Uil'yam SHekspir. Venera i Adonis
Poema
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Perevod s anglijskogo V. Ladogina
M.; SPb, Letnij sad, 2001
OCR Bychkov M.N.
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Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.
Ovidius. "De Amore"
Deshevka izumlyaet tolpu; pust' Apollon
ryzhevolosyj mne dostavit chashi,
polnye Kastal'skoj vody.
Ovidij. "O lyubvi"
Dostopochtennomu Genri Rajzli,
grafu Sautgemptonu i baronu Tichfildu
Ne znayu sam, kak ya osmelilsya posvetit' Vam, milord, moi koryavye stroki,
ne znayu, prostit li mne svet vybor stol' moshchnoj opory pri stol' legkom
bremeni, no esli moj dar ne oskorbit Vashego dostoinstva, to ya pochtu eto
vyssheyu nagradoj, i poklyanus' ne znat' otdyha, poka ne napishu v Vashu chest'
trud bolee vesomyj. Esli zhe pervoe ditya moih fantazij okazhetsya nedostojnym
Vas, ya mne budet stydno za to, chto ya vybral dlya nego takogo blagorodnogo
krestnogo otca, i ya s teh por uzhe ne osmelyus' vozdelyvat' stol' besplodnuyu
pochvu, chtoby ne poluchit' vnov' takogo plohogo urozhaya. YA ostavlyayu eto
proizvedenie na Vash dostopochtennyj sud, sud chesti i serdca; i zhelayu
ispolneniya vseh Vashih zhelanij i vseh nadezhd, kotorye vozlagaet na Vas mir.
Ostayus' pokornym slugoj Vashej chesti,
Uil'yam SHEKSPIR
Po mestu mokromu v glazah zari
S nadutyh solnca shchek udaril luch.
Adonis vskach'. Von tam, verhom - smotri,
Kak krasnoshchek! Borzye layut s kruch,
Sama Venera mal'chiku smeshna,
Kak nishchenka, vizzhit skvoz' pesij laj ona!
"Samoj sebya mne ty milej trikrat!
Car'-cvetik polevoj, moj nesravnenno sladkij!
Po mnen'yu nimf, vseh krashe ty podryad
Krasnee da belee golubka u rozy v gryadke.
Tebya priroda v mukah rodila,
Boyas', kak by s toboj ne umerla.
|j, prelest', ne soshel by ty s konya,
Da k vetke povod by ne podvyazal,
Sedlo ostaviv! Sprygni, vsya tvoya
Zdes' sladkih tajn Venerina kazna!
Syuda sadis', gde net shipen'ya zmej,
I zharkim poceluem krov' sogrej!
Ne voroti presyshchennogo rta,
No polnyj meda, raskryvaj dlya meda!
To bledna, to krovava lask cherta,
Sto chmokov migom i vzasos, kak v vodu!
Den' leta krasnogo umchitsya chasom,
My vkusno sgubim sutki pervym klassom!"
I hvat' ladon', i zhadno lizhet pot,
Mcha ryadom s povodom, i zapah krepysha,
Drozha, skvoz' nozdri tyanet, tochno p'et,
Hripya: "Mne sladko!" Eknula dusha
U Zevsa azh. Pridal on dochke sil.
Pal otrok v prah, chtob vozvenchat' zloj pyl.
Odnoj rukoj smiryaya skakuna,
Kasaetsya do cvetika drugoj.
On al, on bel, svinec, kak s boduna,
Pul'siruet pod potnoyu shleej,
Ona krasnej uglya i zharche plit.
On - led, lish' na shchekah sverkaet styd.
Nashedshi vetku dlya uzdy krivuyu,
Mastachit privyaz' - rastoropna strast'.
"S konem poryadok. Daj-ka obmozguyu,
Kak sputat' vsadnika". Mgnovenno - shast'!
Tolk parnya navznich', kak by vsya v ispuge.
Skok na nego! da v chreslah net natugi...
Hotya ego v paden'e dognala,
Opersya on o lokot', i ona
Da sboku po shcheke! On: "Kak mogla?!"
Lish' rot otkryl - uzh tam ee slyuna.
I rech' ee, skvoz' trudnoe dyhan'e:
"CHur - ne rugat'sya - pridushu gubami!"
Pozorno krasen on. Ona zhe plachet...
Molya, slezami tushit zhar shcheki,
Vetr s gub letit, zlataya griva mashet,
Mokrit yunca, tret lokonom suhim -
"Ostav'te etu gadost', gospozha!" -
No davit na yazyk yazyk, drozha.
Tak klyuv tryasetsya u orlicy zhrushchej,
Rvya yaro zhir, iz ploti kost' tryasya,
S ryvkami strashnyh kryl, v prah, v puh, vse, vsya!
Dotla, ili do sytosti gnetushchej,
Tak lob, lanity, borodu soset,
I kak pokonchit - syznova nachnet.
Pritisnutyj, on terpit ne lyubya.
Vspotel, i vydyhaet ej v lico.
Ona zh vpivaet etot duh v sebya,
Bryzg slyun', sol' pota mnitsya ej rosoj.
"Ah, pust' by shcheki zarosli cvetami,
Takimi oroshaemy struyami!.."
Nu pryam kak ptashka v putah setevyh,
Rashristan otrok v beshenyh rukah.
Otpor, pozor i styd v glazah suhih,
I lakom gnev ej v yarostnyh ochah!
Tak veshnij liven', reku orosiv,
Iz beregov krutyh rodit razliv.
Mol'ba iz nezhnyh ust ee, mol'ba!
Priniknut' ushkom k zvonu volshebstva,
No on ugryum i zol. "Pri chem slova?"
Kak styd, bagrov, i bleden, kak sud'ba,
Kak ej rumyanec nravitsya lihoj,
Da i kogda on blednen'kij takoj!
Est' vybor u nego, ne u nee,
Bessmertnaya ruchaetsya, stenaya,
Ne slezt' s nego, pokuda... V tom daet
Lyubuyu klyatvu, vse pripominaya,
CHto pogasit' pylan'e sleznyh struj,
CHto vyputat'sya dast lish' poceluj.
Na obeshchan'e klyunuv podborodkom,
Kak na kryuchok, kak iz volny v luchi,
Kak ryba, kak nyrok, napugan, krotok,
YAvil on rot, mol, platu poluchi,
No lish' kosnulsya zhenskij rot zaloga.
Otdernul vbok zakusku nedotroga.
Rosinki v zasuhu ne zhazhdet putnik,
Kak zhenshchina, chtob on vernul ej rot,
I plyuh by v gryaz'! An chist, an ne rasputnik...
Goryat glaza, dymyatsya... Zub nejmet.
"Da chto zhe ty za kamennyj yunec?
Nu daj hot' pocelujchik, nakonec!
Proshu o tom, zachem ko mne vzhivuyu
Bujnolyubivyj begal Bitvobog,
Ne gnuvshij srodu zhilistuyu vyyu;
T'my vrazh'i popiral ego sapog,
No stal moim rabom, mne podchinyalsya,
Voz'mi zh to, dlya chego on unizhalsya!
On polozhil svoj drot na moj altar',
Uzhasnyj shchit i operennyj shlem,
I v chest' moyu pazhom yavilsya car',
Vse antrasha splyasal, byl myagok, chto tvoj krem,
Al'kov moj vybral polevym shatrom,
Za krovi grom v viskah otdal i krov', i grom.
YA posadila gordogo carya
Na cep' iz milliarda alyh roz,
Stal' szhav rukoj, plevkom ogon' smirya,
Rekla: "Net, ne lyublyu ya Vas, geroj-s",
Tak ne kichilsya b vlast'yu ty, salaga,
Nad serdcem, preziravshem azh varyaga {*}.
{* Variant: Tak ne kichilsya b vlast'yu ty, ej-bogu,
Nad serdcem, preziravshem azh Svaroga!}
Nu zhe, tron' guby mne, rot nezemnoj,
Kuda ne kin', moj tozhe rot horosh,
Ved' obshchij poceluj-to, moj, no tvoj.
CHto v zemlyu tknulsya, chto v zemle najdesh'?
V moi glaza vzglyani-ka, milyj fetish,
CHto zh gub ne slit', uzh raz v glazah tak svetish'?
Stesnyaesh'sya? Zazhmur'sya, dorogoj,
I ya zazhmuryus'. Hochesh' v noch' sygrat'?
Drug, v tele zhit' nel'zya dushe odnoj,
Pobalujsya, nikto ne budet znat',
Fialki ne rasskazhut lepestkami,
CHto nashimi razdavleny bokami!
Pust' net usov pokuda nad guboj,
Odin aprel'! A vse zhe, daj na probu,
Davaj ih pustim v hod, i Zevs s toboj,
Sidet' v sebe, kak zhit' pod kryshkoj groba,
Kogda cvetka volshebnogo ne snyat'
Skorej s kusta, on mozhet ved' uvyat'!
Bud' v chir'yah ya, ili krugom v morshchinah,
Gorbatoj, dryahloj, lysoj i bol'noj,
Koryavoj i frigidnoj durachinoj,
Vizzhala b vsya v soplyah, tak fig so mnoj!
Skazal by ty: "Mne eta dryan' ne para!"
No vyglyazhu ya ladno i ne staro!
CHto zh dut'sya? Lob pokuda bez morshchin,
Ser yarkij glaz i veselo strelyaet,
I vozrast beskonechnyh imenin,
Mne snosu net, plot' s kazhdym dnem svezhaet,
Voz'mi hot' ruku, i v tvoej, vlazhna,
Utopnet i rasplavitsya ona!
Veli, ya sluh tvoj pen'em ocharuyu.
Il' bystry nozhki v vozduh otorvu,
I v zlate vlas, ne vskolyhnuv travu,
Promchus', sleda v peskah ne prorisuyu!
Lyubov' est' duh, iz plameni otlityj,
Sledov ne ostavlyayut afrodity!
V shipovnikom zarosshij sklon rechnoj
Vdrug prygnu i na lepestkah prilyagu,
Dva vyahirya voznosyat obraz moj -
Tak legko to, chto na tebya, bednyagu,
Tak davit; plyaska igr moih bystra,
Kak mig granicy nochi i utra!
CHto zh lyubish' ty? Ne samoe sebya li?
CHto zh, drug, lyubite samogo sebya.
Vsyu zhizn' desnicu shujcej terebya!
V bezumii, svobode i pechali.
Znaj, k otrazhen'yu guby vse tyanul "
Narciss, da chmoknul prud, i potonul...
Naden'sya, brilliant, sverkaj, svecha,
Lekarstvo - pejsya! I laskaj, krasa!
I duh v nozdryu, i shubu na plecha,
A sam s usam byt' veshch' v sebe nel'zya!
Krasa rodit krasu, trava - travu,
Rozhdennyj dolzhen mne! I ya zovu!
Ne mozhesh' ty, zemnyh vkushaya blag,
Ne dat' sebya drugim na vkus i cvet,
Prishel nagim, i mir pokinesh' nag!
Prikrojsya, i ostav' zhivym svoj sled!
I nesmotrya na smert', ty dlish'sya v teh,
Kogo ostavil zhit' tvoj legkij greh!"
S otvergnutoj bogini l'etsya pot...
Lesnaya ten' na solnce rastvorilas',
Titan v poldnevnyj zhar, ustav, kak chert,
Glad' vniz, i v zrake pohot' vocarilas':
"Vot by vernut' Adonisu svobodu,
Da podmenit' krasavca mne, urodu!"
Adonis, s zatormozhennoj dushoyu
Valyaetsya. Nepriyazn' tyazhela,
Glaz zlo, zvenyashchih pod brovej dugoyu,
Kak (svet) nebes vdrug tucha presekla:
"Poshli, - krichit, - t'fu! O lyubvi horosh!
YA shcheki szheg na solnce! Stop, ne trozh'!"
"Tak yun, a uzh nastol'ko hamovat! -
Otvetom bylo. - Net tebe poshchady!
Sejchas vzdohnu, tak svezhij aromat
Rta ohladit tebe lanity, chado,
Primolkni v zolotyh kudrej teni.
Kak vspyhnut kudri, slez potok - sverkni.
Siyayut, no ne zhgutsya nebesa,
Glyan', ya teper' mezh solncem i toboj,
Mezh dvuh ognej, no solnce - lish' osa,
Ognem zmeinym zrak sochitsya tvoj,
Oh, kaby ya bessmertnoj ne byla,
Mezh zharkih tverdej vspyhnut' - i dotla!
Ty, paren', chto? Kremen' il' zheleznyak?
Ne kamen' ty, ved' kaplya kamen' tochit.
Voobshche, syn zhenshchiny ty, ili kak?
Kak? ZHenskij syn - i zhenshchiny ne hochet!
A esli ty pohozh na mat' tvoyu,
Komu s nej udalos' sozdat' sem'yu?!
Da za kogo zhe ty menya schitaesh',
CHto ves' drozhish', kak pod nozhom baran?
Neschastnyj poceluishko skryvaesh'
V gubenkah! Nu, hot' slovo! Cyc, pacan!
Molchi i daj, a ya vernu obratno,
CHmok mne i dva tebe, i nam priyatno!
T'fu, kukla pucheglazaya, utes!
Durackij idol, cherstvyj istukan!
Bulyzhnik, pocelovannyj vzasos,
Muzhik, kakoj ty mater'yu byl sran?!
Net, ne muzhik, ot muzhika ty fantik!
Muzhik celuet sam; ty, mal'chik - sboku bantik!"
I vdrug ee yazyk molchaniem okovan,
I pauza gudyashchaya v gubah.
Ej dushno, durno, strastnyj zhar v nej, slovom,
Sebya ne chuet, sok gorit v grudyah,
I slezy gor'kie u nej bezmolvny
L'yut, kak ruchej. V mozgu zhe - zvuki dombry.
