam otpor,
CHtoby neumolimyj ne otsek
Ot pamyati to, chto charuet vzor.
Pust' krasotu grozit razrushit' rok,
Drug vechno zelen mezhdu chernyh strok.
Sonnet LXIV
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd,
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.
Uzrev, kak vremya groznoyu rukoj
Gromit grobnicu veka, chtoby vpred'
Obrushivalsya kamennyj pokoj,
Pod shchebnem horonya rabynyu-med';
Uzrev, kak nastupaet okean,
K zemle svoej vozlyublennoj revniv,
I ne shchadit pri etom celyh stran,
Ubytok s pribyl'yu soediniv,
Uzrev paden'e carstv i natisk bed,
Kotoryh nikomu ne izbezhat',
YA dumayu, chto vremya mne vo vred
I mne lyubvi moej ne uderzhat'.
A eta mysl', kak smert', vsegda v slezah:
Lyubya, boyus' ya, chto lyublyu ya prah.
Sonnet LXV
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways 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 wrackful 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.
Med', mramor, more i zemnaya tverd'
Ischeznut, kak na nebe oblaka.
Vseh pobezhdaet yarostnaya smert'.
Neuzhto krasota sil'nej cvetka?
Kak ustoit medovyj aromat,
Kogda nachnet osennij veyat' mrak?
Tak vremya ne shchadit zheleznyh vrat,
I ruhnut skaly ot ego atak.
U vremeni takaya lovkost' ruk,
CHto usledit' za nim ne mozhet glaz;
I mne podumat' grustno, chto v sunduk
Zapret ono prekrasnejshij almaz.
No chudom posle mnimyh pohoron
V chernilah chernyh zablistaet on.
Sonnet LXVI
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 misplac'd,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,
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:
Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
Krichu ya smerti: Gde ty? YA ustal
Smotret', kak b'etsya doblest' v nishchete,
Kak nizost' udostoena pohval,
Kak veru obrekayut klevete,
Kak znatnost' podlost'yu posramlena,
Kak devstvennost'yu vlastvuet razvrat,
Kak dobrodetel' gnusno rastlena,
Kak silu dushit hilyj supostat,
Kak rot iskusstvu zatykaet vlast',
Kak bred uchenyj razumu vredit,
Kak pravdu krivda popiraet vslast',
Kak zloba dobrotoj rukovodit.
Krichu ya, no otveta ne dano,
I brosit' zdes' lyubov' moyu greshno.
Sonnet LXVII
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 seeming 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.
Zatem li tak prel'stitel'no rastlen
On, chtoby ukrashat' soboj razvrat,
CHtoby s grehom v soyuze brat' nas v plen,
Hot' sam pri etom kazhdyj vinovat?
Zachem iskusstvo lozhnoe kradet
Ego zhivoj i svezhij cvet lica?
Ten' rozy neuzheli prevzojdet
ZHivuyu rozu, raduya serdca?
Ne dlya togo li klyanchit krov' iz zhil
Rastratchica-Priroda u nego,
CHtob kaznacheem vpred' on ej sluzhil
I vospolnyal soboyu motovstvo.
Blistala, deskat', v proshlom i ona,
Hotya teper' plohie vremena.
Sonnet LXVIII
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 cherty - chertezh minuvshih dnej,
Kogda bespechno krasota cvela
I ne glumilis' hishchniki nad nej,
Srezaya lokon s mertvogo chela,
CHtoby chelo drugoe ukrashat'
Kudryami zolotymi mertveca
I vozhdelen'e prezhnee vnushat',
Prel'shchaya legkovernye serdca.
V nem vidyatsya bylye vremena,
Kogda ne trebovalas' krasote
Iz groba izvlechennaya vesna,
Kak v nashi dni, pri nashej nishchete.
Svoi hranit Priroda chertezhi,
Otstaivaya pravdu protiv lzhi.
Sonnet LXIX
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.
Kto skazhet, chto soboyu ty horosh,
Tot krasote lish' dolzhnoe vozdast.
Nikto ne vozrazit, chto eto lozh'.
YAzyk dushe poddakivat' gorazd.
Dlya vneshnosti lish' vneshnyaya hvala.
Nemeyut, zapinayas', yazyki,
Do koih sut' iz nedr tvoih doshla
Prekrasnoj vidimosti vopreki.
Pytlivye tvoj oshchutili duh,
Gde dobroe taitsya v kushchah smut
I plevely v predchuvstvii razruh,
Pahuchie, bezuderzhno cvetut.
CHem s vidu krasota tvoya milej,
Tem zapah podloj pochvy tyazhelej.
Sonnet LXX
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 wooed of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days
Either not assailed, or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy, evermore enlarged,
If some suspect of ill masked not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.
Ty nizkoj cherni, vprochem, ne cheta,
Za chto tebya chernyat so vseh storon;
Vsegda na podozren'e krasota,
CHistejshaya lazur' ne bez voron.
Prekrasnomu priverzhen klevetnik.
Somnitel'ny dostoinstva cvetka,
Poka v nego zlovrednyj ne pronik
CHerv', chtoby pirovat' ispodtishka.
Soblazn vesny tebya ne minoval,
No zapadnya ee tebe pretit.
Pri etom izobilie pohval
Ot zavisti tebya ne zashchitit.
Kogda b ne podozren'ya bez prichin,
Vo vseh serdcah caril by ty odin.
Sonnet LXXI
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.
Pechal' zablagovremenno ujmi,
Kogda zaverit kolokol'nyj zvon,
CHto, merzkimi otvergnutyj lyud'mi,
K chervyam bezhal ya posle pohoron.
Ne vspominaj, chitaya etot stih,
Ruki moej; pora tebe ponyat':
YA tak tebya lyublyu, chto nikakih
Skorbej tebe ne stal by prichinyat'.
Sebya ty nahodi v moih strokah,
No pust' menya tvoj golos ne zovet;
Kogda smeshayut s glinoyu moj prah,
Pust' smert' moya lyubov' tvoyu prervet.
Inache mir vniman'e obratit,
CHto pomnish' ty menya, a eto - styd.
Sonnet LXXII
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.
Zabud' menya, kak tol'ko ya umru;
Ne nado zhizn' moyu priukrashat',
Kogda, zateyav nizkuyu igru,
Tebya nachnut o mertvom voproshat'.
I esli skazhesh' ty, chto ya horosh,
Ty protiv skryagi-pravdy pogreshish';
Skazav blagonamerennuyu lozh',
K sebe ty nedoverie vnushish'.
Kak budto vernaya lyubov' togda
Dlya nas oboih - tol'ko zapadnya;
Ni dlya tebya, ni dlya sebya styda
YA ne hochu; pust' ne bylo menya.
Umershego lyubimym ne zovi!
Dostojno li nichtozhestvo lyubvi?
Sonnet LXXIII
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 ruined 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,
Consum'd with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
Ty vidish': mrachnaya vo mne pora,
Kogda v polunagih vetvyah dubrav
Neistovye mechutsya vetra,
Pernatyh pevchih s horov razognav.
Vo mne zakat, kak budto svet so mnoj,
No v sumerkah luchom edva skvozit,
I, pritvorivshis' temnotoj nochnoj,
Svoej pechat'yu smert' vsemu grozit.
Ty vidish': moj ogon' pochti pogas,
I ya zastyt' gotov, ispepelen,
Kak budto yarkij zhar v poslednij chas
Svoeyu byvshej pishchej istreblen.
No soglasis': tebe dorozhe tot,
S kem navsegda prostish'sya ty vot-vot.
Sonnet LXXIV
Vut 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.
Kogda navek ya budu zatochen
Uzhe bez prava vyjti pod zalog
I ty pri etom budesh' ogorchen,
Ty zhizn' moyu najdesh' sred' etih strok,
Ih prosmotrev, usmotrish' chast' moyu,
Vse to, k chemu ty ne byl v zhizni gluh;
Zemnoj moj prah ya prahu otdayu,
Tebe - chast' luchshuyu moyu, moj duh.
Osadkom zhizni ya ne dorozhu,
I telu moemu ne ucelet'.
Obrecheno, chervivoe, nozhu,
O merzosti moej zachem zhalet'?
Ty pomni tol'ko: luchshee vo mne
Po-prezhnemu s toboj naedine.
Sonnet LXXV
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.
Lish' po tebe ya golodom tomim;
Tak zhazhdet borozda dozhdya vesnoj;
I sushchestvom zahvachen ya tvoim,
Kak zhadnyj bogatej svoej kaznoj.
