hould do thee shame, Nor thou with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name: But do not so, I love thee in such sort, As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. Daj mne priznat'sya: ty ne to, chto ya; Pust' na dvoih lyubov' u nas odna, No ty, svoih dostoinstv ne taya, Izbavish'sya ot moego pyatna. Na dve lyubvi u nas odin predmet, No celi ne dostignut' nam vdvoem, I my, hot' izmenen'ya v chuvstve net, CHasy u naslazhdeniya kradem. YA ne mogu tebya nazvat' moim, Ne opozoriv druga navsegda, Priznaesh'sya, chto ya toboj lyubim, I ne uberezhesh'sya ot styda. Osteregis'! Pust' ya s toboj ne shozh, Ty moj v lyubvi, i ya, kak ty, horosh. Sonnet XXXVII As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth; For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more, Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, I make my love engrafted to this store: So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give That I in thy abundance am suffic'd, And by a part of all thy glory live. Look what is best, that best I wish in thee: This wish I have; then ten times happy me! Kak, starcheskim razbit paralichom, Otec za syna molodogo rad, Tak ya sogret siyayushchim luchom Tvoih dostoinstv sred' moih utrat. Kak znatnosti, kak tonkomu umu Izyashchestvom sebya ne proyavit'! I ya k velikolep'yu tvoemu Moyu lyubov' osmelilsya privit'. Pust' ya ne beden, pust' ya ne urod, Lovlyu ya ten' tvoih obil'nyh blag, I dlya menya sredi tvoih shchedrot Tvoej chastica slavy - dobryj znak. Vse, chto tvoe, moe ne napokaz. Ty schastliv, ya schastlivej v desyat' raz! Sonnet XXXVIII How can my muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O! give thy self the thanks, if aught in me Worthy perusal stand against thy sight; For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thy self dost give invention light? Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth Than those old nine which rhymers invocate; And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Eternal numbers to outlive long date. If my slight muse do please these curious days, The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. Zachem syuzhety mne izobretat', Kogda v moih poemah ty dusha? Ne kazhdomu zhe o tebe chitat', Vul'garnye bumagi vorosha. Ne sam li na sebya, lyubimyj moj, Ty smotrish', vzglyad brosaya na menya, Kogda ne proslavlyaet lish' nemoj Izyashchnyj otsvet milogo ognya? Desyataya ty muza; v desyat' raz Ty prevoshodnej prezhnih devyati; I mozhet bleskom stihotvornyh fraz Hvalitel' tvoj bessmert'e obresti. Moya zhe muza dlya tebya ploha, No ty velich'e moego stiha. Sonnet XXXIX O! I how thy worth with manners may I sing, When thouart all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is't but mine own when I praise thee? Even for this, let us divided live, And our dear love lose name of single one, That by this separation I may give That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone. O absence! what a torment wouldst thou prove, Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, To entertain the time with thoughts of love, Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive, And that thou teachest how to make one twain, By praising him here who doth hence remain. Kak mog by ya tebya blagoslovlyat', Kogda by ty sovpal so mnoj vpolne? Reshus' li sam sebya ya proslavlyat', Postignuv, chto ty luchshee vo mne? Ne potomu li my obrecheny Na etom svete drug bez druga zhit' I na dva sushchestva rassecheny, CHtoby toboj mne bol'she dorozhit'? Razluka by izmuchila menya, Kogda b ne uslazhdala gor'kij srok Lyubov' mechtami nezhnymi draznya Vsyu protyazhennost' mrachnuyu dorog. Nas nadvoe razluka rassekla, No zdes' i tam s toboj moya hvala. Sonnet XL Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceives! By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty: And yet, love knows it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. YA vse moi lyubovi otdayu Tebe, moya lyubov', no vse ravno Zaranee ty vsyu lyubov' moyu Obrel nepopravimo i davno. Ty prav, lyubov'yu pol'zuyas' moeyu, No esli svoenravno otvergaesh' Ty dar, v kotorom otkazat' ne smeyu, Na samogo sebya ty posyagaesh', Proshchayu ya tebya, prelestnyj tat', Ne poshchadivshij vlyubchivoj nuzhdy, Hotya strashnee ot lyubvi stradat', CHem ot privychnoj, vspyl'chivoj vrazhdy. Pust' krasota tvoya ub'et menya, Umru, tebya v ubijstve ne vinya. Sonnet XLI Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd; And when a woman woos, what woman's son Will sourly leave her till he have prevail'd? Ay me! but yet thou might'st my seat forbear, And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, Who lead thee in their riot even there Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth: - Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee, Thine by thy beauty being false to me. Iz-za tebya sluchalos' mne stradat', Poskol'ku ty i molod, i krasiv, A serdca tvoego ne pokidat' Ne mog ya, ogorchenij ne vkusiv. Ty, nadelennyj prelest'yu cvetov, Skazhi, kto v cvete let na vysote? Syn zhenshchiny, ty razve ne gotov Pokorno sdat'sya zhenskoj krasote? YA vizhu, kak ty yun i kak ty svezh, Tvoyu li ya branit' reshus' mechtu? Ty vovlechen v bezuderzhnyj myatezh, Narushiv dvazhdy vernost' naletu: Neveren ej, v sebya ee vlyubiv; Sebe neveren, druga oskorbiv. Sonnet XLII That thou hast her it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her, because thou know'st I love her; And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath found that loss; Both find each other, and I lose both twain, And both for my sake lay on me this cross: But here's the joy; my friend and I are one; Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone. Ona tvoya, no eto ne beda; YA sam ee lyublyu, net, my ne v ssore; No hudshego ne izbezhat' vreda: Ona toboj vladeet, vot v chem gore; Nevernye v lyubvi, ya vas proshchayu; Ee, vinovnuyu v tvoem neduge, YA ne klyanu, no i ne zashchishchayu; Lyubov' moyu vy lyubite drug v druge, Utrachen mnoyu, ty uhodish' k nej, Ej bez tebya mogu ya doveryat', I kazhdaya poterya tem cennej, CHto ya boyus' oboih poteryat'. No vse-taki s toboyu my odno, Tak chto lyubim ya eyu vse ravno. Sonnet XLIII When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, How would thy shadow's form form happy show To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made By looking on thee in the living day, When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. Svetlejshij den' ya promorgat' ne proch'; Vse, chto ya vizhu, nedostojno vzglyada, Vo t'me tebya mne vozvrashchaet noch'; Vo sne siyaesh' ty, moya uslada, Ty ten', tenyam daruyushchaya svet! Kakoe ty siyan'e mog by dnyu Pridat', kogda vo mrake ravnyh net Tomu, chto ya pod vekami hranyu, Kak voshishchali by menya luchi, YAvlyaya mne tebya sred' bela dnya, Kogda poddel'nyj obraz tvoj v nochi Tak charoval i radoval menya. Dni bez tebya polnochnoj t'my chernej; Ty snish'sya mne, i nochi luchshe dnej. Sonnet XLIV If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way; For then despite of space I would be brought, From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee; For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, As soon as think the place where he would be. But, ah! thought kills me that I am not thought, To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, But that so much of earth and water wrought, I must attend time's leisure with my moan; Receiving nought by elements so slow But heavy tears, badges of either's woe. V mysl' obrativ gromozdkij moj sostav, Durnuyu dal' ya prevozmog by v mig, I, nad prostranstvom vostorzhestvovav, Gde b ni byl ty, tebya by ya nastig. I pust' neveroyatno ty dalek, K tebe, minuya sushu i morya, Moyu by mysl' moj pomysel uvlek, Mne blizost' vozhdelennuyu darya. No ya ne mysl', i mysl' menya ub'et; Ko mne moya v nej kroetsya vrazhda. YA plot', i ya terplyu tyagchajshij gnet, Kak brennaya zemlya i kak voda; A ya stihij medlitel'nyh chertog, Gde slezy - postoyannyj gor'kij tok. Sonnet XLV The other two, slight air, and purging fire Are both with thee, wherever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life, being made of four, with two alone Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; Until life's composition be recured By those swift messengers return'd from thee, Who even but now come back again, assured Of thy fair health, recounting it to me: This told, I joy; but then no longer glad, I send them back again, and straight grow sad. Ogon' i vozduh legche na podŽem; Vlekut ih otdalennye kraya. V otsutstvii-prisutstvii tvoem ZHelanie moe i mysl' moya. V stihiyah chetyreh zaklyuchena ZHizn'; dve dolzhny vblizi tebya bluzhdat', A zhizn' moya bez nih obrechena Smertel'noj melanholiej stradat'. V dalekoj pobyvali storone I radostno toropyatsya nazad; ZHizn' dobroj vest'yu vozvrashchayut mne: Ty tam zdorov, i, znachit, zdes' ya rad, No vnov' poslov ya posylayu vdal', I ostaetsya mne odna pechal'. Sonnet XLVI Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes, But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies, To "cide this title is impannelled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart; And by their verdict is determined The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part: As thus: mine eye's due is thine outward part, And my heart's right, thine inward love of heart. Moj glaz i serdce, vtyanutye v spor, Iz-za tebya gotovy vrazhdovat'. Tebya dobyl moj nenasytnyj vzor, I vporu kazhdomu svoe urvat'. Nastaivaet serdce, chto ono Tvoj