Tryahnet kudryami, shvatit mal'cu ruku,
To v zemlyu vperitsya, to v miloe lico,
Obnimet i pril'net, ili dast volyu drugu,
CHtob prilaskal. To boretsya s yuncom,
Kogda on rvetsya, ryk izdav durnoj,
Persty zamkom slagaet za ego spinoj.
I govorit: "Raz ya tebya pojmala,
V svoj rozovyj, v svoj blednyj plen grudnoj,
Vojdi v moj sad oleshkom godovalym,
Pej s gub, pasis' v kudryah, lizhi, rodnoj,
Solenye holmy grudej suhie,
A to spuskajsya v dol, gde gejzery zlatye!
YA - sad zemnoj, vo mne vsego najdesh':
Moshok zelenyj, hrustkij belyj yagel',
Holmov i chashch moih prekrasna drozh'!
Olen', tvoj sled zdes' ne syskat' sobake,
Vojdi v moj burelom, kak v rodnyj dom,
I dazhe majskoj buri smolknet grom!"
Prezritel'no Adonis osklablyalsya,
Venere yamochki na shchechkah pokazal.
Ah, chto za yamochek vladel'cem on yavlyalsya,
Sama lyubov' ih provertela, egoza!
Otlichno znaya, hot' umri hozyain,
A zhit' vovek lyubvi vospominan'yam!
Ah yamochki, ah rakoviny zla!
Dusha bogini ruhnula v ih groby,
CHto zlo lyubvi, kogda uzh lyubish' ty kozla?
Svedet s uma, no ty uzhe s uma soshla...
CHto yamochki? Vsya grud' polna serdechnoj zloby.
Svoim oruzhiem Venera srazhena,
Svihnula, v yamochki popav, mozgi ona.
CHto skazhesh' na holodnuyu uhmylku?
Net slov, rydan'ya sotryasayut byust,
Dal deru on. Vsled bystromu zatylku
Ona krichit o sostoyan'e chuvstv:
"Pobud', ne uhodi, lobzaj menya!.."
No vidit on lish' svoego konya...
No vdrug kobyla, iz sosedstvennyh kustov
Vyskakivaya, krutit gordym krupom
I nezhno rzhet. I vse. I kon' gotov.
Valezhnik razmetav v userd'e glupom,
On rvetsya s privyazi, i suk hrustit.
Zvuk lopnuvshej uzdy i stuk kopyt.
O korni drev, o mshistye kamen'ya
Podkovy b'yut; hrap, zvon, podprugi tresk;
Terzaet zemlyu gvozd' bez sozhalen'ya;
I pochva stonet, oglushaya les;
Mundshtuk zheleznyj hrustnul na zubah -
Kto byl rabom, vdrug skachet, kak monarh!
Ushami pryadaya, on mechet ogn'
Zlatistoj grivy na spinu krutuyu,
I pyshut dvoe zamshevyh berlog,
Kak mehi, na poverhnost' ognevuyu.
Vzor zharok, kak klinok na nakoval'ne,
I molot serdca b'etsya v takt zhelan'ya.
On kon'-tancor, on chto, uchen baletu?
Kak myagko velichav, kak gordo skromen,
Kopytom b'et kopyto, hvost, kak lenta,
Vot-vot i skazhet: "Pravda, sil'nyj nomer?
On prednaznachen malen'koj kobylke,
YA k nej imeyu chuvstv buketik pylkij".
I chto konyu hozyajskie prikazy:
"|j, ty, nazad, komu ya govoryu!",
CHto shpor udar, chto pletka za prokazy?..
Zlata popona, grozd'ya yantaryu
Na cheprake - kon' slep ot obozhan'ya.
Vkrug obraza lyubvi slepoe vek drozhan'e,
A sam horosh; smotri-ka, zhivopisec
Nadumal v holst prirodu zaklyuchit'
I dat' ej krasotu, proporcij vidimost',
No gladko mertvoe, a zhizn' (ah-ah) torchit'!
I tol'ko kon', hot' zhiv, no sorazmeren:
Stat', forma, shtrih i cvet, i abris veren.
Kruglokopytyj, babki - tochno babochki,
V grudi shirok, glazast, s nozdrej dyhucheyu,
Ne vislozad, korotkouh, vse kak po spravochke,
I s inohod'yu myagkoj i mogucheyu.
Takaya loshad' gozha dlya togo,
CHtoby nosit' geroya moego.
Uvy i ah... Vdrug kon', byvalo, pryanet,
Uslysha zvuk krutyashchegosya puha
I pryadaet na legkij veter uho
I vdrug, kak budto vzmahom kryl'ev kanet
Letuch kak vozduh, grivu, hvost pusha,
Kak budto skachet s kryl'yami dusha.
K zaznobushke sosedyas', smotrit zharko.
Umil'no zhdet otveta uhazher,
Ej viden on naskvoz'. Kak strastno rzhet ego tovarka,
Vse devki lyubyat vzdohi na pozor.
Pust' serdce zherebyach'e ej otkryto,
Lyagaet, kak kabluk, tak vot kopyto.
I kon' melanholichnym chudakom,
Hvostom motaya kislo, kak plyumazhem,
Svoj plavyashchijsya krup spasaet veterkom,
V ten' otstupiv, i lipkih muh davya zhe.
Uzrev sie, stanovitsya koketka
Privetlivej. I chto zh? Rastayal, detka..
Hozyain strogij hochet vlezt' v sedlo.
Nu ty smotri, merzavka ugadala,
Ot revnosti kak dernet proch' (nazlo) -
I vnov' sedlo ot konnika sbezhalo.
Kak psihi, mchatsya po lesu stremglav,
Voron orushchih krepko napugav.
Adonis opustilsya na pesok.
I zherebca rugaet na chem svet.
I vnov' gorit nadezhdy ugolek
V grudi Venery, pochemu by net.
Vlyublennyj verit, chto boltlivyj rot
Grud' ot razryva serdca upaset.
Kogda zakryta pech', kogda zapruzhen tok,
To yarostnej voda i zharche pyl ognya.
Tak i napor strastej, grub da zhestok,
Razveyat' pomogaet boltovnya.
YAzyk - horoshij serdcu advokat,
A kto molchal - u vseh stal vinovat.
Veneru vidya, on rassvirepel,
Kak budto na ugli ona podula,
Nadvinuv glubzhe shlyapu, zasopel.
I smotrit v zemlyu, chernuyu, kak dulo,
Receptov vovse tam ne nahodya.
Sledya za nej i dushu beredya.
Zanyaten vid bogini molodoj,
Polzushchej po-plastunski k sorvancu.
Zanyaten lic rumyanec nalivnoj,
Vid kraski, prygayushchej po licu.
Belyj naliv lanit, i vdrug - ne tron'! -
B'et molniej antonovskij ogon'.
Nu vot. Podkralas' ispodvol' k pen'ku,
Volshebnoyu zmeeyu u kolen,
I popravlyaet shlyapu paren'ku.
Drugoj rukoj kosnuvshis' shejnyh ven,
I vyshe, gde poshchechina (Bog moj),
Alelo proshloe, kak sled v snegu zimoj.
I sshiblis' vzory ih, kak dva klinka:
Ee - molyashchie, ego - gnetushchie
Glaza, i razminulis' dva lica.
Ah, k pushchej zhalobe prezren'e pushchee!
Tak vyglyadel spektakl', i v pantomime
Porhali slezy pticami sedymi.
Ruki ne otnimaet on u nej,
Kak liliya torchit (tire) sred' snega.
Kist' mramora ty v alebastr vklej,
Vrazhdeben belyj belizne nabega,
Vojna krasot, nasiliya klubok,
I gorlinku klyuyushchij golubok.
Dushi pochtovyj golub' - damskij yazychok -
Provorkoval: "Kumir moj v smertnom mire,
Bud' ty devica, bud' ya muzhichok,
Toboj sprosta poranen, bud' ya v tire
Lyubovnom - to uzh ya b nashel bal'zam,
Hotya by zaplatil soboyu sam".
"Otdaj mne, dura, ruku, chto pristala?"
"Net, - govorit, - snachala daj mne ruku
I serdce, chtob chugunnym ne kazalos',
Slepoe skuchno ne brelo po krugu,
Ne to i ya sama ochuguneyu,
Napolnivshis' chuguniej tvoeyu".
"Pozornica! - oret on. - Ubirajsya!
Ves' den' konyu pod hvost, chto v les udral,
Vse - fokusy tvoi! Szheg shcheki, krasnyj,
Bez loshadi! Net, mat', tebe pora!
Ne do tebya mne, esli hochesh' znat'.
Konyaku b ot kobyly otorvat'".
Na chto ona: "Ah, znachit, zherebca!
I mezhdu tem, vlyublennogo dushevno,
A trudno, dazhe esli ty v serdcah,
Holodnym sdelat' plamya strasti gnevno,
Bezbrezhnej morya zhar serdec-uglej,
Tak bez tolku - orat' na loshadej.
Pokorstvennyj smotrelsya kon' na "yat'",
Ego derzhala legkaya uzda,
No stoilo kobylu uvidat',
Vse lopnulo, teper' odna zvezda.
Podprugi razletelis', i mundshtuk,
Zubami slomannyj, izdal pechal'nyj zvuk.
A kto by, vidya goluyu podruzhku
Na belozimnesnezhnoj prostyne,
Izyashchno kapnuvshuyu slyunkoj na podushku,
Hot' posle uzhina, ne vspyhnet, ves' v ogne.
Kogda moroz hot' zub'yami stuchi,
Kto lenitsya razzhech' ogon' v pechi?
Druzhochek, izvinim-ka my s toboj
Konya. Tebe by sled s nih brat' primer,
Raz mne ne udalos' privit' tebe lyubov',
Tebya obuchit rzhushchij kavaler.
Smotri, urok lyubvi, ee nauka -
Prostaya i priyatstvennaya shtuka".
"Znat' ne hochu otnyud' vsyu etu dryan',
Kuda skakat', ved' devka ne kabanchik,
Skuchishcha eto vse, i ty - otstan'.
Lyubov', lyubov'yu, lyub, lyubi, o mal'chik,
ZHizn' posle smerti v detyah, slezy, smeh...
Da luchshe v grob, chem sej vozdushnyj greh!
Kto hodit v bryukah, gde motnya ne vshita?
Kto lomit vetku verby do vesny?
Kto topchet chut' proklyunuvshee zhito -
Tomu ne svetyat hlebushki vkusny!
Vpryagi-ka v plug malogo zherebenka,
I vyrastet ne loshad', a klyachonka!
Horosh krutit' mne pal'cy, izlomaesh',
Prosti, proshchaj, pustaya boltovnya.
Naprasno moj korabl' ty abordazhish'.
CHto grecheskogo plamya mne ognya?
Utri zhe sopli, vopli, lest' i vraki.
Oreh ne po zubam tvoej atake!"
"CHto slyshu ya? Nemoj zagovoril!
No luchshe by ty, milyj moj, molchal!
Mal'chishka, chto v dushe ty natvoril,
Tvoj sladkij golos degtem v serdce stal,
Gde malo sladkogo i tak-to bylo!
Moj sluh tvoya kantata otravila!
Znaj - i oslepshi, polyublyu na sluh
Dvizhenij skripku, flejtu nezhnyh vzdohov,
Oglohnu ya - vsya plot', kak chutkij duh,
Voschuvstvuet kasan'e sladkih tokov!
I chto mne v tom, chto glaz, ushej lishus'?
YA lish' kasan'em v zhizni uderzhus'!
A esli chuvstva vse menya pokinut
I ne smogu ya kozhu osyazat',
CHto v tom?! Pokuda nozdri ne ostynut,
Strast' ne ustupit smerti ni na pyad'!
Ulovyat nozdri shchek blagouhan'e,
I napitaet strast' tvoe dyhan'e!
I vkus! Ty b tol'ko znal, kakoj ty pir!
Na chto chetyre chuvstva ostal'nye?
Vkus nebyvalyj, kak fruktovyj zhir,
Lyubov' imeet. Dveri na zamok vhodnye,
Proch' revnost', zhelch' - pronyrlivyh gostej,
Voveki polon bud', o stol strastej!"
Otkryl rot otrok - rot alej rubina,
Daby iz ust reke medovoj tech',
Reke iz pchel kusachih, piligrimu
Rot krasnyj |os predveshchaet smert'.
Zarya takaya topit shhuny, brigi,
Les valit na ovec, rvet schast'e ptic, kak varvar -
list'ya knigi.
I v rot emu smotrya, ona trepeshchet,
Ej pauza dushna pered grozoj,
Volk v fevrale tak skalit past' zloveshche
Na zhertvu. Kak pod podnyatoj nogoj
CHernichina, kak grud' za shag do puli,
Ona mertva - lish' zuby problesnuli.
I ahnula, i zavalilas' v drok.
Pod vzglyadom - bleshchushchim lyubveubijcej,
Udarivshim iz-pod brovej yadrom,
V grud'. "Ah!" (No chtob poblizhe tak svalit'sya,
Umetila.) On verit, durachok.
Ej shcheki tret, i gde ta blednost' shchek?
Durak zabyl vse vernye slova,
Kotorymi hotel otbrosit' pristavalu.
Lisica chertova, nu ty i golova!
Hot' smert' izobrazish', chtob tol'ko ne popalo.
V trave zastyvshi, kak paralitichka,
ZHdet zapaha iz milyh gub lisichka.
On nos ej tret, on lupit po shchekam,
I, pal'cy vykrutiv, schitaet pul's zapyast'ya,
On duet v guby ej. "Kakoj ya ham, -
On dumaet, - ugrobil, vot neschast'e!"
Raskayavshis', balbes ee celuet.
(Konechno zhe, ona mertva i ne kajfuet.)