To pryachu ya ot vorovatyh glaz
Tvoe charuyushchee sovershenstvo;
To vystavlyayu derzko napokaz
Moe nevynosimoe blazhenstvo.
Presyshchen ya, no golod ne zatih,
I vot uzhe ya vnov' lovlyu tvoj vzglyad;
Znat' ne hochu ya radostej drugih,
Krome tebya, ne vedayu uslad.
Terpet' mne v etoj zhizni suzhdeno
Izlishestvo s lishen'em zaodno.
Sonnet LXXVI
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.
Neuzhto stih moj stol' smirenno toshch,
CHto shlifovat' ego - naprasnyj trud,
I nesposoben ya prisvoit' moshch'
Izyskannyh novatorskih prichud?
No tak ono i est' po sushchestvu.
YA noviznoyu mnimoj porazhen.
I kazhdym slovom ya tebya zovu,
Ne znaya slov oprich' tvoih imen.
Lyubov', ty ne byvaesh' ne prava.
CHto vremya! Mne smeshon ego zador.
V naryade novom starye slova.
YA trachu to, chto tratil do sih por.
I solnce v nebe, kak moe pero,
Odnovremenno novo i staro.
Sonnet LXXVII
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 cannot 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.
Uvidish' v zerkale: tvoj bleknet lik.
CHasy pokazyvayut: zhizn' bezhit.
No cely vse eshche stranicy knig
I mysl', kotoroj razum dorozhit,
Tvoi morshchiny v zerkale vidnej,
Mogil'nye soyuznicy toski,
I ottogo chasy idut vernej,
CHto k vechnosti kradutsya vorovski.
CHto ne uderzhish' v pamyati, ty vver'
Listam bumagi, ch'ya nadezhna glad',
I mozg togda ne poneset poter',
Svoih detej on budet luchshe znat'.
Oni tebe byloe vozvratyat,
CHem budushchij tvoj trud obogatyat.
Sonnet LXXVIII
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.
Kogo, kak ne tebya, mne muzoj zvat'?
Po-prezhnemu toboj zhivet moj stih.
Mezh tem tebya derznuvshih vospevat'
Po moemu primeru - skol'ko ih?
Tvoi glaza nemogo uchat pet',
Nevezhestvo iskusstvom okryliv,
CHtob krepli kryl'ya v novyh per'yah vpred',
Velikolep'e graciej prodliv.
No mozhesh' ty gordit'sya tol'ko mnoj,
Lish' dlya menya pervoistochnik - ty.
Prav' smelo stil' tomu, kto ne rodnoj,
Podbav' emu zaemnoj krasoty.
Ty vse moe iskusstvo, pri moem
Nevezhestve zenit i okoem.
Sonnet LXXIX
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace;
But now my gracious numbers are decayed,
And my sick Muse doth give an other 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.
Odin ya vospeval tebya sperva,
No moj zloschastnyj stih teper' zachah,
Moya bol'naya muza chut' zhiva,
I prevzoshel menya drugoj v hvalah,
Puskaj dostojna luchshego pera
Moya lyubov', chej mne otraden gnet,
Hvala chuzhaya potomu shchedra,
CHto u tebya dostoinstvo kradet.
Lyuboj hvalitel' budet znamenit,
Krasnorechiv i bezuprechno prav,
Vosslaviv krasotu tvoih lanit
I dobrodeteli tvoi nazvav.
Tebe ya ne napomnit' ne mogu,
CHto tvoj hvalitel' u tebya v dolgu.
Sonnet LXXX
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 wrack'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.
Nachav pisat', ya duhom past' gotov;
Tebya vospel vladyka iz vladyk,
Neprevzojden v mogushchestve stihov,
Tak chto nemeet u menya yazyk.
No v okeane sovershenstv tvoih
Derzaem plavat' oba: on i ya,
Bol'shoj korabl' sred' burnyh voln morskih
I malen'kaya, zhalkaya lad'ya.
Moya lad'ya potonet na meli,
Poverh glubin plyvet on v dal'nij port;
Moej mol'be o pomoshchi vnemli,
Kak tot korabl' ni slaven i ni gord;
On budet plyt', a ya pojdu ko dnu,
V chem sleduet vinit' lyubov' odnu.
Sonnet LXXXI
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.
Byt' mozhet, ya perezhivu tebya
I druga pomyanu eshche stihami,
No vryad li vspomnyat i menya, skorbya,
Kogda sgniyu s moimi ya grehami.
Vovek lyud'mi ne budesh' ty zabyt,
Moe zhe sginet imya, kak moj prah;
V zemle so vsemi budu ya zaryt,
Netlenen budesh' ty v lyudskih glazah.
Moj nezhnyj stih tebya zapechatlel
Dlya glaz, ne sushchestvuyushchih poka;
I navsegda ostanesh'sya ty cel,
Kak dyshashchaya lish' toboj stroka.
Pero moe dlya budushchih epoh
V usta tebya vselyaet, vechnyj vzdoh.
Sonnet LXXXII
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 devis'd,
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathiz'd
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend;
And their gross painting might be better usd
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abusd.
Itak, moej ty muze ne suprug,
I posvyashchen'ya mozhesh' ty chitat',
V kotoryh izoshchryaetsya vokrug
Pisatelej nazojlivaya rat'.
Razumen ty i tak horosh soboj,
CHto shchegol'nut' hvaloyu trudno mne,
I slavyat vse tebya napereboj,
Prevoshodya drug druga v novizne.
Puskaya tebya starayutsya oni
Natuzhnoyu ritorikoj privlech',
No tem dorozhe, milyj moj, ceni
Beshitrostnuyu druzheskuyu rech'.
Rumyana dlya drugih, beskrovnyh shchek,
Zachem oni tomu, kto ne poblek?
Sonnet LXXXIII
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.
YA dumal, chto horosh ty bez prikras,
Izyskam stihotvorcev ne cheta,
Privyk ya verit', chto bez gromkih fraz
Tvoya vostorzhestvuet krasota.
Skazal ty, chto ya splyu, kogda pora
Tebe vo slavu otchekanit' stih,
No ne dlya sovremennogo pera
Rost sovershenstv nevidannyh tvoih.
Po krajnej mere, ya ne zapyatnal
Tebya slovami, koim grosh cena,
I v nemote moej navek uznal,
CHto krasota tvoya i tak vidna.
A zhizn' v odnom iz dvuh tvoih ochej
Tvoih zatmit oboih rifmachej.
Sonnet LXXXIV
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 everywhere.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
Tebya v tebe proslavit' - vot hvala.
Obsledovav razlichnye kraya,
Nikto by ne nashel nigde ugla,
Gde kopiya tailas' by tvoya,
I operet'sya ne na chto peru,
Tebya vospet' namerennomu srochno.
V pustuyu ne vvyazat'sya by igru!
Tebya dostojno tol'ko to, chto tochno.
Tvoim chertam nanosit yavnyj vred
Tot, kto v hvalah bezuderzhno rechist;
Proslavit portretista tvoj portret,
V kotorom stil' samoj prirody chist.
Bez preuvelichenij ty horosh.
Malejshaya tebya isportit lozh'.
Sonnet LXXXV
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise richly compiled,
Reserve thy character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts, whilst others write good words,
And like unlettered clerk still cry "Amen"
To every hymn that able spirit affords,
In polished 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 lishilas' muza yazyka
Sredi drugih velikolepnyh muz,
CH'ya pesn' hvalebnaya tebe sladka,
A per'yami zlatymi dvizhet vkus.
YA v myslyah odaren, v slovah bezdar';
Poddakivayu gimnam ya chuzhim,
Ne znaya bukv, kak staryj ponomar',
"Amin'", - tverzhu, toboyu oderzhim,
YA priznayu, dostoin ty pohval,
Lish' vtoryu ya hvalitelyam tvoim;
Dopustim, ya v slovesnosti otstal,
No kto eshche, kak mnoyu ty, lyubim.
Lyubi, slova krasivye cenya,
S moej nemoj lyubov'yu i menya.
Sonnet LXXXVI
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 filled up his line,
Then lacked I matter; that enfeebled mine.
Neuzhto smolk ya, potomu chto tot,
CHej parus nad volnami gordeliv,
Tebya proslavil i dostig vysot,
Moj stih novorozhdennyj umertviv?
Neuzhto nasmert' on menya srazil,
Sej duhami nauchennyj poet?
On s geniyami mne v nochi grozil,
No moego stiha ne svel na net,
I hot' emu soyuznyj duh nochnoj
Podskazyvaet rifmy pod shumok,
Ne oderzhal on verha nado mnoj
I mne molchan'ya navyazat' ne mog.