I vot - o, schast'e! - tucha proneslas'!
Dve fortochki ochej provetrivayut dushu,
On, slovno solnce, nalil svetom gryaz',
Vliv zhizn', kak okean, v besformennuyu luzhu.
V nochnuyu serost' - okean nebes.
Otverzlas' tverd' oches v sapfirah sladkih slez.
Zrachki skvoz' slezy vzglyad ego nashli,
Kak budto pili iz nego svoe siyan'e,
S lunoyu solnce vmeste vvys' vzoshli,
I vot uzh vzor ego ukryt za oblakami,
Ee zhe vzglyad v prudu slez, dnem nagretom.
Gorit, kak mesyac, otrazhennym Svetom.
"Oj, gdej-to ya? - boginya voproshala, -
Vokrug Olimp, zemlya, volna ili ogon'?
Kotoryj chas? Konec ili nachalo?
YA umerla il' rodilas'? I gde tvoj kon'?
O, pomnyu vkus smertel'nyj zhizni zhutkoj,
I smert' kazalas' mne zhivejshej shutkoj.
I ty ubil menya! Ubil! Ubil!
Ubej zhe vnov', o, izverg besserdechnyj!
Glaza sochit'sya yadom nauchil
I otravlyat' mne zhizn', tvoj nrav nechelovechnyj.
Kogda by gub ty ne oblobyzal,
Uvideli by smert' pazhi moi - glaza.
Celuj zhe vo spasen'e oba oka,
CHtob sinim ih ne vycvest', kak plashcham,
Zrachkam, poka goryat oni gluboko,
Zemnuyu plot' ne zhrat' chumnym godam.
Astrolog, chto tvorit miropisan'e,
Rechet, chto mir zhivit tvoe dyhan'e
Surguch slyuny pechat'yu gub nakroj,
O, skol'ko zaplachu ya za poslan'e!
YA zaplachu, pozhalujsta, dushoj,
Kupi ee, ona - ocharovan'e;
Za vestochku gotova ya otdat'
Sebya. Vot ust surguch, vdavi pechat'!
Cenyu ya serdce v tyshchu celovnej,
Slabo po odnomu ih otschitat'?
Sto raz pro desyat', ne najdesh' smeshnej
Ceny. Smeshnye den'gi greh ne dat',
A to na schetchik popadesh', prosrochiv,
No chto dve tyshchi, tak, promezhdu prochim?"
"Poslushaj, feya, esli vpravdu lyubish',
Spishi na vozrast vse moi finty,
Sebya ne znayushchego prigubiv - zagubish',
Daj stat' shchurenku shchukoj, slyshish', ty?
Ty zh slivu esh'-to zreluyu, kak med,
A ne zelenuyu, chtob zabolel zhivot?
Smotri, zakrylo solnyshko kalitku
Na zapade, trudom utomleno.
Zauhala sova, chitaya t'my otkrytku,
Stada v hlevah, i pticy v gnezdah spyat davno.
I ugol'nye tuchi neba svet
Zastlali... Nam by uzh prostit'sya sled.
Davaj drug drugu skazhem "Dobru noch'",
I budet poceluj tebe togda".
"Da! Dobroj nochi", - kriknula zvezda
Venera. Tol'ko on otvetit' hochet,
Ona vkrug shei strastno obvilas',
I v guby priotkrytye vpilas'.
Teper', pokuda gub ne otberet
Korallovyh moj plennik ot lobzan'ya,
Ona slyuny vpivaet sladkij med,
I poceluj narushil rasstavan'e.
On zadohnulsya, feya zhazhdet lask,
I, slivshis', padayut v desyatyj raz.
Tak strast' vpivaet zhadno zhertvy drozh',
Tak rys' zhret zajku, popostyas' nedelyu,
Rot - reketir, den'gu sosushchij nozh,
Razdel do nitki za plohoe poveden'e,
Kak Igor'-knyaz' tak oblozhil drevlyan,
Tak na issohshem rtu strast'-sokol krov'yu p'yan.
Razboj v nej budit zloe sladostrast'e,
I krutitsya v neistovstve ona,
Dymyas' licom, v parah hmel'nogo bezobraz'ya,
V beschestnom glume dop'yana p'yana,
Mozgi kidaya v plamennuyu t'mu,
I styd, i dushu rasteryav v dymu.
A on, razdavlennyj kovarnymi tiskami,
Kak skvorushka sprosta rebyach'imi rukami,
Il' zagnannyj olen' pred pes'im rykom,
Ili ditya pred materinskim likom,
On ej ni v chem uzh bol'she ne perechit,
Vot bez pregrad ona ikru-to mechet.
Vosk tverd. No tak myagcheet ot nagreva,
CHto tronesh' - otpechatok nalico.
Nadezhdu zamenyaet pyl dushevnyj,
Ne pahnushchij ni meroj, ni koncom,
Lyubov' otnyud' ne rodstvennica straha,
Pret na rozhon, durna, chto rosomaha.
Nahmur' on brov', i vyl'etsya obratno
Nektar slyuny iz zhadnyh zhenskih ust,
Lyubaya kolkost' gonit bezvozvratno
Strast', ship oboronyaet alyj kust.
No strast' i dvadcat' obojdet zamkov.
Rvya vse cvety, vseh izbezhav shipov.
ZHal', do utra ne uderzhat' bolvana,
CHto noet, umolyaya otpustit',
I ej prihoditsya rot otorvat' ot krana,
Skazav: "Proshchaj zhe, da ne smej zabyt'!
Kak gadko unesti vo rtu s soboyu
CHuzhoe serdce s votknutoj streloyu!
Ah, sladen'kij, ya do utra proplachu!
Tebya glaza bol'nomu serdcu ne pokazhut,
Kak naschet zavtra smotrish'? A? A, zajchik?
A, kak ty zavtra? CHto, moj bog, ved' da zhe?"
"Net, izvini, - otvetila stena, -
Sobralsya koe s kem na kabana".
"Na kabana?" Vot tut ona bledneet.
Kak polotno nad tol'kochtoshnoj rozoj,
Ot slova "vepr'" v lico ej stuzha veet.
Na shee visnet, perepugana ugrozoj.
I, vrode nenarochno, vniz vlechet.
I - na spinu pod nim, lovka, kak chert!
Neuzhto dozhdalas'? Uzh on na nej!
Verhom sokolik zharkij, vse gotovo!
O, sok mechty - obil'nej vseh slyunej!
Prizhmurilas'... An net tolchka zhivogo...
I suh vozle vody Tantala rot,
Zashla, vish', baba v raj, da srazu zh ot vorot...
Kak bednye obmanutye ptichki
Risovannye yagody klyuyut,
Tak mashut ee nogi po privychke,
A yagod net v zheludkah ptic, i tut...
ZHar naverstat', upushchennyj pod zhivotom,
Staraetsya celuyushchimsya rtom.
Vse bez tolku, carica, zrya mahala,
Vse sredstva horoshi, da tolku v nih...
Ty, rasstaravshis', zdorovo popala,
Lyubov' ty. Ty vlyubilas'. Izvini...
"T'fu na tebya, - oret, - pusti, dostala!
S chego b opyat' ty tak menya zahomutala?"
"O, ty b ushel, moj sladkij, uhodya,
No strashen mne rasskaz tvoj ob ohote,
Preduprezhdayu ya tebya, ditya,
Vam kabana ne vzyat' za zdorovo zhivete,
I kak myasnik skotinushke - shtykom,
Uzhasen nedobityj vepr' klykom!
SHCHetinistaya morda kabana,
Vsya v pene, ugrozhayushche-uzhasna,
I nad glazami alymi spina
Gorbata, pochvu zhret on ezhechasno,
Mogily roya vsem, kto popadet
Na klyk ego. On hryukaet, revet.
Ego boka shchetinisto cherstvy,
Podi-ka prokoli ih, mal'chik, pikoj,
Do tolstoj shei ne dostat', uvy!
Vo gneve b'etsya on so l'vom-vladykoj,
Kolyuchie kusty - i te, pasuya,
Kogda on pret, sigayut vrassypnuyu.
On ne uvidit krasoty tvoej
I ne zamret ot bleska sih ochej,
Prekrasnyh ruk, gub nezhnyh ne ocenit,
Kak mir ves' ocenil, a tol'ko mordu vspenit.
I esli doberetsya, chur! chur! Ah!
Izroet grud', kak roetsya v kornyah.
Ne tron' ty lezhbishcha ego svinogo,
Krasavcu ni k chemu opasnyj monstr.
Risk dobrovol'nyj pust, malysh, ver' slovu,
Udachliv tot, chej sluh k sovetu druga ostr.
Moi kolenki stuknulis', kak kamni
Sud'by, edva nazval ty kabana mne.
Zametil ty, kak stala ya bledna?
A uzhasa vo vzglyade ne uvidel?
Kol'com ruk, nog svoih ot kabana
Vleku tebya k grudi. O, vnidi, vnidi!
Grud' vzvolnovalas', splosh' serdcebien'e,
Tebya kachnuvshi, kak zemletryasen'e.
Ved' ya revnuyu, tak vsegda v lyubvi
Est' revnost' - lozhnyj storozh naslazhden'ya,
"Vrag, vrag! - krichit. - Vor, vor, lovi, davi!
Bej nasmert'!" A vokrug - ni dunoven'ya.
Tak serdcu nedaleko do bedy,
Kak fakelu ot vetra da vody.
Naushnik lzhiv. Lzhiv pakostnyj shpion!
CHerv', pozhirayushchij vesnu lyubovnuyu,
Lzhet yazykom pravdivoj skazki on,
I vdrug sovret veyu pravdu bezuslovnuyu.
Mne golos byl, veshchuet serdce mne,
Koshmar, zakat tvoih mne videt' dnej,
Mne bol'no, mne predstavilos' sejchas,
Kak budto zdes' vzbeshennyj byl kaban,
Na ch'ih spinnyh shipah lezhal kak raz
Tebe podobnyj nekto, v dyrah ran,
S boltayushchejsya mertvoj golovoj,
I krov' tekla v cvetochek goluboj.
CHto delat' mne s videniem bol'nym?
Ono prividelos' i skrylos',
No mysl' o nem ne skrylas' s nim,
Molyu, proshu, nu sdelaj milost',
Tebe - smert', gore mne! - YA chuyu v tokah vetra,
Kogda nazavtra ty dogonish' veprya.
Tebe podaj ohotu? CHto zh, izvol',
Gonyaj sebe po roshchicam zajchishku,
Lisu udrat' iz norki prinevol',
Olenya, dlinnorogogo ne slishkom,
Gonyajsya za truslivymi zveryami,
Skachi, travi ih zlymi kobelyami!
Podnimut psy v kustah kosogo trusa,
A on - petlyat', hitrit', sud'by spasat'sya,
Za nim, za vetrom vskach', - kak hochesh', delo vkusa, -
Tuda, syuda, on ne nachnet kusat'sya,
On iz lozhbinki v norku da v lozhbinku,
Zadast zadachku, umotaet psinku.
Proskachet mezh ovec gustoj otary,
Zapahnet zhirnym zapahom ovcy,
Zaskochit v gosti k kroliku na sharu -
I vdrug zamolknut, poteryavshis', psy.
A to v olen'ih katyshkah potretsya...
U trusov - nu otkuda chto beretsya?
Smeshaet zapahi, podi ego unyuhaj,
Naduet opolchivshuyusya svoru,
Laj smolknet, zazvenit komarik v uho,
No snova zharkim gonchim zapah vporu,
I s oblakov razdastsya eha zvon,
Kak budto na nebe takoj zhe gon.
A zayac izdaleka, na holme
Na lapy zadnie pripodnimayas'.
Ushami laj lovya, okamenel.
I skachet serdce v nem, ne unimayas',
V tomlen'e smertnom slysha, kak skvoz' son,
Laj, kak bolyashchij pohoronnyj zvon.
Uzrish' ego dorozhki ty v rose,
Petlyayushchij ego uvidish' put',
Kak lapki obegali kamni vse,
Vse teni, vse. Vse navodilo zhut'.
Vse, vsya, opasno bylo otovsyudu.
Ni druzhbe ne sluchit'sya s nim, ni chudu.
Lezhi, lezhi, ne prygaj, mal'chik moj,
Menya poslushaj, nikuda ne rvis',
I dur' kaban'yu ot sebya doloj,
Hot' ne lyubi menya, da podchinis',
Bud' ya hot' kto, a delo govoryu.
Lyubov' vse znaet! Ver', ya v koren' zryu!
Tak chto ya govorila?" - "Naplevat'!
Pusti, pojdu, i skazochke konec,
Noch' na dvore!" - "Nu, noch'." - "YA zh tak prospat'
Riskuyu vstrechu! - zaoral yunec. -
A schas pojdu da shlepnus' v temnote!"
Ona v otvet: "T'ma - svetoch krasote.
I upadesh' - znat', za nogi zemlya
Tebya shvatila, chtob toboj vladet',
CHtoby nasil'no celovat' tebya,
Stat' vdrug vorovkoj: kak ot deneg, obaldet'
Ot gub! Diana pryachetsya sama
Sred' tuch, boyas' sojti s toboj s uma!
YA, kstati, ponimayu, chto za mrak -
Boginya vzglyad serebryanyj otvodit,
Vot do chego prekrasen ty, durak,
CHto nebo ot sravneniya uhodit!
Boyas', chto bleskom solnce ty zatmish',
A mesyac stanet seren'kim, kak mysh'!"
Vzyvaet k roku blednaya boginya,
CHtob s neyu ne mogla zemlya ravnyat'sya:
"Rok, izuroduj krasoty svyatyni,
Sudi ee chertam v tenyah teryat'sya,
Predmetom sdelav zlobnyh tiranij
I nizostej, da i voobshche, ubij!"
I rok naslal, poslushav, blednyj zhar.
YAd v krov' pronik - chumoyu krov' sogrelas',
Gniyushchih nervov oderevenelost'...
"Vpitali kosti plavyashchij pozhar,
Za blesk tvoj mstit bezumiem unynij
Svod gornij chernyj, svod gornij sinij!
I net granicy prokazhennyh dnej,
CHej mig s lihvoyu privedet k pobede,
Nad zybkoj krasotoj vysokih chuvstv, strastej,
I ty poslednij videl ih na svete.
Vysokij hlad ih, sneg granitnyh gor,
Kipit, rastoplen solncem, krutit sor!
Tak chto zh nevinnost' bez tolku hranish'?
Ty chto, vestalka? - chist, kak tri monashki?!
S nih brat' primer - tak ni odin malysh
Ne prooret, chto on rozhden v rubashke!
Bud' proshche, trat'sya, v lampu maslo lej!
CHtob ne stemnela prelest' nashih dnej!
CHto plot' tvoya takoe, kak ne grob?
Detej pod kryshkoj dushashchij tvoih,
Kotoryh ne rodil ty - zhmot ty, zhlob!
V sokrytoj temnote ty dushish' ih,
I chto zh, chto ty umen da ne rasputnik?
Kogda vsem vidno, kto ty est' - prestupnik!
V tebe vojna. Grazhdanskaya vojna!
Vojna s toboyu budushchih detej,
Samoubijca, ty hot' pokrasnej!
Detoubijce sovest' ne strashna!
Glup v zemlyu zaryvayushchij talant.
Trat' den'gi, il' ty zhizni diletant!"
"Opyat' ty nachala svoyu volynku?
Da ya ee uzh slushat' ne mogu,
Zachem ya v guby celoval kretinku,
CHto v lob, chto po lbu! Dityatko, "agu" -
Nochnye pohotlivye potugi,
Mne chto-to merzko ot takoj podrugi.
Imej ty dvadcat' tysyach yazykov,
CHush' melyushchih serdechno, kak listochki,
Zvuchashchih, kak siren zapretnyj zov, -
Vresh'! ushi voskom zality, kak bochki.
Privyazan k machte krepkoyu strunoj,
YA ravnodushen k pagube morskoj!
Ot uha proch', vokal'noe iskusstvo!
S moim dyhan'em pesnya eta ne slilas'.
Bej, serdce, ne uznavshee ni chuvstva,
Bej rovno, nikuda ne toropyas'!
Net, feya, net, ne ran' ego zhestoko,
Pust' dyshit grud' legko i odinoko!
Besspornyh slov na svete net, lisa,
Put' neuklonnyj do bedy dovodit!
Lyubov' chista - no esli ne gryazna
I zhret ne vse, chto po puti nahodit
A zhret - tak slovno opuhol' rastet,
Vse vret, vse izvinyaet tem, chto zhret!
Tak ne zovi lyubov'yu appetit!
Hot' zamenil soboj on gornij hlad strastej,
Lyubvi, pod maskoj, zhadnyj rot smerdit,
Spalil cvety zlovonnyj suhovej,
Vsej nezhnost'yu prirody zavladev,
Bor zhret ogromnoj gusenicy zev.
Kak dozhd' gribnoj, lyubov' blestit v trave,
A blud - kak burya v polden' zolotoj!
Lyubov' - kapel' nebes na sineve,
Blud - zamorozki majskoyu zarej!
Lyubov' - bessmertna! Pohot' - istlevaet!
Lyubvi vse vedomo, blud - vse pozabyvaet!
Eshche by ya skazal tebe, da hvatit!
Bez us orator, s borodoyu rech',
Poshel ya. CHto s toskoj zdes' vremya tratit'?
Tut styd, tut gnev vsyu dushu mogut szhech'...
Glyan', ushi zagorelis' i pylayut,
ZHzhet sluh tvoj p'yanyj bred i oglushaet".
On razryvaet sladkoe kol'co
Ob®yatij, u grudi ego derzhavshih,
I udiraet v noch', zakryv lico.
I na spine lezhit, ne solono hlebavshi,
Venera. S neba padaet zvezda...
I na shcheke ee gorit sleza.
Sledit za nim - zvezdoj svoej upavshej,
Tak, kak poroj otplyvshij druzhnij cheln
Sledim, davno ischeznuvshij mezh voln,
Uzh s oblakami parusa smeshavshij.
Tak volny noch'yu unesli s soboj
Togo, kem vzor pitalsya goluboj.
Rasteryanna, kak devushka, v reke
Sluchajno utopivshaya dragoe
Kol'co, il' putnik, fakel v ch'ej ruke
Pogas negadanno poroj nochnoyu;
Kromeshnoj temnotoj udruchena,
Tihon'ko lezha plakala ona
I po grudi rukoj sebya stuchala.
Ej eho vtorilo kruzhnyh peshcher
I stony bednoj devy povtoryalo,
I vozveshchalo bol' ee poter'...
Raz dvadcat' povtorilo slovo "gore" -
Zvuk otrazhenij slov v nochnom minore.
I, slysha zvuk, unylaya, ona
Peshcheram vtorit' pesnej prinyalasya.
Predanij v nej otkrylas' starina,
Pyl starcheskij, yuncov bezusyh strasti,
I mudrost' glupovatuyu stihov
Poet ona pod hor peshchernyh rtov.
Vsyu noch' prodlilis' skuchnye napevy,
No noch' korotkoyu kazalas' ej,
Vazhny vlyublennym malen'kie temy,
Kotorye chem dal'she, tem skuchnej;
Oni s vostorgom vse nesut tot bred,
Kotoromu konca i slushatelya net.
S kem noch' ej provesti, komu otkryt'sya?
Lish' eho-prizhivalka vse voz'met,
CHtob, kak sluzhanka, tut zhe soglasit'sya,
Hot' i neznamo, chto ona neset.
No sprosit: "Da?" - i eho "Da!" otvetit;
"Net" skazhet - i sluzhanka s neyu v "neti".
No utro uzh, i vzvilsya zhavoronok,
Skuchaya snom, iz komnatki svoej,
Rassvetnyj vzdoh serebryan i tak tonok...
Podsolnuh otdelilsya ot kornej,
Vzoshel na nebo - zemlyu risovat',
Zlatit' holmy i krony shtrihovat'.
Venera boga solnca privechaet:
"|j, zdravstvuj, svetozarnyj car' luchej!
Svechoj i zvezdami tvoj zhezl povelevaet,
Ty derzhish' svyazku k krasote klyuchej,
Tak znaj: rozhdennyj mater'yu zemnoj
Adonis svet zatmil vysokij tvoj!"
I, prihvastnuv, mchit v mirtovuyu roshchu,
Volnuyas', chto uzh utro-to, davno l'
Ty probudilsya, drug, ot mraka noshchi?
Ne slyshno psov. Molchit rozhok. Tish'. Znoj.
No vot v lesnoj glushi rozhkovo pen'e.
Krik, shum, - tuda! Drozha ot neterpen'ya,
Bezhit ona, i les ej cepkij vdrug,
Laskayas', to sandaliyu snimaet
S bosoj nogi, to vetkoj vyryvaet
Ser'gu, to plat'e ej ceplyaet suk.
Ona, kak lan' lesnaya, boyazliva,
Telenka mchit kormit'. Vot bryznet molozivo!
No - ah! Vdrug izmenilsya pesij laj.
I deva na mgnoven'e kameneet,
Kak esli by vspolzla na tropki kraj
Zmeya i zashipela pered neyu.
Tak vizg sobachij grud' ee trevozhit,
Smushchaya um, zmeeyu serdce glozhet.
Ne zayac tam! Ne zayac! Net! Medved'!
Net, huzhe! Lev! Ah, net! Kaban proklyatyj!
Vse tam zhe pesij vizg, a on - revet',
Skulyat psy, budto malye shchenyata,
Protivnik strashen tut navernyaka,
Podi-ka, prevrati ty psa v shchenka!
Zvenit v ushah unylyj vizg sobak
I zhalkim strahom v serdce pronikaet,
Krov' v tot zhe mig ot serdca otlivaet,
Hladeyut ruki i temno v glazah!
I chleny kameneyut, kak soldaty -
Bez znameni i zhdushchie rasplaty.
I vot stoit trepeshchushchej ovechkoj
I chuvstva unimaet, toropyas',
Sebe tverdya: mol, chudyatsya mne vechno
Kakie-nibud' strahi, ne sprosyas'!
Da perestat' by glupostej strashit'sya!
Vdrug - vepr' v krovi! On prygaet, on mchitsya,
Dymyatsya krov' i pena na klykah,
Krov' s molokom, kak govoryat poroyu;
Podzhilki ej tryaset povtornyj strah,
I - ah! - bezhit, ne vlastvuya soboyu!
I vstala. Net, uzh brosilas' obratno,
I mysl' odna: "Ubit, ubit neshchadno!"
Uzhe krugom vse tropy obezhala,
Lesok, tropinku k ozeru, lesok,
Kusty neschastnye perelomala,
Tak p'yanyj, bestolkovyj muzhichok
Krugom izby svoej, kachayas', brodit
I vse puti teryaet, chto nahodit.
Vot v burelome vidit psa ona:
On laet tak stydlivo, i ne v stae.
Drugoj pes lizhet rany, i slyuna
V krovi i, ne daj bog, konechno, v yade...
K izbitoj suke robko obratila
Slova, i ta v otvet protyazhno vzvyla;
I dolgo v nebo tek sej skorbnyj voj.
Vdrug pes yavilsya, ugol'nyj, kak traur,
Skulya ponikshej nizko golovoj.
Eshche, eshche... I voyut vsej oravoj.
Drozha, podzhavshi gordye hvosty,
Prizhaty ushi ih, hvatayut vozduh rty.
Ves' mir lyudskoj pechal'no sueveren
I veruet (obychaj stariny)
V duhov i ved'm, tainstvennye sny
I vidit smysl, chto gde-to v nih zateryan.
Tak strashnym psam poverila ona
I Smert' zovet - na nej lezhit vina!
"O, Smert', o toshchij i kostlyavyj vrag!
Za chto ty tak lyubov' voznenavidel?
Grobovyj prizrak, zemlyanoj chervyak!
Proch' iz krasy pohishchennoj, izydi!
Komu nanes obidu brennyj prah,
CHto rozoj cvel, i kak fialka pah?!
Skazhi, on mertv? O net, ne mozhet stat'sya!
Net! Ty krasoj ego pobezhdena!
Net! Ty slepa! Ne rozam udivlyat'sya,
Rvat' s nenavist'yu - vot tvoi dela!
Ty v starost' metish', no nezryachij glaz
Rebenka v serdce porazil v zloj chas.
Kak znat', lish' slovo on proiznesi,
To ty by, smert', sdalas', ty b otstupila!
Rok povelel tebe v ad dushu unesti,
No ne sornyak s zemlej ty razluchila,
Amura luk ne vlasten byl nad nim, -
Tvoj chernyj luk ego razveyal v dym!
Ty shla goryuchih slez moih napit'sya?
Zachem tebe moj sirotlivyj plach?
Zachem emu teper' tak sladko spitsya?
Emu, pri kom byl vsyakij slishkom zryach.
S toboj teper' ves' mir prebudet v ssore,
Ty luchshee ukrala v nem! O, gore!"
I obmerla v molchanii tosklivom.
Upali kudri na prikrytye glaza,
Zakryvshi put' slezam, kak moryu shlyuz pered otlivom,
Na persi chtob ne kapnula sleza.
No veki ne uderzhat. Slez ruchej,
Serebryan, u Venery iz ochej.
Kak otlichish' glaza ee ot slez v nih?
Raz slezy na glazah - glaza v slezah!
Dvojnoj sapfir v dvojnoj pechali v vozduh
Svoj tochit blesk, chut' suho na shchekah,
Kak v den' dvoyashchijsya - to vetrenyj, to groznyj,
Vzdoh vysushit lico, da dozhd' namochit sleznyj.
Ee stenan'ya raznym polny chuvstvom,
Kak volny v more, kto iz nih bystrej?
Val kazhdyj govorit, chto ot nego ej grustno,
No vseh sosednih ne izbegnut' ej.
Net luchshej mezhdu mnogimi volnami;
Tak nebo, zatyanuvshis' oblakami...
"CHto? Parus? Zdes'?" - krichit ohotnik molodoj.
Kak kolybel'naya skvoz' detskij strah nochnoj,
I holst navyazchivyj voobrazhen'ya
Nadezhdy zvuk palit bez sozhalen'ya.
Ogon' nadezhdy radost'yu pylaet,
Znakomyj golos... Serdce, eknuv, taet.
O, chudo! Uzhli slezy mchatsya vspyat'?
I tochno, v chashki zhemchuga katyatsya.
Odna sorvalas' na shcheku opyat'
I nachinaet v kaplyu rasplavlyat'sya,
CHtob v gryaznyj rot popast' pramateri-zemle,
Vsegda kotoraya ot slez navesele.
Lyubov' hitra (v tom smysle, chto slozhna).
Ne verit. Verit tut zhe bezoglyadno,
Stradan'yam, schast'yam vsem - cena odna!
Lozh' - svet! Lozh' - mrak! Ne stydno? Nu i ladno...
Mrak vret, chto on na vas segodnya zloj,
Svet tut zhe vret, chto lyubit vsej dushoj,
I Penelopa raspuskaet tkan'...
Adonis zhiv! CHego na Smert' rugat'sya?
Ne unesla, tak znachit, i ne dryan'!
Minutnyj vrag uzhe lyubim, priznat'sya.
Uzh Smert' - Carica grobov, Grob carej,
I dazhe - razreshen'e vseh cepej.