No ty reshil k nemu vselit'sya v stih,
Ostaviv pustotu v stihah moih.
Sonnet LXXXVII
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.
Thy self thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav'st 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.
Rasstanemsya, proshchaj, ty dragocennost'!
Otkrylas' vdrug tebe tvoya cena,
Tak chto estestvenna tvoya nadmennost';
Toboj vladel ya - vot moya vina.
Tak ne pora li mne pomyslit' zdravo:
Ty dar, vsegda sulivshij mne utratu.
Kakoe na tebya imel ya pravo?
Ne podlezhish' li ty davno vozvratu?
Tebya prel'stiv somnitel'noj mechtoyu,
YA priobrel tvoe raspolozhen'e;
Uverivshis', chto ya tebya ne stoyu,
Vernis' teper' v svoe rasporyazhen'e.
Mne grezilos', chto nash soyuz vozmozhen,
Vo sne korol', ya nayavu nichtozhen.
Sonnet LXXXVIII
When thou shall be dispos'd 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 concealed, 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.
Kogda menya zhelaesh' ochernit'
Ty pered legkovernoyu molvoj,
Gotov ya samogo sebya vinit',
Zakryv glaza na greh postydnyj tvoj.
YA vsluh priznayus', v chem ya vtajne greshen,
Podbaviv soblaznitel'noj otravy
K navetu tvoemu, kotoryj vzveshen
Na bditel'nyh vesah tvoej zhe slavy.
No budu ya dovolen vse ravno;
CHem vygodnej tebe, tem luchshe mne;
S toboyu preuspeyu zaodno,
Tvoya udacha - moj uspeh vdvojne.
YA tak tebya lyublyu, chto, proigrav,
Priznat' gotov, chto eto ya ne prav.
Sonnet LXXXIX
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 my self I'll vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
Pokin' menya, pridumav mne vinu,
Najdi vo mne iz®yan ili porok;
Skazhi, chto hrom ya, i hromat' nachnu,
Kak budto ot rozhden'ya kolchenog.
Lyubov' moya, vstupat' ne stanem v spor.
Pust' na menya obrushitsya hula!
Gotov ya na sebya navlech' pozor,
Mol, blizost' pozoj dlya menya byla.
Ty povelish' - i otkazhus' ot vstrech,
I za svoim ya budu yazykom
Sledit', chtoby neproshenaya rech'
Ne vydala, chto ya s toboj znakom.
YA nakazhu sebya za kazhdyj shag.
Kogo ty nenavidish', tot moj vrag.
Sonnet XC
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 conquered 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.
Ne otkazhi hot' v nenavisti mne,
Kogda grozit mne otovsyudu vred;
Srazi menya udarom na vojne,
A ne poslednej kaplej v more bed.
I pust' perezhivu ya noch' neschast'ya,
Kogda rassvet zabrezzhit na vetru,
Izbav' menya hotya by ot nenast'ya,
CHej mozglyj morok - moros' poutru.
Porvat' so mnoyu hochesh', tak porvi
Nemedlenno, i kak ni tyazhelo,
Udostoveryus' bez tvoej lyubvi,
CHto naihudshee proizoshlo.
Opomnivshis' v otchayan'e takom,
Sochtu vse ostal'noe pustyakom.
Sonnet XCI
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body's 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 and 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.
Komu znatnejshij rod, komu talant,
Komu daruet pochesti sud'ba.
Kamzolom i plashchom gorditsya frant,
Ohotniku dorozhe yastreba.
U kazhdogo iz vseh svoya uteha,
Net radosti emu ni v chem inom,
I ne hochu drugogo ya uspeha,
Kogda vse schast'e dlya menya v odnom.
S tvoej lyubov'yu znatnyh ya znatnej.
Bogatym daleko do bednyaka.
Bez yastrebov i bez lihih konej
Ohochus' ya s toboj navernyaka.
Odna beda strashnej den' oto dnya:
Ty ot menya ujdesh', i net menya.
Sonnet XCII
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 zhizn' moya ne tem li horosha,
CHto bez tebya mne, bednomu, konec,
I esli, suprotiv menya gresha,
Sebya ty ukradesh', to ya mertvec,
Kakih eshche togda boyat'sya zol,
Kogda srazhen ya budu men'shim zlom?
I ne strashit menya tvoj proizvol:
Mne dazhe luchshe budet, chem v bylom.
I nevozmozhno zhizn' moyu razbit',
YA preuspeyu tak i etak vpred'.
Kak schastliv ya teper' tebya lyubit',
Tak bez tebya ya schastliv umeret'.
I v schast'e, vprochem, viditsya pyatno.
A vdrug toboj obmanut ya davno?
Sonnet XCIII
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though altered 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!
Pust' ya, kak muzh obmanutyj, tverzhu,
CHto ne obmanut ya toboj poka,
K drugomu ty uhodish' rubezhu,
Tvoj vzor so mnoj, no on izdaleka,
Ustroen tak tvoj nenaglyadnyj glaz,
CHto v nem tvoej izmeny ne vidat';
Lish' po tenyam s prozhilkami prokaz
Tvoyu nevernost' mozhno ugadat'.
Tak nebom sotvoren tvoj milyj lik,
CHto dazhe ne zatmilsya do sih por,
Pust' v serdce chernyj zamysel voznik,
Sladchajshej nezhnosti tvoj polon vzor.
Ty s vidu slovno yabloko v rayu,
Tak chto ya zla v tebe ne uznayu.
Sonnet XCIV
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 ranit' ne hotel, hot' ranit' mog,
Kto chuvstvo, sam ne chuvstvuya, vnushal,
Kto volnoval, ne vedaya trevog,
Ne znaya iskushenij, iskushal,
Tot shchedro vzyskan milost'yu nebesnoj;
Prirody obol'stitel'nyj suprug
Vladeet vneshnost'yu svoej prelestnoj,
I u nego drugie vmesto slug.
Cvetku do voshishchennyh dela net;
Kak, sladostnyj, rascvel, tak i zasoh,
No, mozhet byt', zaraznyj v nem sekret,
I predpochtitel'nej chertopoloh.
Rasten'ya yadovitye s dushkom.
Bur'yana huzhe liliya s greshkom.
Sonnet XCV
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 turns to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
Kak roza s chervotochinoj, lyubim,
Postydnomu ty sladost' pridaesh',
I samyj greh pod imenem tvoim
V tvoem oblich'e kazhetsya horosh.
YAzyk smakuet sred' primanok vseh
Vkus vyzvannyh toboj serdechnyh smut,
I torzhestvuet greh sredi uteh,
Kogda ego toboyu nazovut.
Sebe poroki vybrali chertog
Tvoih ocharovatel'nyh primet,
Gde kazhdyj prikryvaetsya porok
Zavesoyu, kotoroj krashe net.
V izlishestvah soboj ne dorozha,
Slomaesh'sya, kak lezvie nozha.
Sonnet XCVI
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are lov'd of more and less:
Thou mak'st 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.
Pust' govoryat, chto yunost' i razvrat
V tebe sovpali, chto tvoya vina
V prestupnom sochetanii uslad,
Kogda v rastlen'e blagodat' vidna
I naihudshij mozhet zablistat'
Almaz na korolevinom perste,
Kak budto krivda pravdoj mozhet stat'
Blagodarya vsesil'noj krasote.
Volk, agncem obernuvshijsya, pozhret
Beschislennoe mnozhestvo ovec.
Smotri, ne poteryat' by zhertvam schet,
Ty, sovershenstv opasnyh obrazec.
Osteregis'! Pust' ya s toboj ne shozh,
Ty moj v lyubvi, i ya, kak ty, horosh.
Sonnet XCVII
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 everywhere!
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 seemed to me
But hope of orphans, and unfathered 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.
Lyuboe vremya goda dlya menya -
Zima, kogda ty ot menya vdali.
Dekabr' ugryumyj, dushu ledenya,
Vnushil mne: holoda navek prishli.
SHlo leto, predveshchaya torzhestva,
No v sladostnom predchuvstvii plodov
Pechal'nye stoyali dereva,
Beremennyh napominaya vdov,
I dazhe v izobilii shchedrot,
O lete letom vse eshche skorbya,
YA videl upovanie sirot;
Kazalos', pticy nemy bez tebya.
A v shchebete preryvistom toska.
Bledneyut list'ya, i zima blizka.
Sonnet XCVIII
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 laughed and leapt 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 seemed it winterstill, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
YA bez tebya perezhival vesnu,
Kogda, roskoshno pestr, aprel' voskres
I, smehom narushaya tishinu,
V nochi plyasal Saturn-tyazheloves,
No pen'e ptic i zapahi cvetov
Istorij ne mogli mne darovat',
I, odinokij, ne byl ya gotov
Cvety blagouhannye sryvat'.