"Net, net, ty. Smert', ne dumaj, ya ne zlyus',
YA tak... Nemnogo prosto napugalas',
YA kabanov v krovi, voobshche, boyus',
Takie zveri... I, prosti, sorvalos'...
Ne gnevajsya, ten' milaya moya,
Za druga milogo boyalas' sduru ya.
YA ne hotela, vse kaban durackij,
O, svetlaya, skazhi, chtob on izdoh!
Vse on, svin'ya, emu by vse rugat'sya,
Ego, ego beznravstvennyj podvoh".
Razdvoen gorem zhenskij yazychok,
S dvumya ne spravitsya dam samyh umnyh polk...
Nadeyas', chto Adonis-to zhivoj,
Ona dolzhna povsyudu izvinit'sya,
CHtob cvel krasavchik, i - ni bozhe moj!
Pered kurnosoj egozit devica,
Vse vspomniv: traurnye krepy,
Triumfy, slepki, gipsovye sklepy...
"Nabitaya lyubov'yu dura! Stydno!
Umom kurinym, bab'im, ne dognat',
Mogla l' takuyu prelest' smert' otnyat',
Poka hot' chto-to zhivo? Ochevidno,
S nim krasota by umerla sama,
A bez nee bel svet sojdet s uma!
T'fu na lyubov', t'fu na menya, trusihu!"
Tak shvachennyj razbojnikom kupec,
Vse ne smeknet, otkuda vzyat'sya lihu,
No v kazhdom zvuke slyshit svoj konec.
Vdrug rech' prerval ohotnichij rozhok,
I prevratilas' devica v pryzhok!
Kak sokol na svistok, masha kudryami,
Kak i vsegda, ne priminaya trav,
Mchit, legkaya, no vdrug, pered nogami,
On okazalsya - nogi raskidav.
Lezhit nedvizhno, sbityj kabanom.
Vzor srazu gasnet, bleknut zvezdy v nem.
Ulitka pryachet rozhki, tol'ko tron',
Boleznenno ujdya v svoyu izvestku,
Uyutnoj sliz'yu, tochno strujkoj vosku,
Tusha goryachij uzhasa ogon';
Tak pred krovavym telom zhenskij vzglyad
V glaznice rozhki spryatal, chto torchat.
I, skryvshis' v cherep, fakel'shchik drozhit,
O vidennom tverdya bol'nym mozgam,
Mozg tushit fakel zren'ya i bryuzzhit:
"Kuda s ognem? Ty podpalish' moj hram!"
Gudit car'-serdca pogrebal'nyj zvon,
Gorit altar' i perevernut tron...
I vse drozhat u goroda vnutri.
Tak gaz, v zemle sidyashchij, vdrug tryaset
Tyur'my svoej vorota. Tresk i hrip,
Lomaet kladku, chto vozvel raschet.
Ves' organizm tak strashno sodrognulsya,
CHto beglyj vzglyad nutra zrachkov kosnulsya
I, protiv voli, vylilsya na svet
Sverh shirochennoj i glubokoj rany.
V boku lilejnom - bivnya strashnyj sled,
Kak slezy - sok iz prorezi bagryanyj,
Travu, cvety krugom krov' zalivaet,
Trava kak budto krov'yu istekaet,
I uroniv golovku na plecho,
Boginya na polyane skorbi vstala,
No vse eshche ne verit, vse eshche
Ne verit v to, chto smertnogo ne stalo.
Perehvatilo gorlo i dvizhen'e,
Glaza soshli s uma ot pap ryazhen'ya.
I tak uporno v treshchinu glyadit,
CHto vidit tri drozhashchimi zrachkami,
I nenavidit vzor svoj, i drozhit:
"CHto uzhas ran utroili, vy p'yany?" -
Ona shipit im. Stalo tela dva.
A men'she ne vmeshchaet golova.
"CHto zh nynche mne ne vyskazat' toski?
K tomu zhe u menya dvoitsya trup,
Slez bol'she net, i legkie suhi,
Goryat. Sploshnoj ogon' svincovyh trub,
YA zhazhdala ego, i ne pridetsya...
Svinec, naverno, iz zrachkov pol'etsya.
Mir, ya skazhu tebe, chto ty utratil!
Ty radost' glaz utratil, mir proklyatyj,
I muzyki tebe ne uslyhat'!
Mir stal teper' hromoj, krivoj, gorbatyj,
Svezhi tvoi cvety, da i pestry,
No kto ty bez umershej krasoty?
Nachnis', prostovolosyh zhenshchin era,
Bescharnyh, ne celovannyh luchom
I vozduhom, ch'ya krasota - himera,
Vas luch sozhzhet, vam stanet vetr - bichom!
A kak oni k Adonisu leteli!
SHCHepotku char uvorovat' hoteli!
I shlyapu nadvigal na brovi on,
CHtob solnce pod polya ne pronikalo,
Sryvaya shlyapu, veter mchalsya von,
Pod plach Adonisa, lohmatil kudri shalo,
I upivayas' vidom slez mladyh,
Rugalis' bogi, kto osushit ih!
Kak pozhiral ego ochami lev! -
No spryatavshis', chtob ne pugat' rebenka, -
A tot vdrug zapoet, kak flejta, zvonko -
I tigr somlel, osklabya strashnyj zev.
Zagovorit - i volk, tomyas' ot glada,
Ne napadaet na baran'e stado.
Kogda ego ten' padala v ruchej,
To rybki v nej siyali chistym zlatom,
A pticy peli na svetu ochej,
Sletalis' i kormili vinogradom,
Sliv, vishen sypali, vsego podryad,
CHtob tol'ko mal'chik podaril im vzglyad.
A zlobnyj vepr' s uzhasnymi klykami,
Glyadevshij lish' skvoz' zemlyu na groby,
I on ne izbezhal svoej sud'by:
No, osleplennyj krasoty luchami,
Uverena, chto vzyalsya celovat',
A poluchilos' tol'ko zhizn' otnyat'...
YA v pravde etih slov ubezhdena.
Adonis podbezhal udarit' pikoj,
I vspyhnulo tut serdce kabana,
Ne gnevom, no lyubov'yu prevelikoj.
On celovat'sya k mal'chiku polez,
A poluchilsya na boku nadrez...
YA dumayu, bud' u menya klyki,
YA b pervaya ego togda ubila,
Done prosto okazalos' ne s ruki,
On umer... On ushel. Nedolyubila..."
I, padaya na zhizhu s mertvecom,
V krovi chut' teploj mazhetsya licom.
Na guby vzglyanet, no uzh bleden rot,
Za ruku shvatit - kozha ledyanaya,
I na uho skabreznost' vdrug shepnet,
Kak budto on lezhit vse ponimaya,
No, nakonec-to, veki podnyala -
Iz mertvyh svetochej sochilas' mgla.
Venera chasto otrazhalas' v nih,
No vot segodnya zerkala pusty,
Kuda ischezla yarkost' ih, zhivyh?
Tuda zhe, v sled mgnovennoj krasoty...
Ona shepnula: "Est' odin vopros,
Ty mertv, a den' kak den'... CHto zh s nim stryaslos'?
Itak, ty mertv... Prorochestvo moe:
Teper' lyubov' izvedaet pechal'!
Povsyudu revnost' vlezet v tkan' ee.
O! Gorya vkus u sladostnyh nachal,
I nikogda ne porovnu, no tak,
CHtob tonkij luch okutal strashnyj mrak!
Strast' skorotechnoj budet, budet lzhivoj,
Ee zadushit zhizni suhovej;
Skryvayas' pod nachinkoyu krasivoj,
Izmeny yad pogubit t'mu lyudej
Iznosit telo, mozg lyubovnik vsyak,
I stanet lish' boltayushchij durak...
Pust' zhadnichaet, pust' brosaet den'gi,
Pust' meru poteryaet v nej starik,
Bandity budut ot lyubvi - chto deti,
CHtob gol bogach, chtob nishchij byl velik,
Rozhdaet idiotov i buyanov,
Rebyat sostarit, orebyachit starikanov!
Pust' seet strah, gde strahi ne pri chem,
Pust' na uzhasnoe vedet bez drozhi,
Pust' budet blagorodnym palachom,
Obmanyvaya tam, gde "Svyatyj Bozhe!"
Kovarstvo nosit v maske pryamoty,
Geroj ot trusa brositsya v kusty.
Pust' stanet osnovaniem vojny,
Otca i syna pust' podnimet v boj,
Solominkoj, rozhdayushchej ogon',
Nesya znak neproshchaemoj viny!
Raz sokrushila smert' vsyu strast' moyu,
Lyubit' drugim ya prava ne dayu!"
I tut valyavsheesya ryadom telo
Vnezapno prevratilos' v legkij par -
Krov' sobralas' i v stebel' zagustela.
I vot cvetok - pohozhij na tyul'pan...
Tak byl on bel, i vmeste s tem bagrov,
Napominaya plot', i vmeste krov'.
K cvetku sejchas zhe prizhimaya nos,
Iskat' znakomyj zapah rta vzyalasya...
I zapah v serdce, kak cvetok, proros...
Hot' parom plot' po vetru uneslasya.
Sorvav, k grudi bessil'no prizhimaet,
Iz steblya sok slezoyu vystupaet.
"Bednyazhechka! - shepnulo bozhestvo. -
Otec tvoj, cvetik, tak zhe plakal sladko,
Vse slezy istorgalo u nego,
Vse, chto ne on - emu byvalo gadko.
Ros dlya sebya, a ty uvyan' na mne,
A ne v krovi otcovskoj, tak vernee.
Zdes', na grudi, byla ego postel',
Nasledoval ty pravo spat' na nej,
V lozhbinke etoj bud' s toboyu Lel'
I serdca stuk vdol' verenicy dnej;
CHtob ya cvetka ne celovala - v sutki
Bez etogo ne minet i minutki".
Mir ej postyl. Pora iz mira ej!
Dvuh vyahirej zovet s pustyh nebes,
I v kolesnicu dikih golubej
Vpryagaet. Mig - i ekipazh ischez...
Svoj put' derzha na ostrovok Pafos.
I vse... Vernut'sya ej ne dovelos'.
W. Shakespeare
Vilia miretur vulgus; mihi flavus Apollo
Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua.
Ovidius. "De Amore"
To the Right Honourable Henry Wriothesly,
earl of Southampton, and baron of Titchfield.
I know not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your
Lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to
support so weak a burden: only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account
myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I
have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my
invention proved deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a godfather, and
never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a
harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your
heart's content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the
world's hopeful expectation.
Your Honour's in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
EVEN as the sun with purple-colour'd face
Had ta'en his last leave of the weeping morn,
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scorn;
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amain unto him,
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
'Thrice fairer than myself,' thus she began,
'The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man,
More white and red than doves or roses are;
Nature that made thee, with herself at strife,
Saith that the world hath ending with thy life.
'Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thousand honey secrets shall thou know:
Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses;
And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses:
'And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them amid their plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty:
A summer's day will seem an hour but short,
Being wasted in such time-beguiling sport.
With this she seizeth on his sweating palm,
The precedent of pith and livelihood,
And, trembling in her passion, calls it balm,
Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good:
Being so enrag'd, desire doth lend her force
Courageously to pluck him from his horse.
Over one arm the lusty courser's rein,
Under her other was the tender boy,
Who blush'd and pouted in a dull disdain,
With leaden appetite, unapt to toy;
She red and hot as coals of glowing fire,
He red for shame, but frosty in desire.
The studded bridle on a ragged bough
Nimbly she fastens; - O! how quick is love: -
The steed is stalled up, and even now
To tie the rider she begins to prove:
Backward she push'd him, as she would be thrust,
And govern'd him in strength, though not in lust.
So soon was she along, as he was down,
Each leaning on their elbows and their hips:
Now doth she stroke his cheek, now doth he frown,
And 'gins to chide, but soon she stops his lips;
And kissing speaks, with lustful language broken,
'If thou wilt chide, thy lips shall never open.'
He burns with bashful shame; she with her tears
Doth quench the maiden burning of his cheeks;
Then with her windy sighs and golden hairs
To fan and blow them dry again she seeks:
He saith she is immodest, blames her miss;
What follows more she murders with a kiss.
Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast,
Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh and bone,
Shaking her wings, devouring all in haste,
Till either gorge be stuff d or prey be gone;
Even so she kiss'd his brow, his cheek, his chin,
And where she ends she doth anew begin.
Forc'd to content, but never to obey,
Panting he lies, and breatheth in her face;
She feedeth on the steam, as on a prey,
And calls it heavenly moisture, air of grace;
Wishing her cheeks were gardens full of flowers,
So they were dew'd with such distilling showers.
Look! how a bird lies tangled in a net,
So fasten'd in her arms Adonis lies;
Pure shame and aw'd resistance made him fret,
Which bred more beauty in his angry eyes:
Rain added to a river that is rank
Perforce will force it overflow the bank.
Still she entreats, and prettily entreats,
For to a pretty ear she tunes her tale;
Still is he sullen, still he lowers and frets,
'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale;
Being red, she loves him best; and being white,
Her best is better'd with a more delight.
Look how he can, she cannot choose but love;
And by her fair immortal hand she swears,
From his soft bosom never to remove,
Till he take truce with her contending tears,
Which long have rain'd, making her cheeks all wet;
And one sweet kiss shall pay this countless debt.
Upon this promise did he raise his chin
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave,
Who, being look'd on, ducks as quickly in;
So offers he to give what she did crave;
But when her lips were ready for his pay,
He winks, and turns his lips another way.
Never did passenger in summer's heat
More thirst for drink than she for this good turn.
Her help she sees, but help she cannot get;
She bathes in water, yet her fire must burn:
'O! pity,' 'gan she cry, 'flint-hearted boy:
'Tis but a kiss I beg; why art thou coy?
'I have been woo'd, as I entreat thee now,
Even by the stern and direful god of war,
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did bow,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd shalt have.
'Over my altars hath he hung his lance,
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest,
And for my sake hath learn'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest;
Scorning his churlish drum and ensign red,
Making my arms his field, his tent my bed.
'Thus he that overrul'd I oversway'd,
Leading him prisoner in a red-rose chain:
Strong-temper'd steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to my coy disdain.
O! be not proud, nor brag not of thy might,
For mastering her that foil'd the god of fight.
'Touch but my lips with those fair lips of thine, -
Though mine be not so fair, yet are they red, -
The kiss shall be thine own as well as mine:
What seest thou in the ground? hold up thy head:
Look in mine eyeballs, there thy beauty lies;
Then why not lips on lips, since eyes in eyes?
'Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow;
Mine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning;
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow;
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning;
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.
'Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,
Or like a fairy trip upon the green,
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell'd hair,
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen:
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.
'Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;
Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me:
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?
'Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?
Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?
Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected,
Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft.
Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.
'Art thou asham'd to kiss? then wink again,
And I will wink; so shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels where there are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport is not in sight:
These blue-vein'd violets whereon we lean
Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.
'The tender spring upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee unripe, yet mayst thou well be tasted.
Make use of time, let not advantage slip;
Beauty within itself should not be wasted:
Fair flowers that are not gather'd in their prime
Rot and consume themselves in little time.
'Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
Ill-nurtur'd, crooked, churlish, harsh in voice,
O'erworn, despised, rheumatic, and cold,
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lackingjuice,
Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee;
But having no defects, why dost abhor me?
'Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,
Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear;
Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse:
Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty;
Thou wast begot; to get it is thy duty.
'Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive.'
By this the love-sick queen began to sweat,
For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,
And Titan, tired in the mid-day heat,
With burning eye did hotly overlook them;
Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,
So he were like him and by Venus' side.
And now Adonis with a lazy spright,
And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,
His louring brows o'erwhelming his fair sight,
Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,
Souring his cheeks, cries, 'Fie! no more of love:
The sun doth burn my face; I must remove.'
'Ay me,' quoth Venus, 'young, and so unkind?
What bare excuses mak'st thou to be gone;
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;
If they burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.
'The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And lo! I lie between that sun and thee:
The heat I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me;
And were I not immortal, life were done
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.
'Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?
Nay, more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth.
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to love? how want of love tormenteth?
O! had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.
'What am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?
Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?
What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?
Speak, fair; but speak fair words, or else be mute:
Give me one kiss, I'll give it thee again,
And one for interest, if thou wilt have twain.
'Fie! lifeless picture, cold and senseless stone,
Well-painted idol, image dull and dead,
Statue contenting but the eye alone,
Thing like a man, but of no woman bred:
Thou art no man, though of a man's complexion,
For men will kiss even by their own direction.'
This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,
And swelling passion doth provoke a pause;
Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong;
Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause:
And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,
And now her sobs do her intendments break.
Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand;
Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;
Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:
She would, he will not in her arms be bound;
And when from thence he struggles to be gone,
She locks her lily fingers one in one.
'Fondling,' she saith, 'since I have hemm'd thee here
Within the circuit of this ivory pale,
I'll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer;
Feed where thou wilt, on mountain or in dale:
Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,
Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.
'Within this limit is relief enough,
Sweet bottom-grass and high delightful plain,
Round rising hillocks, brakes obscure and rough,
To shelter thee from tempest and from rain:
Then be my deer, since I am such a park;
No dog shall rouse thee, though a thousand bark.'
At this Adonis smiles as in disdain,
That in each cheek appears a pretty dimple:
Love made those hollows, if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love liv'd and there he could not die.
These lovely caves, these round enchanting pits,
Open'd their mouths to swallow Venus' liking.
Being mad before, how doth she now for wits?
Struck dead at first, what needs a second striking?
Poor queen of love, in thine own law forlorn,
To love a cheek that smiles at thee in scorn!
Now which way shall she turn? what shall she say?
Her words are done, her woes the more increasing;
The time is spent, her object will away,
And from her twining arms doth urge releasing:
'Pity,' she cries; 'some favour, some remorse!'
Away he springs, and hasteth to his horse.
But, lo! from forth a copse that neighbours by,
A breeding jennet, lusty, young, and proud,
Adonis' tramping courser doth espy,
And forth she rushes, snorts and neighs aloud:
The strong-neck'd steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing, earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like,heaven's thunder;
The iron bit he crushes 'tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears upprick'd; his braided hanging mane
Upon his com pass *d crest now stand on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapours doth he "end:
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
Sometime he trots, as if he told the steps,
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets and leaps,
As who should say, 'Lo! thus my strength is tried;
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.'
What recketh he his rider's angry stir,
His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say?'
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur?
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look, when a painter would surpass the life,
In limning out a well-proportion'd steed,
His art with nature's workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed;
So did this horse excel a common one,
In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.
Round-hoofd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide:
Look, what a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
Sometimes he scuds far off, and there he stares;
Anon he starts at stirring of a feather;
To bid the wind a base he now prepares,
And whe'r he run or fly they know not whether;
For through his mane and tail the high wind sings,
Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.
He looks upon his love, and neighs unto her;
She answers him as if she knew his mind;
Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her,
She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind,
Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels,
Beating his kind embracements with her heels.
Then, like a melancholy malcontent,
He vails his tail that, like a falling plume
Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent:
He stamps, and bites the poor flies in his fume.
His love, perceiving how he is enrag'd,
Grew kinder, and his fury was assuag'd.
His testy master goeth about to take him;
When lo! the unback'd breeder, full of fear,
Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him,
With her the horse, and left Adonis there.
As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them,
Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.
All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits,
Banning his boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits,
That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest;
For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd,
Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage:
So of concealed sorrow may be said;
Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage;
But when the heart's attorney once is mute,
The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.
He sees her coming, and begins to glow, -
Even as a dying coal revives with wind, -
And with his bonnet hides his angry brow;
Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind,
Taking no notice that she is so nigh,
For all askance he holds her in his eye.
O! what a sight it was, wistly to view
How she came stealing to the wayward boy;
To note the fighting conflict of her hue,
How white and fed each other did destroy:
But now her cheek was pale, and by and by
It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print,
As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.
O! what a war of looks was then between them;
Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing;
His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them;
Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain.
Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow,
Or ivory in an alabaster band;
So white a friend engirts so white a foe:
This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling,
Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.
Once more the engine of her thoughts began:
'O fairest mover on this mortal round,
Would thou wert as I am, and I a man,
My heart all whole as thine, thy heart my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee.'
'Give me my hand,' saith he, 'why dost thou feel it?'
'Give me my heart,' saith she, 'and thou shall have it;
O! give it me, lest thy hard heart do steel it,
And being steel'd, soft sighs can never grave it:
Then love's deep groans I never shall regard,
Because Adonis' heart hath made mine hard.'
'For shame,' he cries, 'let go, and let me go;
My day's delight is past, my horse is gone,
And 'tis your fault I am bereft him so:
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone:
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care,
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare.'
Thus she replies: Thy palfrey, as he should,
Welcomes the warm approach of sweet desire:
Affection is a coal that must be cool'd;
Else, suffer'd, it will set the heart on fire:
The sea hath bounds, but deep desire hath none;
Therefore no marvel though thy horse be gone.
'How like a jade he stood, tied to the tree,
Servilely master'd with a leathern rein!
But when he saw his love, his youth's fair fee,
He held such petty bondage in disdain;
Throwing the base thong from his bending crest,
Enfranchising his mouth, his back, his breast.
'Who sees his true-love in her naked bed,
Teaching the sheets a whiter hue than white,
But, when his glutton eye so full hath fed,
His other agents aim at like delight?
Who is so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the fire, the weather being cold?
'Let me excuse thy courser, gentle boy;
And learn of him, I heartily beseech thee,
To take advantage on presented joy;
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings teach thee.
O learn to love; the lesson is but plain,
And once made perfect, never lost again.'
'I know not love,' quoth he, 'nor will not know it,
Unless it be a boar, and then I chase it;
Tis much to borrow, and I will not owe it;
My love to love is love but to disgrace it;
For I have heard it is a life in death,
That laughs and weeps, and all but with a breath.
'Who wears a garment shapeless and unfmish'd?
Who plucks the bud before one leaf put forth?
If springing things be any jot diminish'd.
They wither in their prime, prove nothing worth:
The colt that's back'd and burden'd being young
Loseth his pride and never waxeth strong.
'You hurt my hand with wringing; let us part,
And leave this idle theme, this bootless chat:
Remove your siege from my unyielding heart;
To love's alarms it will not ope the gate:
Dismiss your vows, your feigned tears, your flattery;
For where a heart is hard, they make no battery.'
'What! canst thou talk?' quoth she, 'hast thou a tongue?
O! would thou hadst not, or I had no hearing;
Thy mermaid's voice hath done me double wrong;
I had my load before, now press'd with bearing:
Melodious discord, heavenly tune, harsh-sounding.
Ear's deep-sweet music, and heart's deep-sore wounding.
'Had I no eyes, but ears, my ears would love
That inward beauty and invisible;
Or were I deaf, thy outward parts would move
Each part in me that were but sensible:
Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor see,
Yet should I be in love by touching thee.
'Say, that the sense of feeling were bereft me,
And that I could not see, nor hear, nor' touch,
And nothing but the very smell were left me,
Yet would my love to thee be still as much;
For from the stilFtory of thy face excelling
Comes breath perfum'd that breedeth love by smelling.
'But O! what banquet wert thou to the taste,
Being nurse and feeder of the other four;
Would they not wish the feast might ever last,
And bid Suspicion double-lock the door,
Lest Jealousy, that sour unwelcome guest,
Should, by his stealing in, disturb the feast?'
Once more the ruby-colour'd portal open'd,
Which to his speech did honey passage yield;
Like a red morn, that ever yet betoken'd
Wrack to the seaman, tempest to the field,
Sorrow to shepherds, woe unto the birds,
Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.
This ill presage advisedly she marketh:
Even as the wind is hush'd before it raineth,
Or as the wolf doth grin before he barketh,
Or as the berry breaks before it staineth,
Or like the deadly bullet of a gun,
His meaning struck her ere his words begun.
And at his look she flatly falleth down,
For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth;
A smile recures the wounding of a frown;
But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth!
The silly boy, believing she is dead,
Claps her pale cheek, till clapping makes it red;
And all-amaz'd brake off his late intent,
For sharply he did think to reprehend her,
Which cunning love did wittily prevent:
Fair fall the wit that can so well defend her!
For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again.
He wrings her nose, he strikes her on the cheeks,
He bends her fingers, holds her pulses hard,
He chafes her lips; a thousand ways he seeks
To mend the hurt that his unkindness marr'd:
He kisses her; and she, by her good will,
Will never rise, so he will kiss her still.
The night of sorrow now is turn'd to day:
Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn and all the world relieveth:
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumin'd with her eye;
Whose beams upon his hairless face are fix'd,
As if from thence they borrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd,
Had not his clouded with his brows' repine;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light,
Shone like the moon in water seen by night.
'O! where am I?' quoth she, 'in earth or heaven,
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire?
What hour is this? or morn or weary even?
Do I delight to die, or life desire?
But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively joy.
'O! thou didst kill me; kill me once again:
Thy eyes' shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them scornful tricks and such disdain
That they have murder'd this poor heart of mine;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for thy piteous lips no more had seen.
'Long may they kiss each other for this cure!
O! never let their crimson liveries wear;
And as they last, their verdure still endure,
To drive infection from the dangerous year:
That the star-gazers, having writ on death,
May say, the plague is banish'd by thy breath.
'Pure lips, sweet seals in my soft lips imprinted,
What bargains may I make, still to be sealing?
To sell myself I can be well contented,
So thou wilt buy and pay and use good dealing;
Which purchase if thou make, for fear of slips
Set thy seal-manual on my wax-red lips.
'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me;
And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.
What is ten hundred touches unto thee?
Are they not quickly told and quickly gone?
Say, for non-payment that the debt should double,
Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?'
'Fair queen,' quoth he, 'if any love you owe me,
Measure my strangeness with my unripe years:
Before I know myself, seek not to know me;
No fisher but the ungrown fry forbears:
The mellow plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
Or being early pluck'd is sour to taste.
'Look! the world's comforter, with weary gait,
His day's hot task hath ended in the west;
The owl, night's herald, shrieks, 'tis very late;
The sheep are gone to fold, birds to their nest,
And coal-black clouds that shadow heaven's light
Do summon us to part and bid good night.
'Now let me say good night, and so say you;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss.'
'Good night,' quoth she; and ere he says adieu,
The honey fee of parting tender'd is:
Her arms do lend his neck a sweet embrace;
Incorporate then they seem, face grows to face.
Till, breathless, he disjoin'd, and backward drew
The heavenly moisture, that sweet coral mouth,
Whose precious taste her thirsty lips well knew,
Whereon they surfeit, yet complain on drouth:
He with her plenty press'd, she faint with dearth,
Their lips together glu'd, fall to the earth.
Now quick desire hath caught the yielding prey,
And glutton-like she feeds, yet never filleth;
Her lips are conquerors, his lips obey,
Paying what ransom the insulter willeth;
Whose vulture thought doth pitch the price so high,
That she will draw his lips' rich treasure dry.
And having felt the sweetness of the spoil,
With blindfold fury she begins to forage;
Her face doth reek and smoke, her blood doth boil,
And careless lust stirs up a desperate courage;
Planting oblivion, beating reason back,
Forgetting shame's pure blush and honour's wrack.
Hot, faint, and weary, with her hard embracing,
Like a wild bird being tam'd with too much handling,
Or as the fleet-foot roe that's tir'd with chasing,
Or like the froward infant still'd with dandling,
He now obeys, and now no more resisteth,
While she takes all she can, not all she listeth.