Ni lilij belyh ya ne ocenil,
Ni roz, chej soblaznitelen bagrec,
Nastol'ko obraz tvoj menya plenil,
Dlya nih dlya vseh prelestnyj obrazec.
CHto mne vesna! Zima v ee chertah.
Lish' ten' tvoya mne videlas' v cvetah.
Sonnet XCIX
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 dy'd.
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.
Moshennica-fialka, - govoryu, -
Pohitila tonchajshij aromat
Iz ust, lyubov' moya, tvoih; zaryu
Prisvoil by bledneyushchij zakat.
ZHil ni za chto tebe ne otvoryu,
No ch'ya zhe krov' po lepestkam tekla,
Kak ne tvoya, hotya ne vidno ran?
Ne liliya, ruka tvoya bela,
Volos tvoih podob'e - majoran.
Rumyana roza ili zhe bledna,
U toj i u drugoj tvoj cvet lica.
No rozam krazha vse-taki vredna:
Zaraza tajno tochit im serdca.
Sredi cvetov ya tvoj revnivyj strazh.
YA nichego ne vizhu, krome krazh.
Sonnet C
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.
Opomnis', Muza! CHto zhe ty molchish'?
Zabyla, kto tebe daruet svet?
Svoe ty vdohnoven'e omrachish',
Predpochitaya nizmennyj predmet.
Zabyvchivaya Muza! Pospeshi!
Kosnut'sya novoj rifmoyu pora
Vzyskatel'nogo uha i dushi,
Otkuda slava tvoego pera.
Vstan', Muza, posvyati lyubvi svoj lad,
Uzrev morshchiny na ee chele;
Ty zaklejmi satiroyu raspad,
Osparivaya vremya na zemle.
Pust' u nego kosa i nozh krivoj,
Za krasotu stih opolchitsya tvoj.
Sonnet CI
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 fixed;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermixed'?
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.
Lentyajka-muza! CHem ty zanyata?
Molchanie dosadnoe prervi!
Ty vidish': vmeste s pravdoj krasota,
Kak ty, zavisyat ot moej lyubvi.
Byt' mozhet, Muza, skazhesh' ty v otvet,
CHto ne byvaet pravdy raspisnoj
I chto u krasoty prirodnyj cvet,
Ne trebuyushchij kraski zakaznoj?
Konechno, on horosh i bez pohval,
No, Muza, ty molchanie narush',
CHtob nad vekami vostorzhestvoval
On, perezhiv zlatoj grobnicy glush'.
Ty, Muza, sdelat' mozhesh' tak, pover',
CHtoby siyal on vechno, kak teper'.
Sonnet CII
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 everywhere.
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 his 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.
Sil'nej moya lyubov', no neprilichno
Mne shchegolyat' vliyan'em skrytyh char,
Kak budto vystavit' gotov publichno
YA na prodazhu redkostnyj tovar.
Kogda lyubov' moya byla nova,
Zvuchal vo mne bezuderzhnyj motiv,
Kak Filomela shchelkaet sperva,
Svoyu cevnicu pozzhe zataiv.
Ne to chtoby vesna byla milej,
CHem pozdnim letom shchedrye sady;
Vetvyam ot pesen dikih tyazhelej,
No bystro priedayutsya plody.
K lyubovnym pesnyam slishkom ty privyk.
Ne luchshe li mne priderzhat' yazyk?
Sonnet CIII
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.
Uvy! Kak Muza u menya bedna,
No, dumaetsya, net ee viny
V tom, chto hvala niskol'ko ne nuzhna,
Kogda prelestnoj teme net ceny.
Ty vidish', ne pishu ya nichego,
No na sebya ty v zerkalo vzglyani;
YA tol'ko zhertva bleska tvoego,
I posramlen moj stih v tvoej teni.
Ne greh li pohvaloyu zapyatnat'
To, chto prekrasno bez pohval moih?
Kak byt'? YA ne hochu drugogo znat'.
Drugih krasot chuzhdaetsya moj stih.
I v tom li stih moj bednyj vinovat,
CHto v zerkale ty krashe vo sto krat?
Sonnet CIV
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
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 perceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
Moj drug, ty ne stareesh' dlya menya,
Hot' minovali celyh tri zimy
S togo obvorozhitel'nogo dnya,
Kogda naveki povstrechalis' my.
No trizhdy leto minulo s teh por;
V lesah osennij plamenel myatezh.
I ubedilsya moj vlyublennyj vzor:
Kto zelen byl, tot i segodnya svezh.
Pust' solnechnye ne speshat chasy,
Idut oni, prohodyat vse ravno,
I ubyl' upoitel'noj krasy,
Byt' mozhet, mne zametit' ne dano.
Pust' bylo leto krasoty mertvo,
No tol'ko do rozhden'ya tvoego.
Sonnet CV
Let not my love be called 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.
Ne idolopoklonnik ya, o net!
Zvat' idolom lyubov' moyu greshno.
Odin i tot zhe ya poyu predmet,
I dragocenno dlya menya odno.
Ty dobr segodnya, kak ty byl vchera,
Kak budesh' zavtra, i v stihe moem
Lish' postoyanstvo tvoego dobra,
Prisushchee mne lish' s toboj vdvoem.
"Krasiv, i dobr, i veren", - ves' moj skaz.
"Krasiv, i dobr, i veren", - ty prosti.
Sostavit' ne mogu izyashchnej fraz,
Ne znayu, chto eshche izobresti.
Krasiv, i dobr, i veren ty odin,
V edinstvennom lice moj gospodin.
Sonnet CVI
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 looked 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.
Kogda ya v hronikah proshedshih let
CHitayu, glyadya vsled bylym godam,
V kakih izyashchnyh rifmah byl vospet
Sonm rycarej i nenaglyadnyh dam,
Lish' tvoj proobraz v nih ya uznayu,
Usta tvoi, glaza, chelo i brov';
Perom starinnym krasotu tvoyu
Poety risovali vnov' i vnov'.
Prorocheskij togda byl vzor i stih.
Oni tebya provideli vdali,
No prelestej nevidannyh tvoih
Vospet' kak podobaet ne mogli.
Ty na glazah u nas, u goremyk,
No gde zhe vzyat' nam dlya hvaly yazyk?
Sonnet CVII
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.
Ni mirovaya chutkaya dusha,
Ni mysl' moya sredi moih trevog
Ne zashchityat, predchuvstviem strasha,
Lyubov' moyu, sud'by moej zalog.
Zatmen'e preterpet' lune dano,
Smeshat avgurov predskazan'ya smut,
Neyasnoe teper' proyasneno.
Olivy mira bez konca rastut.
Dlya ran lyubovnyh vremya - eliksir,
I, kazhetsya, mne smert' podchinena;
I ya v moih stihah bessmertno sir,
Bezgramotnye vymrut plemena.
Moim stiham nevedom etot risk.
Drugoj tebe ne nuzhen obelisk.
Sonnet CVIII
What's in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what now 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 hallowed 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.
Tvoj priznak ne taitsya li v mozgu
Moem, poka chernilam neizvestnyj,
I ya dopolnit' razve ne mogu
Tvoih dostoinstv perechen' prelestnyj?
Vse skazano, moj milyj mal'chik, da,
Blagoslovennym imenem tvoim.
YA tvoj, ty moj, nadeyus', navsegda,
S teh por kak my drug drugom dorozhim.
Lyubov' ne ustrashitsya godovshchin.
Pust' vozrast nacheku, revnivyj strazh;
Plenitel'noj lyubvi ne do morshchin,
I vremya dlya nee - vsego lish' pazh.
Puskaj lyubov' poroj mertva na vid,
Ee i smert' sama ne umertvit.
Sonnet CIX
O! Never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify,
As easy might I from my self 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 reigned,
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stained,
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.
Opaloj moemu ognyu grozya,
Menya ty za izmenu ne sudi.
Mne brosit' samogo sebya nel'zya,
Kogda moya dusha v tvoej grudi.
Vot milyj dom lyubvi moej, kuda
Vernus' ya, buduchi v puti davno.
Vsegda so mnoyu chistaya voda,
CHtob smyt' s menya pozornoe pyatno.
Puskaj v moej krovi grehi kipyat,
Pust' v kazhdoj kaple mnozhitsya porok,
Oni menya edva li oslepyat
Nastol'ko, chtob ya luchshim prenebreg.
Ves' mir - nichto. Morochit on, draznya.