What wax so frozen but dissolves with tempering,
And yields at last to every light impression?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing,
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission:
Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward,
But then woos best when most his choice is froward.
When he did frown, O! had she then gave over,
Such nectar from his lips she had not suck'd.
Foul words and frowns must not repel a lover;
What though the rose have prickles, yet 'tis pluck'd:
Were beauty under twenty locks kept fast,
Yet love breaks through and picks them all at last.
For pity now she can no more detain him;
The poor fool prays her that he may depart:
She is resolv'd no longer to restrain him,
Bids him farewell, and look well to her heart,
The which, by Cupid's bow she doth protest,
He carries thence incaged in his breast.
'Sweet boy,' she says, 'this night I'll waste in sorrow,
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, Love's master, shall we meet to-morrow?
Say, shall we? shall we? wilt thou make the match?'
He tells her, no; to-morrow he intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.
'The boar!' quoth she; whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn being spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheeks, she trembles at his tale,
And on his neck her yoking arms she throws:
She sinketh down, still hanging by his neck,
He on her belly falls, she on her back.
Now is she in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for the hot encounter:
All is imaginary she doth prove,
He will not manage her, although he mount her;
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy,
To clip Elysium and to lack her joy.
Even as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps,
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds missing,
She seeks to kindle with continual kissing.
But all in vain; good queen, it will not be:
She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd;
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee;
She 's Love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd.
'Fie, fie!' he says, 'you crush me; let me go;
You have no reason to withhold me so.'
'Thou hadst been gone,' quoth she, 'sweet boy, ere this,
But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.
O! be advis'd; thou know'st not what it is
With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore,
Whose tushes never sheath'd he whetteth still,
Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.
'On his bow-back he hath a battle set
Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes;
His eyes like glow-worms shine when he doth fret;
His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes;
Being mov'd, he strikes whate'er is in his way,
And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay.
'His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd,
Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter;
His short thick neck cannot be easily harrn'd;
Being ireful, on the lion he will venture:
The thorny brambles and embracing bushes,
As fearful of him part, through whom he rushes.
'Alas! he nought esteems that face of thine,
To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes;
Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne,
Whose full perfection all the world amazes;
But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread!
Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.
'O! let him keep his loathsome cabin still;
Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends:
Come not within his danger by thy will;
They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.
When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble,
I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.
'Didst thou not mark my face? was it not white?
Saw'st thou not signs of fear lurk in mine eye?
Grew I not faint? And fell I not downright?
Within my bosom, whereon thou dost lie,
My boding heart pants, beats, and takes no rest,
But, like an earthquake, shakes thee on my breast.
'For where Love reigns, disturbing Jealousy
Doth call himself Affection's sentinel;
Gives false alarms, suggesteth mutiny,
And in a peaceful hour doth cry "Kill, kill!"
Distempering gentle Love in his desire,
As air and water do abate the fire.
This sour informer, this bate-breeding spy,
This canker that eats up Love's tender spring,
This carry-tale, dissentious Jealousy,
That sometime true news, sometime false doth bring,
Knocks at my heart, and whispers in mine ear
That if I love thee, I thy death should fear:
'And more than so, presenteth to mine eye
The picture of an angry-chafing boar,
Under whose sharp fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself, all stain'd with gore;
Whose blood upon the fresh flowers being shed
Doth make them droop with grief and hang the head.
'What should I do, seeing thee so indeed,
That tremble at the imagination?
The thought of it doth make my faint heart bleed,
And fear doth teach it divination:
I prophesy thy death, my living sorrow,
If thou encounter with the boar to-morrow.
'But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul'd by me;
Uncouple at the timorous flying hare,
Or at the fox which lives by subtilty,
Or at the roe which no encounter dare:
Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs,
And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds.
'And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles
How he outruns the winds, and with what care
He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:
The many musits through the which he goes
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
'Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep,
To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,
And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,
To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,
And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer;
Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:
'For there his smell with others being mingled,
The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,
Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled
With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;
Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,
As if another chase were in the skies.
'By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,
Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,
To hearken if his foes pursue him still:
Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;
And now his grief may be compared well
To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.
'Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch
Turn, and return, indenting with the way,
Each envious briar his weary legs doth scratch,
Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:
For misery is trodden on by many,
And being low never reliev'd by any.
'Lie quietly, and hear a little more;
Nay, do not struggle, for thou shalt not rise:
To make thee hate the hunting of the boar,
Unlike myself thou hear'st me moralize,
Applying this to that, and so to so;
For love can comment upon every woe.
'Where did I leave?' 'No matter where,' quoth he;
'Leave me, and then the story aptly ends:
The night is spent,' 'Why, what of that?' quoth she.
'I am,' quoth he, 'expected of my friends;
And now 'tis dark, and going I shall fall.'
'In night,' quoth she, 'desire sees best of all.'
'But if thou fall, O! then imagine this,
The earth, in love with thee, thy footing trips,
And all is but to rob thee of a kiss.
Rich preys make true men thieves; so do thy lips
Make modest Dian cloudy and forlorn,
Lest she should steal a kiss and die forsworn.
'Now of this dark night I perceive the reason:
Cynthia for shame obscures her silver shine,
Till forging Nature be condemn'd of treason,
For stealing moulds from heaven that were divine;
Wherein she fram'd thee in high heaven's despite,
To shame the sun by day and her by night.
'And therefore hath she brib'd the Destinies,
To cross the curious workmanship of nature,
To mingle beauty with infirmities,
And pure perfection with impure defeature;
Making it subject to the tyranny
Of mad mischances and much misery;
'As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,
Life-poisoning pestilence and frenzies wood,
The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaint
Disorder breeds by heating of the blood;
Surfeits, imposthumes, grief, and damn'd despair,
Swear nature's death for framing thee so fair.
'And not the least of all these maladies
But in one minute's fight brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities,
Whereat the impartial gazer late did wonder,
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd and done,
As mountain-snow melts with the mid-day sun.
'Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Love-lacking vestals and self-loving nuns,
That on the earth would breed a scarcity
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons,
Be prodigal: the lamp that burns by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.
'What is thy body but a swallowing grave,
Seeming to bury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must have,
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.
'So in thyself thyself art made away;
A mischief worse than civil home-bred strife,
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slay,
Or butcher-sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul-cankering rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that's put to use more gold begets.'
'Nay then,' quoth Adon, 'you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme;
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream;
For by this black-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse,
Your treatise makes me like you worse and worse.
'If love have lent you twenty thousand tongues,
And every tongue more moving than your own.
Bewitching like the wanton mermaid's songs,
Yet from mine ear the tempting tune is blown;
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear,
And will not let a false sound enter there;
'Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into the quiet closure of my breast;
And then my little heart were quite undone,
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.
'What have you urg'd that I cannot reprove?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger;
I hate not love, but your device in love,
That lends embracements unto every stranger.
You do it for increase: O strange excuse!
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.
'Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.
'Love comforteth like sunshine after rain,
But Lust's effect is tempest after sun;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done.
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies;
Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
'More I could tell, but more I dare not say;
The text is old, the orator too green.
Therefore, in sadness, now I will away;
My face is full of shame, my heart of teen:
Mine ears, that to your wanton talk attended,
Do burn themselves for having so offended.'
With this he breaketh from the sweet embrace
Of those fair arms which bound him to her breast,
And homeward through the dark laund runs apace;
Leaves Love upon her back deeply distress'd.
Look, how a bright star shooteth from the sky,
So glides he in the night from Venus' eye;
Which after him she darts, as one on shore
Gazing upon a late-embarked friend,
Till the wild waves will have him seen no more,
Whose ridges with the meeting clouds contend:
So did the merciless and pitchy night
Fold in the object that did feed her sight.
Whereat amaz'd, as one that unaware
Hath dropp'd a precious jewel in the flood,
Or 'stonish'd as night-wanderers often are,
Their light blown out in some mistrustful wood;
Even so confounded in the dark she lay,
Having lost the fair discovery of her way.
And now she beats her heart, whereat it groans,
That all the neighbour caves, as seeming troubled,
Make verbal repetition of her moans;
Passion on passion deeply is redoubled:
'Ay me!' she cries, and twenty times, 'Woe, woe!'
And twenty echoes twenty times cry so.
She marking them, begins a wailing note,
And sings extemporally a woeful ditty;
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty:
Her heavy anthem still concludes in woe,
And still the choir of echoes answer so.
Her song was tedious, and outwore the night,
For lovers' hours are long, though seeming short:
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, delight
In such like circumstance, with such like sport:
Their copious stories, oftentimes begun,
End without audience, and are never done.
For who hath she to spend the night withal,
But idle sounds resembling parasites;
Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering every call,
Soothing the humour of fantastic wits?
She says, "Tis so:' they answer all, "Tis so;'
And would say after her, if she said 'No.'
Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of rest,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast
The sun ariseth in his majesty;
Who doth the world so gloriously behold,
That cedar-tops and hills seem burnish'd gold.
Venus salutes him with this fair good morrow:
'O thou clear god, and patron of all light,
From whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him bright,
There lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother,
May lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other.'
This said, she hasteth to a myrtle grove,
Musing the morning is so much o'erworn,
And yet she hears no tidings of her love;
She hearkens for his hounds and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chant it lustily,
And all in haste she coasteth to the cry.
And as she runs, the bushes in the way
Some catch her by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some twine about her thigh to make her stay:
She wildly breaketh from their strict embrace,
Like a milch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Hasting to feed her fawn hid in some brake.
By this she hears the hounds are at a bay;
Whereat she starts, like one that spies an adder
Wreath'd up in fatal folds just in his way,
The fear whereof doth make him shake and shudder;
Even so the timorous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses, and her spirit confounds.
For now she knows it is no gentle chase,
But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud,
Because the cry remaineth in one place,
Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud:
Finding their enemy to be so curst,
They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first.
This dismal cry rings sadly in her ear,
Through which it enters to surprise her heart;
Who, overcome by doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold-pale weakness numbs each feeling part;
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth yield,
They basely fly and dare not stay the field.
Thus stands she in a trembling ecstasy,
Till, cheering up her senses sore dismay'd,
She tells them 'tis a causeless fantasy,
And childish error, that they are afraid;
Bids them leave quaking, bids them fear no more:
And with that word she spied the hunted boar,
Whose frothy mouth bepainted all with red,
Like milk and blood being mingled both together,
A second fear through all her sinews spread,
Which madly hurries her she knows not whither:
This way she runs, and now she will no further,
But back retires to rate the boar for murther.
A thousand spleens bear her a thousand ways,
She treads the path that she untreads again;
Her more than haste is mated with delays,
Like the proceedings of a drunken brain,
Full of respects, yet nought at all respecting,
In hand with all things, nought at all effecting.
Here kennel'd in a brake she finds a hound,
And asks the weary caitiff for his master,
And there another licking of his wound,
'Gainst venom'd sores the only sovereign plaster;
And here she meets another sadly scowling,
To whom she speaks, and he replies with howling.
When he hath ceas'd his ill-resounding noise,
Another flap-mouth'd mourner, black and grim,
Against the welkin volleys out his voice;
Another and another answer him,
Clapping their proud tails to the ground below,
Shaking their scratch'd ears, bleeding as they go.
Look, how the world's poor people are amaz'd
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with fearful eyes they long have gaz'd,
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies;
So she at these sad sighs draws up her breath,
And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death.
'Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean,
Hateful divorce of love,' - thus chides she Death, -
'Grim-grinning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou mean
To stifle beauty and to steal his breath,
Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?
'If he be dead, O no! it cannot be,
Seeing his beauty, thou shouldst strike at it;
O yes! it may; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age, but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim and cleaves an infant's heart.
'Hadst thou but bid beware, then he had spoke,
And, hearing him, thy power had lost his power.
The Destinies will curse thee for this stroke;
They bid thee crop a weed, thou pluck'st a flower.
Love's golden arrow at him should have fled,
And not Death's ebon dart, to strike him dead.
'Dost thou drink tears, that thou provok'st such weeping?
What may a heavy groan advantage thee?
Why hast thou cast into eternal sleeping
Those eyes that taught all other eyes to see?
Now Nature cares not for thy mortal vigour,
Since her best work is ruin'd with thy rigour.'
Here overcome, as one full of despair,
She vail'd her eyelids, who, like sluices, stopp'd
The crystal tide that from her two cheeks fair
In the sweet channel of her bosom dropp'd;
But through the flood-gates breaks the silver rain,
And with his strong course opens them again.
O! how her eyes and tears did lend and borrow;
Her eyes seen in the tears, tears in her eye;
Both crystals, where they view'd each other's sorrow,
Sorrow that friendly sighs sought still to dry,
But like a stormy day, now wind, now rain,
Sighs dry her cheeks, tears make them wet again.
Variable passions throng her constant woe,
As striving who should best become her grief;
All entertain'd, each passion labours so,
That every present sorrow seemeth chief,
But none is best; then join they all together,
Like many clouds consulting for foul weather.
By this, far off she hears some huntsman holla;
A nurse's song ne'er pleas'd her babe so well:
The dire imagination she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel;
For now reviving joy bids her rejoice,
And flatters her it is Adonis' voice.
Whereat her tears began to turn their tide,
Being prison'd in her eye, like pearls in glass;
Yet sometimes falls an orient drop beside,
Which her cheek melts, as scorning it should pass,
To wash the foul face of the sluttish ground,
Who is but drunken when she seemeth drown'd.
O hard-believing love! how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous;
Thy weal and woe are both of them extremes;
Despair and hope make thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely,
In likely thoughts the other kills thee quickly.