Ty roza. Vse ty v mire dlya menya.
Sonnet CX
Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made my self 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 looked 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.
Ne skroyu: vyhodil ya na bazar,
Gde shutovskim naryadom shchegolyal
I, prevrashchaya mysl' moyu v tovar,
Byloe novoj strast'yu oskorblyal.
Ne skroyu: ya smotrel na pravdu vkos',
V durnyh soblaznah molodost' gubya,
No vybelit' mne serdce dovelos':
Obrel ya v hudshem luchshee - tebya.
Ne nuzhno bol'she gibel'nyh potug,
ZHelanie moe utoleno;
Raz navsegda ispytan vernyj drug,
Bog lyubyashchij, i s nim ya zaodno.
Privet' menya, ty skorb' moyu razvej,
I ya na nebe, na grudi tvoej.
Sonnet CXI
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 renewed;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisell "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.
Ne gorshe li tebe den' oto dnya
Fortunu klyast', chej proizvol slepoj
Obrek zloschastnoj uchasti menya:
Zaiskivat' pred suetnoj tolpoj?
YA ploshchadnym zapyatnan remeslom.
Krasil'shchik ne otmoet ruk nikak.
Storonyatsya menya - i podelom.
Isprav' menya, kogda ty mne ne vrag.
Gotov po ukazan'yu tvoemu
YA pit' lekarstvo ot zarazy zlejshej.
Gorchajshee za sladkoe primu,
Pokayavshis' v pogreshnosti malejshej.
Ty pozhalej menya v moem razore -
I zhalost'yu moe izlechish' gore.
Sonnet CXII
Your love and pity doth the impression fill,
Which vulgar scandal stamped 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 steeled 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 y'are dead.
Tvoya li nezhnost', kak tvoya lyubov',
Postydnyj na chele moem rubec
Vrachuet, vozlagaya mne na brov'
Zatmivshij zelen' zelen'yu venec?
Ty dlya menya ves' mir. V ustah tvoih
Pozor moj i vostorg; ty bliz', ty dal';
Ne hochet znat' poetomu drugih
Moya dusha, zakovannaya v stal'.
YA v bezdnu brosil vse, v konce koncov;
YA perestal ugadyvat' gadyuk
V oblich'e kritikanov i l'stecov;
Mne ostaesh'sya tol'ko ty, moj drug.
Tak, torzhestvuya lish' v tebe odnom,
Lish' smert' ya vizhu v mire ostal'nom.
Sonnet CXIII
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 rud'st 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 maketh mine eye untrue.
Tebya ne vidya, glaz vselilsya moj
V moj duh, a eto ne sulit udach;
Svet putayu s obmanchivoyu t'moj.
YA zryachij lish' na vid, a sam ne zryach.
I v serdce vneshnim formam net puti,
Ni molnii, ni ptice, ni cvetku;
Tuda zhe, gde viden'e vzaperti,
Predmetov bystryh ya ne zavleku.
Mne viditsya tvoya v prekrasnom ten';
S nej obrazy menyayutsya mestami;
Vorona i golubka, noch' i den',
Tvoimi vse stanovitsya chertami.
YA mira bez tebya ne vosprimu;
Moj vernyj glaz neveren potomu.
Sonnet CXIV
Or whether doth my mind, being crowned 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 poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
CHto esli ya monarh, i potomu,
CHto koronovan ya toboj, mne l'styat,
I vydaet za svet nochnuyu t'mu
Alhimiya tvoya, yavlyaya ryad
Svoih ischadij, chudishch i chudes
I heruvimov, chej proobraz ty,
Prevoznosya durnoe do nebes,
Edva pridav emu tvoi cherty.
Tak duhu l'stit ugodlivoe zren'e,
Somnitel'nyh revnitel'nica uz,
I v chashe predlagaet uveren'e
V tom, chto celebno sladkoe na vkus.
Otrava - men'shij greh na etot raz,
CHem sovrashchen'e upoennyh glaz.
Sonnet CXV
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's! 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?
Pisal ya, za stihom slagaya stih,
CHto plamenet' mne yarche nevozmozhno,
Kak budto ya lyubil ot sih do sih,
No priznayus': to, chto pisal ya, lozhno.
Poskol'ku prihot' vremeni v tshchetu
Vvergaet povelen'ya korolej,
Mysl' prituplyaya, sushit krasotu,
I sil'nyj um prel'shchen igroj rolej.
Kak mog ya novyh ot lyubvi shchedrot
ZHdat', esli rushit vremya vremena
I nenadezhnym obnadezhen tot,
Komu lish' beznadezhnost' suzhdena?
Odno iz dvuh: lyubov' uzhe proshla
Ili ona poka eshche mala.
Sonnet CXVI
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 dva duha vernyh vstupyat v brak,
Lyubov' lyubov'yu ne byla by, net,
Menyayas', kak menyat'sya mozhet znak
Sredi drugih izmenchivyh primet.
No esli ya skazal, chto ya lyublyu,
Za godom god lyubov' - odna i ta zhe
Zvezda, siyayushchaya korablyu,
Nepostizhimo vernaya na strazhe.
Lyubov'yu Vremya probuet igrat',
Tuskneet s kazhdym chasom cvet lanit;
Serp Vremeni gotov nas pokarat',
A lyubyashchij lyubov' svoyu hranit.
A esli vse, chto napisal ya, bred,
To nikakoj lyubvi na svete net.
Sonnet CXVII
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.
Vpolne umesten gor'kij tvoj ukor,
Kogda i vpravdu vinovat ya v tom,
CHto ne cenil dostoinstv do sih por
Tvoih ya v samomnenii pustom.
Bezvestnye umy menya vlekli,
I ya toboj gotov byl prenebrech',
Pod®emlya parusa, chtoby vdali
Iskat' zamanchivyh, opasnyh vstrech.
Zachti v negodovanii tvoem
Vse vyhodki mne, vse grehi podryad,
No tol'ko ne goni za okoem,
V kotorom tvoj mne viden gnevnyj vzglyad,
I esli prichinil tebe ya bol',
Mne ispytat' lyubov' tvoyu pozvol'.
Sonnet CXVIII
Like as, to make our appetite 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 assur'd,
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd;
But thence I learn and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.
Kak pishcha nam privychnaya pretit
I pryanosti dlya vkusa nam nuzhny,
Kak posle svoj chrezmernyj appetit
My vrachevat' slabitel'nym dolzhny,
Tak, ne presyshchen sladost'yu tvoeyu,
K lyubvi gotovlyu gor'kuyu pripravu,
Narochno v dobrom zdravii boleyu,
Uverivshis', chto ya lechus' na slavu.
Vedet lyubov' politiku svoyu,
I ya sebya bol'nym, poka zdorov,
Poroyu dal'novidno priznayu,
CHtob ne lishit'sya vseh ee darov.
Urok vernejshij v etom, govoryat:
Kogda lyubov' - bolezn', lekarstvo - yad.
Sonnet CXIX
What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distilled 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 hath 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 ruined 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.
V slezah siren tailsya eliksir,
Proizvedennyj vzgonkoyu v adu,
CHtoby ya pil ego, spravlyaya pir,
Gde, vyigrav, ya proigrysha zhdu.
Sebya schastlivym ya neostorozhno
Schital v dushe, takim podverzhen charam,
CHto byt' glazam v glaznicah nevozmozhno:
Vyprygivayut, muchimye zharom.
O zlo! S toboj istochnik blag edin,
Gorchajshee sposobstvuet nadezhde;
Tak, zanovo vosstala iz ruin
Lyubov' moya prekrasnee, chem prezhde.
V moej bolezni gorestnyj uprek
Trojnoe schast'e na menya navlek.
Sonnet CXX
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 passed a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O! that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tendered
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
Zapyatnannyj prostupkami shal'nymi,
Vvedennyj v zabluzhdenie sud'boj,
Ne hvastayus' ya nervami stal'nymi
Pod bremenem viny pered toboj.
Pust' nanesti posmel tebe ya ranu,
Napomnit' i v adu tebe pozvol',
Kak tyazhelo teryat' pokoj tiranu,
Kak bol'no prichinyayushchemu bol'.
Noch' nashego vzaimnogo stradan'ya
Poprobuj vspomni, no smotri ne sglaz'
Vrachuyushchego samoobladan'ya,
Dlya nashih ran gotovyashchego maz'.
Drug druga my zastavili stradat'.
Dlya nas oboih v etom blagodat'.
Sonnet CXXI
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed
Not by our feeling, but by others' 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 lam, 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.
Sluh o poroke huzhe, chem porok.
Ne luchshe li ne byt', chem lish' kazat'sya?