Now she unweaves the web that she hath wrought,
Adonis lives, and Death is not to blame;
It was not she that call'd him all to naught,
Now she adds honours to his hateful name;
She clepes him king of graves, and grave for kings,
Imperious supreme of all mortal things.
'No, no,' quoth she, 'sweet Death, I did but jest;
Yet pardon me, I felt a kind of fear
Whenas I met the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe;
Then, gentle shadow, - truth I must confess, -
I rail'd on thee, fearing my love's decease.
"Tis not my fault: the boar provok'd my tongue;
Be wreak'd on him, invisible commander;
'Tis he, foul creature, that hath done thee wrong;
I did but act, he 's author of my slander:
Grief hath two tongues: and never woman yet,
Could rule them both without ten women's wit."
Thus hoping that Adonis is alive,
Her rash suspect she doth extenuate;
And that his beauty may the better thrive,
With Death she humbly doth insinuate;
Tells him of trophies, statues, tombs; and stories
His victories, his triumphs, and his glories.
'O Jove!' quoth she, 'how much a fool was I,
To be of such a weak and silly mind
To wail his death who lives and must not die
Till mutual overthrow of mortal kind;
For he being dead, with him is beauty slain,
And, beauty dead, black chaos comes again.
'Fie, fie, fond love! thou art so full of fear
As one with treasure laden, hemm'd with thieves;
Trifles, unwitnessed with eye or ear,
Thy coward heart with false bethinking grieves.'
Even at this word she hears a merry horn
Whereat she leaps that was but late forlorn.
As falcon to the lure, away she flies;
The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light;
And in her haste unfortunately spies
The foul boar's conquest on her fair delight;
Which seen, her eyes, as murder'd with the view,
Like stars asham'd of day, themselves withdrew:
Or, as the snail, whose tender horns being hit,
Shrinks backwards in his shelly cave with pain,
And there, all smother'd up, in shade doth sit,
Long after fearing to creep forth again;
So, at his bloody view, her eyes are fled
Into the deep dark cabins of her head:
Where they resign their office and their light
To the disposing of her troubled brain;
Who bids them still consort with ugly night.
And never wound the heart with looks again;
Who, like a king perplexed in his throne,
By their suggestion gives a deadly groan,
Whereat each tributary subject quakes;
As when the wind, imprison'd in the ground,
Struggling for passage, earth's foundation shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's minds confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise
That from their dark beds once more leap her eyes;
And, being open'd, threw unwilling light
Upon the wide wound that the boar had trench'd
In his soft flank; whose wonted lily white
With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd:
No flower was nigh, no grass, herb, leaf, or weed,
But stole his blood and seem'd with him to bleed.
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth,
Over one shoulder doth she hang her head,
Dumbly she passions, franticly she doteth;
She thinks he could not die, he is not dead:
Her voice is stopp'd, her joints forget to bow,
Her eyes are mad that they have wept till now.
Upon his hurt she looks so steadfastly,
That her sight dazzling makes the wound seem three;
And then she reprehends her mangling eye,
That makes more gashes where no breach should be:
His face seems twain, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistakes, the brain being troubled.
'My tongue cannot express my grief for one,
And yet,' quoth she, 'behold two Adons dead!
My sighs are blown away, my salt tears gone,
Mine eyes are turn'd to fire, my heart to lead:
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire!
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.
'Alas! poor world, what treasure hast thou lost?
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?
Whose tongue is music now? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or anything ensuing?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim;
But true-sweet beauty liv'd and died with him.
'Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear!
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you:
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear;
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you:
But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair:
'And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep;
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone,
Play with his locks: then would Adonis weep;
And straight, in pity of his tender years,
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.
'To see his face the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him;
To recreate himself when he hath sung,
The tiger would be tame and gently hear him;
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey,
And never fright the silly lamb that day.
When he beheld his shadow in the brook,
The fishes spread on it their golden gills;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
That some would sing, some other in their bills
Would bring him mulberries and ripe-red cherries;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.
'But this foul, grim, and urchin-snouted boar,
Whose downward eye still looketh for a grave,
Ne'er saw the beauteous liveiy that he wore;
Witness the entertainment that he gave:
If he did see his face, why then I know
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.
"Tis true, 'tis true; thus was Adonis slain:
He ran upon the boar with his sharp spear,
Who did not whet his teeth at him again,
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there;
And nuzzling in his flank, the loving swine
Sheath'd unaware the tusk in his soft groin.
'Had I been tooth'd like him, I must confess,
With kissing him I should have kill'd him first;
But he is dead, and never did he bless
My youth with his; the more am I accurst.'
With this she falleth in the place she stood,
And stains her face with his congealed blood.
She looks upon his lips, and they are pale;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale,
As if they heard the woeful words she told;
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eyes,
Where, lo! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies;
Two glasses where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect;
Their virtue lost, wherein they late excell'd,
And every beauty robb'd of his effect:
'Wonder of time,' quoth she, 'this is my spite,
That, you being dead, the day should yet be light.
'Since thou art dead, lo! here I prophesy,
Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend:
It shall be waited on with jealousy,
Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end;
Ne'er settled equally, but high or low;
That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe.
'It shall be fickle, false, and full of fraud,
Bud and be blasted in a breathing-while;
The bottom poison, and the top o'erstraw'd
With sweets that shall the truest sight beguile:
The strongest body shall it make most weak,
Strike the wise dumb and teach the fool to speak.
'It shall be sparing and too full of riot,
Teaching decrepit age to tread the measures;
The staring ruffian shall it keep in quiet,
Pluck down the rich, enrich the poor with treasures;
It shall be raging mad, and silly mild,
Make the young old, the old become a child.
'It shall suspect where is no cause of fear;
It shall not fear where it should most mistrust;
It shall be merciful, and too severe,
And most deceiving when it seems most just;
Perverse it shall be, where it shows most toward,
Put fear to valour, courage to the coward.
'It shall be cause of war and dire events,
And set dissension 'twixt the son and sire;
Subject and servile to all discontents,
As dry combustious matter is to fire:
Sith in his prime Death doth my love destroy,
They that love best their love shall not enjoy.'
By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white;
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood
She bows her head, the new-sprung flower to smell,
Comparing it to her Adonis' breath;
And says within her bosom it shall dwell,
Since he himself is reft from her by death:
She crops the stalk, and in the breach appears
Green dropping sap, which she compares to tears.
'Poor flower,' quoth she, 'this was thy father's guise,
Sweet issue of a more sweet-smelling sire
For every little grief to wet his eyes:
To grow unto himself was his desire,
And so 'tis thine; but know, it is as good
To wither in my breast as in his blood.
'Here was thy father's bed, here in my breast;
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis thy right:
Lo! in this hollow cradle take thy rest,
My throbbing heart shall rock thee day and night:
There shall not be one minute in an hour
Wherein I will not kiss my sweet love's flower.'
Thus weary of the world, away she hies,
And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid
Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies
In her light chariot quickly is convey'd;
Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen
Means to immure herself and not be seen.
Edva li najdetsya chelovek, kotoromu neizvestno vyrazhenie "shekspirovskij
nakal strastej". Za etim skryvayutsya krovavye zagovory, ubijstva i
tragicheskaya lyubov', izvestnye nam po dramam velikogo SHekspira. Takzhe nam
horosho izvesten SHekspir sonetov: pronzitel'noj liricheskoj ispovedi, ne
teryayushchej svoego ocharovaniya uzhe 400 let. No est' eshche odin, malo znakomyj nam,
a potomu vdvojne neobychnyj SHekspir - avtor poemy "Venera i Adonis", poemy,
kotoraya soedinila v sebe nakal dramaticheskih strastej, tonkuyu lirichnost'
sonetov, chuvstvennost' i erotizm antichnosti i filosofskie razmyshleniya o
sushchnosti lyubvi.
Sluchaetsya, prichinoj poyavleniya neordinarnogo proizvedeniya iskusstva
stanovitsya ne sovsem blagopriyatnoe stechenie obstoyatel'stv. Tak proizoshlo i s
poemoj "Venera i Adonis". Ona byla napisana v 1593 godu, vo vremya londonskoj
chumy, kogda teatry byli zakryty na karantin, i velikij dramaturg, v moment
vynuzhdennogo pereryva, reshil podnyat' svoj prestizh poeta - ved' poeziya
schitalas' togda vyshe dramy. Ne sluchajno v posvyashchenii svoemu pokrovitelyu,
grafu Sautgemptonu, SHekspir nazval poemu "pervencem svoej fantazii".
Poema imela nebyvalyj po tem vremenam uspeh. Ona poluchila vysokuyu
ocenku avtoritetnyh kritikov i vyderzhala shest' pereizdanij za 13 let - ni
odna iz p'es SHekspira ne byla stol' populyarna.
V chem zhe sekret? Kak i vo mnogih svoih proizvedeniyah, SHekspir
ispol'zuet zaimstvovannyj syuzhet. V dannom sluchae on obrashchaetsya k odnomu iz
samyh izvestnyh i vostrebovannyh syuzhetov antichnoj mifologii: istorii lyubvi
bogini Venery k zemnomu yunoshe Adonisu.
Eshche v antichnosti etot syuzhet imel mnogo traktovok; do nas doshli po
men'shej mere tri. Obshchaya syuzhetnaya liniya takova: boginya Venera, rasserdivshis'
na ne pochitavshuyu ee carskuyu doch' (budushchuyu mat' Adonisa), vnushila ej strast'
k rodnomu otcu, kotoryj, nichego ne podozrevaya, vstupaet v svyaz' s docher'yu, a
zatem proklinaet ee. Bogi prevratili neschastnuyu v mirrovoe derevo, iz
stvola kotorogo rodilsya mal'chik udivitel'noj krasoty. On stal sputnikom (po
nekotorym versiyam - vozlyublennym) Venery. Razgnevannaya Diana (Apollon)
nasylaet na yunoshu dikogo kabana, kotoryj ego smertel'no ranit. Venera gor'ko
oplakivaet Adonisa i prevrashchaet ego v cvetok.
Iz krovi Adonisa vyrastayut rozy, a iz slez Venery - anemony.
Iz vsego mnogoobraziya syuzhetnyh linij SHekspir vybral tol'ko odin,
ovidievskij motiv: Adonis ne otvechaet Venere vzaimnost'yu. Poema prakticheski
lishena dejstviya, no uderzhivaet vnimanie svoej krasochnost'yu, napryazhennoj
erotichnost'yu. Odnako eta poema - ne o lyubvi. V nej proishodit stolknovenie
dvuh zhiznennyh pozicij, dvuh tipov egoizma. Venera, osleplennaya svoej
strast'yu, ne vidit v Adonise zhivogo cheloveka. Vsemi svoimi dejstviyami ona
oskorblyaet ego muzhskoe samolyubie, delaya nevozmozhnym sblizhenie. Adonis zhe -
slishkom molod, slishkom pogloshchen yunosheskimi zabavami. On ne gotov eshche k
ser'eznym chuvstvam, a lyubov' v vide raspalennoj strast'yu Venery skoree
ottalkivaet ego. Voznikaet vopros: a est' li voobshche lyubov' i chto ona
oznachaet?
Final poemy ne stavit tochku v stolknovenii Venery i Adonisa. Nesmotrya
na smert' geroya, ih spor ne razreshaetsya ch'im-libo porazheniem. Adonis
otkazyvaetsya ot chuvstvennoj lyubvi i gibnet, Venera proklinaet lyubov' i
uhodit ot lyudej.
Genij SHekspira skryl v poeme mnozhestvo smyslovyh plastov. Kazhdyj
otkryvayushchij ee nahodit naibolee blizkij emu smysl, sozdaet svoj Tekst i svoe
prochtenie poemy.
Str. 19. Bujnolyubivyj begal Bitvobog... - Rech' idet o Marse, boge
vojny, v antichnoj mifologii - lyubovnike (v nekotoryh interpretaciyah muzhe)
Venery.
Str. 23. Narciss, da chmoknul prud, i potonul... - Narciss v grecheskoj
mifologii - yunosha neobychajnoj krasoty, nakazannyj za bezrazlichie k
vlyublennym v nego zhenshchinam. Vlyubilsya v sobstvennoe otrazhenie i umer ot lyubvi
k sebe. Po drugoj versii - utonul, stremyas' slit'sya so svoim otrazheniem.
Str. 61. Igor' knyaz' tak oblozhil drevlyan... - Kievskij knyaz' Igor', syn
Ryurika, byl izvesten svoim korystolyubiem; v 944 godu on predprinyal pohod na
plemya drevlyan s cel'yu uvelicheniya dani, odnako predpriyatie zakonchilos'
gibel'yu samogo Igorya.
Str. 67. I suh vozle vody Tantala rot... - Po grecheskomu mifu, Tantal
byl osuzhden za prestupleniya protiv bogov na vechnye mucheniya: tomyas' zhazhdoj,
on stoit po gorlo v vode, no ne mozhet napit'sya; terzaemyj golodom, ne mozhet
dostat' plodov, okruzhayushchih ego; nad ego golovoj navisaet skala, ezheminutno
grozyashchaya upast'.
Str. 105. I Penelopa raspuskaet tkan'... - Rech' idet o Penelope, zhene
Odisseya, ozhidayushchej vozvrashcheniya svoego muzha. Poobeshchav svoim zheniham, chto
vyberet sebe muzha posle togo, kak sotket pogrebal'noe pokryvalo dlya svoego
testya, ona po nocham raspuskala sotkannoe za den', chtoby rabota ne
prodvigalas'.
Str. 123. Svoj put' derzha na ostrovok Pafos. - V gorode Pafos, na
ostrove Krit, nahodilsya hram Afrodity (Venery), naibolee pochitaemyj v
Grecii.
M. Mel'nikova
Last-modified: Tue, 25 Oct 2005 20:23:49 GMT