V chuzhih glazah i radost' - lish' predlog,
YA predpochtu po-svoemu terzat'sya.
No pochemu chuzhoj derzaet glaz
Sudit', chto horosho vo mne, chto durno?
Moj soglyadataj sam ne bez prokaz,
A krov' moya igraet slishkom burno.
No ya sem' tol'ko ya, nikto inoj,
A skol'ko ih, klejmit' menya ohochih
I poprekat' svoeyu kriviznoj,
Hot' ya pryamoj v otlichie ot prochih.
Vseobshchee v nih torzhestvuet zlo.
Ko vlasti na zemle ono prishlo.
Sonnet CXXII
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full charactered 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 missed.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was 1 bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more;
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
Tvoj dar, tvoi skrizhali - u menya
V mozgu vospominaniya, chej srok
Prodlitsya, nezabvennoe hranya,
I uvenchaet vechnost'yu itog.
Poka prirode protivostoyat
Moj mozg i serdce, obraz tvoj taya,
Ty vne vsesokrushayushchih utrat,
I pamyat' ne izgladitsya tvoya.
Net, metki ne nuzhny lyubvi moej,
Beg vremeni bez nih neuderzhim,
No, dumayu, lyubov' moya celej,
Kogda skrizhalyam vveryus' ya tvoim.
Podspor'e nashej pamyati vo vred,
Zabvenie za nim prihodit vsled.
Sonnet CXXIII
No, Time, thou shall not 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.
Izmenchivost'yu, vremya, ne kori
Menya ty, strazh velikih piramid,
Gde drevnie spyat mertvym snom cari:
Bylaya novizna menyaet vid.
Pri zhizni kratkoj voshishchayut nas
Poddelki vremeni pod starinu,
Kotorye rodyatsya chto ni chas,
CHtob nadoest', edva na nih vzglyanu.
O Vremya! My tvoi annaly chtim,
Gde s budushchim byloe zaodno.
Brosayu vyzov hronikam tvoim,
CH'i daty oprovergnuty davno.
Kak ni grozish' ty nyneshnemu dnyu,
Ne izmenyus' ya i ne izmenyu.
Sonnet CXXIV
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered,
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th' 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.
Zakonnoe ditya ili bastard -
Lyubov' moya, kogda na etom svete
Ee zachali Vremya i Azart:
Sornyak ona ili cvetok v bukete?
Lyubvi sozdat' ne mozhet sluchaj, net.
Smeyushchayasya roskosh' ne strashna
Moej lyubvi, kotoroj ne vo vred
Igrayushchie mirom vremena.
Politika, izvestnyj eretik,
Predostavlyaet vremennyj kredit.
Lyubov' moya, odnako, vne intrig:
Ni zhar, ni holod ej ne povredit.
A u kogo prestupnaya igra,
Tot predaetsya zlu, strashas' dobra.
Sonnet CXXV
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves 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 mixed with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul
When most impeached stands least in thy control.
Po-moemu, ne nuzhen baldahin
Velich'yu na izmenchivoj zemle,
Gde vechnost' - lish' skoplenie ruin,
Vidneyushchihsya v prahe i v zole.
Ne ya li videl mnimye pobedy,
Iz-za kotoryh nes poteri trus,
Kak na pirah teryayut priveredy
Iz-za priprav k zdorovym yastvam vkus?
Izvol' menya ty serdcem prichastit'!
Darov svyatyh, no bednyh, ne tayu,
CHtoby tebya iskusstvom ne prel'stit',
A zhertvu prinesti tebe moyu.
Naprasno mnit lukavyj klevetnik,
CHto vzglyadom v dushu vernuyu pronik.
Sonnet CXXVI
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 showest
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growest.
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 delayed) answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
Ty, milyj mal'chik, nam sulish' ushcherb,
K chasam pesochnym priravnyav svoj serp,
Ty vyrastaesh', nashu zhizn' gubya,
I bleknut vse, vlyublennye v tebya.
Priroda, gospozha procvetshih chad,
Otbrasyvaet i tebya nazad,
Tebe vveryaya besposhchadnyj trud,
CHtoby ty byl ubijceyu minut.
Tebya, hotya ty slyl ee lyubimcem,
Ona sochtet kogda-nibud' mzdoimcem.
Scheta proverit, podvedet itog,
I dlya tebya nastupit epilog.
Sonnet CXXVII
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 slandered with a bastardshame:
For since each hand hath put on Nature's power,
Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Sland'ring creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
Cvet ne kazalsya chernym v starinu,
Byla dosele krasota svetla,
A nynche za kakuyu zhe vinu
CHernit ee naslednicu hula?
Umelaya ruka s prirodoj v spore
Licom poddel'nym draznit nayavu,
A krasota v svoem nemom pozore
Ne vedaet, gde preklonit' glavu.
Tak voronovym sumrachnym krylom
Okrasheny i brovi, i vlasy,
Omracheny pechal'yu o bylom
Glaza moej vozlyublennoj krasy.
I zlyh nikto ne slyshit yazykov,
Vse govoryat: cvet krasoty takov.
Sonnet CXXVIII
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 bless'd than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
Kogda letyashchim naperegonki,
O muzyka moya, perstam tvoim
Tak nezhno vtoryat gammy-pozvonki,
Zvuk v dereve, kotorym sluh tomim,
Zaviduyu schastlivym pozvonkam;
Dlya nih tvoya zhelannaya ruka,
Dlya dereva, sposobnogo k pryzhkam,
Ot gub moih zapretno daleka.
Moi by guby vmesto etih shchep
Tancuyushchih vkusili torzhestvo.
Sudi sama: ne gluh ya i ne slep,
ZHivehonek, a derevo mertvo.
CHto derevyashki! Hvatit s nih persta,
A mne tvoi by celovat' usta!
Sonnet CXXIX
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;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed 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.
Duh, rastochaemyj cenoj styda, -
Vot strast' v razgare, i dotole strast' -
Predatel'stvo, muchitel'stvo, vrazhda,
Smyaten'e, bujstvo, pagubnaya vlast'.
Eshche ne radost', no uzhe pozor;
Ohotit'sya zastavit, a sama
Otravit pravote naperekor
Nazhivkoyu, svodyashcheyu s uma.
S uma svedet v pogone, provedet,
Narushiv obladaniem zapret;
Lish' ten' blazhenstva tam, gde t'ma tenet,
Sokrovishchem prikinuvshijsya bred.
Vse eto znayut vse, no kto ne rad
Podobnym nebesam, vedushchim v ad!
Sonnet CXXX
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 damasked, 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.
Ne solnce, net, moej lyubimoj vzor,
Korally krashe gub, ne ver' molve;
Grud' u nee tusklee snezhnyh gor,
CHerneyut zavitki na golove.
Hot' rozami vesennij sad bogat,
Ee lanitam roskosh' roz chuzhda;
U nej v ustah ne tol'ko aromat,
Primeshan tlen k dyhaniyu vsegda.
Otradoj nezhnyj golos mne zvuchal,
Odnako blagozvuchnee struna;
YA priznayus': bogin' ya ne vstrechal,
A miloj pochva tverdaya nuzhna.
Napyshchennost'yu lzhivoj bredit svet,
A dlya moej lyubvi sravnenij net.
Sonnet CXXXI
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 judgment's place.
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.
Tiranstvuesh', pokornogo draznya
To shutkoyu zhestokoj, to prikazom
Lish' potomu, chto tol'ko u menya
Ty bleshchesh' v serdce redkostnym almazom.
No, govoryat, ne stol' ty horosha,
CHtoby vlyublennyj muchilsya, skorbya
I serdce den' za dnem sebe krusha,
Kak ya teper' tomlyus' iz-za tebya.
Tak, muchayas' po sobstvennoj vine,
Oprovergat' ya ne derznu molvu,
No v chernom krasota siyaet mne,
I potomu ya svetom t'mu zovu.
No u tvoih deyanij chernyj cvet,
I v etom podtverzhdenie klevet.
Sonnet CXXXII
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.
Kak dorog mne v glazah tvoih namek
Na zhalost'; ne v tvoem li serdce gnev
CHernejshej t'moj glaza tvoi oblek,
Za skorb' moyu menya zhe pozhalev?
Ne tak idet licu vostoka v serom
Luch solnca, zolotyashchij sklony gor,
Ne tak idet zvezda nebesnym sferam,
CHej luch privetnyj na zakate skor,
Kak skorb' moya by serdcu tvoemu
Poshla, kak mrak tvoim glazam idet,
Kogda by sostradatel'nuyu t'mu
Ty mne prednaznachala v moj chered.
I podtverdit' ya mog by nesprosta:
Klyanus', chto tol'ko v chernom krasota!
Sonnet CXXXIII
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 be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engrossed:
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken;
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed.
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 serdcu, ranivshemu nas
Oboih, tak chto muchit nas nedug,
I ne odin skorblyu ya chto ni chas,
So mnoyu v rabstve moj sladchajshij drug;
Na volyu rvat'sya - tshchetnaya potuga.
Tvoim zhestokim vzorom sokrushen,
Tebya i samogo sebya i druga,
Kaznennyj trizhdy, ya toboj lishen.
YA zaklyuchen v tvoej stal'noj grudi.
Moj drug so mnoj, pust' serdcem ya ubog,
Ty hot' ego ot muk osvobodi,
A serdce ty ostav' moe v zalog.
No ty moya tyur'ma, stena k stene;
YA tvoj, on tvoj, kak vse, chto est' vo mne.
Sonnet CXXXIV
So now I have confessed that he is thine,
And I my self 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 learned 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.
Ego tvoim priznat' mne suzhdeno,
I predayus' ya sam tebe v zaklad,
Poskol'ku v zhizni on i ya - odno:
Osvobodit' ego ya byl by rad.
Prisvoila ego tvoya alchba,
I on tebe prinadlezhat' ne proch'
Hot' v kachestve poslednego raba
Ne dlya togo li, chtoby mne pomoch'?
No krasota - tvoj gibel'nyj statut.
Ne darish' nichego, daesh' ty v rost;
Kto na tebya podat' nameren v sud,
Tot proigraet, beznadezhno prost.
Itak, moj drug toboyu oderzhim,
I oba my tebe prinadlezhim.
Sonnet CXXXV
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will,
And Will to boot, and Will in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vexed 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.
Sred' raznyh vol' tvoih zovus' ya "Vil'".
Svoyu kak hochesh' volyu pozabav',
No nevznachaj menya ne peresil',
Net, k vole ty svoej menya pribav'!
Neuzhto volya tak tvoya tesna,
CHto Vilyu v etu volyu hodu net?
Neuzhto tak ona zaselena,
CHto nezhnyj tvoj ne dlya menya privet?
Vbiraet more glad'yu zybkih mil'
Do kapli vlagu bryzzhushchih dozhdej.
A dlya tebya neuzhto lishnij Vil',
I brezguesh' ty voleyu moej?
Ty poshchadi moj alchushchij fitil'.
Sredi drugih puskaj mercaet Vil'.
Sonnet CXXXVI
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 reckoned 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."
Kogda menya ty hochesh' otognat',
Kak prochuyu svetyashchuyusya pyl',
Slepoj tvoej dushe pora by znat':
Tvoeyu volej mog by stat' ya, Vil'.
No volya ne edina u tebya.
V izvilinah tvoih ostaviv sled,
YA, Vil', ne uvil'nu, v glazah ryabya;
A vdrug bez Vilya vovse voli net?
Nezvanyj i nenazvannyj primknu
K tvoim zhelan'yam, chtoby prinyala
Ty volyu na sebya eshche odnu,
Kak budto by ona tebe mila.
Byt' mozhet, vspomnish' ty potom, kak byl':
Lyubila ty menya za imya "Vil'".
Sonnet CXXXVII
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 anchored in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment 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 erred,
And to this false plague are they now transferred.
Lyubov', slepaya dura! Ty dlya glaz
Ne porcha li? Zachem tebya ya chtu?
V tvoem ya navazhdenii pogryaz,
Hotya, byvalo, videl krasotu.
A esli porchenyj moj glaz - kryuchok,
CHtoby menya zhe, greshnogo, sudit',
Ne ya li zhadno klyunul, durachok,
Vsem serdcem, razuchivshimsya sudit'?
Poverit' zagovorshchikam-glazam,
Kak budto by horoshee v plohom,
Prel'shchat'sya serdcu razve zhe ne sram
CHertami, iskazhennymi grehom?
Tak zabluzhden'e muchaet menya,
Bolezn'yu zarazitel'noj kaznya.
Sonnet CXXXVIII
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 untutored 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 suppressed:
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 flattered be.
Lyubov' moya klyanetsya, chto ona
Pravdivaya, vsya do kornej volos.
YA veryu ej, hot' lozh' ee vidna.
Tak mog by verit' lish' molokosos.
Zavorozhennyj lzhivym yazykom,
YA, ves' vo vlasti prihotlivyh char,
Sebya uporno ubezhdayu v tom,
CHto mne ona ne lzhet i ya ne star,
CHto zh pravdu mne ona ne govorit,
Kogda kruzhit mne golovu mechta?
Vsegda lyubov' pravdiva lish' na vid,
Vlyublennyj rad zabyt' svoi leta.
S nej lgu ya sam, kak lzhet ona so mnoj,
I oba pol'shcheny takoj cenoj.
Sonnet CXXXIX
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 lov'st 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'erpressed defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
Yet do not so; but since lam near slain,
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.
Ne govori, chto dolzhen opravdat'
YA prichinennoe toboyu zlo.
Ot slov tvoih mne luchshe postradat',
Ot glaz tvoih mne slishkom tyazhelo.
Mne izmenyaj ne na glazah moih!
YA, dorogaya, razve ne postig,
Kak ty hitra, kogda, lyubya drugih,
So mnoyu ty pokonchit' mozhesh' v mig?
Ty znaesh' horosho, lyubov' moya,
CHto smert'yu mne glaza tvoi grozyat,
I, ot menya vragov moih taya,
K drugim stremish' svoj smertonosnyj vzglyad.
No vzglyadom luchshe ty menya ubej,
Izbav' ot zhizni, kak i ot skorbej.
Sonnet CXL
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.
ZHestoka ty, no takzhe bud' mudra!
YA vse-taki, hot' svyazan moj yazyk,
Kogda byvaet slishkom bol' ostra,
Krasnorechivejshij iz goremyk.
Mne govori: "lyublyu", pust' ne lyubya,
I ya poverit' etomu gotov;
Tak pri smerti prishedshemu v sebya
Bol'nomu govoryat, chto on zdorov.
Inache ya v otchayan'e pridu,
Pripravlyu pravdoj gor'kij vkus klevet,
Derznu tebya ogovorit' v bredu,
I mozhet mne durnoj poverit' svet.
Ot etogo menya ty uderzhi
Ne serdcem - vzglyadom, polnym nezhnoj lzhi.
Sonnet CXLI
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 unswayed 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.
Tebya ne lyubit moj revnivyj vzglyad,
Moi glaza tvoj chernyj vidyat greh;
Dlya serdca zhe lyuboj porok tvoj svyat,
Dlya serdca moego ty luchshe vseh.
Ni sluha ne prel'stish', ni osyazan'ya;
Ni nozdri, ni razborchivyj moj rot
Imet' uzhe ne mogut prityazan'ya
Na chuvstvennejshij pir tvoih shchedrot.
Pyat' chuvstv moih i pyat' dushevnyh sil
Uderzhivayut serdce, no ono,
Kto by iz nih ego ni pristydil,
Odno toboyu rabski pleneno.
No neizmenno tem ya voshishchen,
CHto lish' toboj pokaran i prel'shchen.
Sonnet CXLII
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 sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st 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!
V lyubvi k tebe legko menya vinit',
Sej nenavistnyj greh moj bezusloven,
No ty sebya izvol' so mnoj sravnit' -
I ubedish'sya, kto iz nas vinoven.
Osudyat kak prekrasnye usta
Tvoi menya, kogda, manya mechty,
Lyubovnym lihoimstvom zanyata,
Kak ya, chuzhie lozha grabish' ty?
Brosayu na tebya vlyublennyj vzor,
Kak ty vlyublenno smotrish' na drugih.
Neuzhto ne nahodish' do sih por
Ty zhalosti dlya gorestej moih?
V bezzhalostnoj ty vspomnish' zapadne,
Kak ty byla bezzhalostna ko mne.
Sonnet CXLIII
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.
Brosaetsya hozyayushka lovit'
Stremyashchegosya s ptich'ego dvora
Sbezhat', chtoby ego ostanovit':
Na vertel, mozhet byt', emu pora.
Krichit ee mladenec bez konca
Pokinutyj, poka v pogone mat';
Pernatogo ne znaya begleca,
Ditya ne mozhet materi ne zvat'.
Ty za nadezhdoj gonish'sya svoej,
Ty gonish'sya, a pojmannoe gde zh?
Pojmat' neulovimoe sumej,
No i menya, ditya tvoe, utesh'.
Zovu tebya, pechali ne taya:
YA Vil', ya volya - ch'ya, kak ne tvoya!
Sonnet CXLIV
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 coloured 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 turned fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not 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.
Tak ya zhivu vo vlasti duhov dvuh:
Hranitelyu perechit nedrug moj;
Muzhchinoj predstaet mne svetlyj duh,
A zhenshchina grozit mne vechnoj t'moj.
Ona menya davno v Geennu prochit,
Svyatogo pohishchaet u menya
I, silyas' v besa prevratit', morochit,
Tshcheslav'em chistotu ego draznya.
YA podozren'em tyagostnym tomim:
CHto esli angel v besa prevrashchen?
Uzh slishkom on sblizhaetsya s drugim,
Kak budto preispodneyu prel'shchen,
No vse eshche mne kazhetsya: vot-vot
Zloj angel s dobrym geniem porvet.
Sonnet CXLV
Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said "I hate".
To me that languished 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 altered with an end,
That followed 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".
Iz ust, kotorye ruka
Lyubvi odnazhdy sozdala,
Sorvavsheesya s yazyka:
"YA nenavizhu!" Mne so zla
Skazala tak ona, no zlost'
Smenilas' zhalost'yu v tot mig,
Kak ischezaet strashnyj gost',
CHto lish' otchasti ya postig.
"YA nenavizhu", - tak mne vsluh
Skazala ty, no net, ne tak.
Gotov ischeznut' adskij duh,
Noch' vozvrashchaetsya vo mrak.
"YA nenavizhu!" - ya, skorbya,
Ponik i slyshu: "Ne tebya!"
Sonnet CXLVI
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 shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
Dusha, ty zhalkij centr zemli, gde greh
Buntuet, na tebya naklikav tlen.
Zachem zhe ty, starayas' izo vseh
Sil, ukrashaesh' vneshnost' brennyh sten?
Zachem ty zhizn'yu zhertvuesh' svoej,
CHtoby ukrasit' plotskij svoj chertog
I nakormit' bezzhalostnyh chervej,
Kotoryh izbezhat' nikto ne mog?
ZHivi zhe ty sama, dusha, za schet
Lukavogo i hishchnogo slugi;
Smelee rastochaj naprasnyj gnet,
Smertel'noj roskosh'yu prenebregi.
S®esh' to, chto smert' gotova s®est' sejchas;
Smert' umoriv, spasesh' sebya i nas.
Sonnet CXLVII
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 expressed;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Lyubov' moya muchitel'no techet;
Tem sladostnej na rany sypat' sol',
A bol' moyu tem bolee vlechet
To, chto, kak prezhde, prichinyaet bol'.
Rassudok vracheval moyu lyubov',
Menya pokinuv po moej vine,
A nyne smert', kak ej ni prekoslov',
Svoe lekarstvo predlagaet mne.
Zachem zhe mne lechen'e, esli vlech'
Smert' prodolzhaet, vyzyvaya bred,
I naugad moya bluzhdaet rech',
Utrativshaya pravdu mne vo vred.
YA klyalsya, naprimer, chto ty svetla,
A ty cherna, kak noch', i adski zla.
Sonnet CXLVIII
O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight;
Or, if they have, where is my judgment 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 vexed 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.
Neuzhto zren'e izmenyaet mne,
Lyubov'yu ochevidnoe poprav,
I potomu rassudok v storone,
CHto pered navazhdeniem ne prav?
Dopustim, vernyj glaz ne mozhet lgat',
I ty svetla, tak pochemu zhe svet
Glaza moi gotov oprovergat'
Svoim neumolimym rezkim "net"?
CHto delat'! Ot lyubvi v glazah temno.
Zavolokla zrachki moi toska.
Glazam skvoz' slezy videt' ne dano.
Ne viden solncu mir skvoz' oblaka.
Lyubov' slepit kovarno tokom slez,
No tem prelestnej gryaz' grehovnyh grez.
Sonnet CXLIX
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 my self, 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 lov'st, and I am blind.
Ty govorish', tebya ya ne lyublyu,
No kak priznat' podobnuyu vinu,
Kogda ya porazhenie terplyu,
S toboj vedya protiv sebya vojnu?
Mil, skazhesh', mne byl nenavistnik tvoj,
I ya podmigival tvoim vragam?
Zachem karaesh' ty menya s lihvoj,
Kak budto ne kaznyu sebya ya sam?
No kak by ya tebe perechit' mog?
Gordit'sya mne dostoinstvom kakim,
Kogda ya obozhayu tvoj porok
I povinuyus' lish' glazam tvoim?
Konechno, ya v lyubvi moej nelep.
Ty lyubish' teh, kto vidit, ya zhe slep.
Sonnet CL
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 warrantlse 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.
Tak ty prevozmogaesh' svoj iz®yan?
Kakoyu siloj dvizhesh' mnoj, skazhi,
Tak chto klyanus', toboyu obuyan:
Dnyu vreden svet, pogryaz moj vzor vo lzhi?
Otkuda u tebya podobnyj dar?
I pochemu davno nichem inym
YA ne prel'shchayus', krome etih char,
Zatmivshih nailuchshee durnym?
Ne ob®yasnish' li ty mne, pochemu
Lyublyu ya to, chto nenavidyat vse?
Dover'sya, nakonec, ty moemu
Pristrastiyu k tvoej durnoj krase.
Tak ya lyublyu tebya odnu iz vseh.
Lyubi menya za to, chto eto greh.
Sonnet CLI
Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not conscience is born oflove?
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 thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
Stol' moloda lyubov', chto sovest' ej
Nevedoma, hot' eyu rozhdena.
Prelestnica! Menya ty pozhalej!
V kom, esli ne v tebe, moya vina?
Ty predala menya, i ya predam
Sebya moej zhe nizmennoj prirode;
Moya dusha zaviduet skotam,
Plot' vosstaet v neistovoj svobode.
Kogda tebya po imeni zovut,
Plot' ukazuet na tebya uzhe,
Kak predannyj holop tvoj, tut kak tut,
Vstaet i padaet pri gospozhe.
Tak chto zhe eto - sovest' ili strast':
Lyubvi moej v ugodu vstat' i past'?
Sonnet CLII
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 eye,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!
YA klyalsya lozhno, pylok i revniv.
Ne dvazhdy li ty neverna obetam?
Prel'shchaesh' lozh'yu, lozhe oskverniv,
I nenavidish' ty menya pri etom.
No esli ty klyalas' dva raza lozhno,
Ne dvadcat' li poklyalsya lozhno raz
YA v tom, vo chto poverit' nevozmozhno,
V tom, chto ty mne verna ne napokaz?
YA klyalsya, chto nemyslimo dobra ty,
CHto somnevat'sya mne v tebe greshno;
Moi glaza, ya klyalsya, vinovaty
V tom, chto tak yasno videt' im dano.
CHto ty chista, poklyalsya ya, lyubya,
I lozh'yu zapyatnal ya sam sebya.
Sonnet CLIII
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 borrowed 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 distempered guest,
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
Bog Kupidon zasnul i fakel svoj
Zabyl v trave. Odna iz nezhnyh dev
V otmestku pogruzila ognevoj
Sej svetoch v vodu, zhara ne sterpev.
I u lyubvi zaimstvovannyj zhar
Istochnikom uvekovechen byl,
I priobrel istochnik divnyj dar:
Celit' bol'nyh, vrachuya vrednyj pyl.
Prosnulsya bog i razdobyl ognya
V plenitel'nyh glazah moej lyubvi,
I zapalil on serdce u menya.
Kakaya hvor' s teh por v moej krovi!
Istochnik ot nee menya ne spas,
Pomozhet mne lish' plamen' teh zhe glaz.
Sonnet CLIV
The little Love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed 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 warmed;
And so the General of hot desire
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed.
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.
Spal bog lyubvi, svoj fakel uroniv,
Kotoryj u neschastnyh ne v chesti;
Sbezhalis' docheri lesov i niv,
Poklyavshiesya devstvennost' blyusti,
I samaya prekrasnaya iz nih
Tot okunula plamennik v rodnik;
Tak devstvennoj rukoj v lesah gluhih
Razoruzhen byl derzkij ozornik.
Goryach istochnik ot lyubvi s teh por;
Tuda prihodit skorbnyj piligrim,
I mozhet iscelit'sya tot, kto hvor,
Lish' ya, tvoj bednyj rab, neizlechim.
Voda sposobna plamen' pobedit',
Odnako ej lyubvi ne ostudit'.
Last-modified: Mon, 06 Mar 2006 11:02:47 GMT