obraz luchshe sohranit ot glaz; Perechit glaz: lish' v nem zataeno Dostoinstvo tvoe ne napokaz. Sudebnuyu kollegiyu prishlos' Formirovat' iz myslej, dorozha Serdechnoj pravdoj, chtoby udalos' Osushchestvit' podob'e delezha. Glaz vneshnost'yu tvoeyu zavladel. Lyubov' - dlya serdca pravednyj udel. Sonnet XLVII Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other: When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, And to the painted banquet bids my heart; Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part: So, either by thy picture or my love, Thy self away, art present still with me; For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, And I am still with them, and they with thee; Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight Awakes my heart, to heart's and eyes' delight. V soyuze glaz i serdce u menya. ZHizn' bez tebya im kazhetsya nedugom; Tebya v zapase berezhno hranya, Oni toboyu delyatsya drug s drugom. Piruet glaz, kogda ty pered nim, I pyshnym pirom serdce veselit, No glaz byvaet golodom tomim, I serdce golod etot utolit. Mysl' o tebe so mnoj ili ty sam; Kuda by ni vela tvoya stezya, S toboyu mysl' moya i zdes', i tam, A s mysl'yu razluchit' menya nel'zya. I esli glaz moj snom otyagoshchen, Tvoj obraz glazu serdcem vozvrashchen. Sonnet XLVIII How careful was I when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, Within the gentle closure of my breast, From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part; And even thence thou wilt be stol'n I fear, For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. V put' otpravlyayas', v dome ya zapru Vse veshchi, pozabochus' ya vser'ez, CHtoby ushcherba moemu dobru Dobrozhelatel' mnimyj ne nanes. V sravnenii s toboj almaz - pustyak; Kak byt', chto delat', sam ty posudi, Kogda sredi dorozhnyh peredryag Tebya ne doschitayus' ya v grudi? Net larchika drugogo, gde by ty Tait'sya mog, hotya tebya tam net. CHto esli v nezhnoj skryne lish' mechty, A tvoj davno prostyl prelestnyj sled? Kogda tebe tak vysoka cena, Boyus', chto dazhe vernost' neverna. Sonnet XLIX Against that time, if ever that time come, When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Called to that audit by advis'd respects; Against that time when thou shall strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, When love, converted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Against that time do I ensconce me here, Within the knowledge of mine own desert, And this my hand, against my self uprear, To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, Since why to love I can allege no cause. V to vremya zloe (vdrug ono pridet?), Kogda tvoya lyubov' ko mne, moj drug, Moim izŽyanam poteryaet schet, Issyaknet, net, minuet, kak nedug; V to vremya, zloe dlya menya, kogda Vo vzglyade nezhnom ty otkazhesh' mne, A bezrazlich'e huzhe, chem vrazhda, I solnce stynet v zimnej vyshine; V to vremya spryachus' ya v moyu vinu, I pomnya i ne pomnya o bylom; YA ruku podnimu i prisyagnu, CHto ya toboj nakazan podelom. Tvoj prigovor, konechno, spravedliv: Ty prav, menya, bednyagu, razlyubiv. Sonnet L How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek, my weary travel's end, Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, "Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!" The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider lov'd not speed being made from thee. The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with a groan, More sharp to me than spurring to his side; For that same groan doth put this in my mind, My grief lies onward, and my joy behind. CHem bolee v puti mne tyazhelo, Izmuchennomu dumoyu odnoj, Kak mnogo mil' dokuchnyh proleglo Mezhdu moim vozlyublennym i mnoj. Moj kon' pletetsya s gorem popolam, Ustalosti ne v silah prevozmoch', Kak budto ugadal on, chto ya sam Ne rasstavat'sya, drug, s toboj ne proch'. Prishporivayu do krovi konya, CHtob, nakonec, on bodro poskakal, No vopl' ego bol'nee dlya menya, CHem dlya nego bezzhalostnyj metall. Moj stonet kon', i kak zabyt' mne vpred': Pokinuv radost', edu ya skorbet'. Sonnet LI Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I haste me thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. O! what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow? Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind, In winged speed no motion shall I know, Then can no horse with my desire keep pace. Therefore desire, (of perfect'st love being made) Shall neigh, no dull flesh, in his fiery race; But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade- Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go. YA priznayus', kon' u menya dryannoj, No i konyu menya kak budto zhal'; Lish' nehotya mezhdu toboj i mnoj Priumnozhaet on durnuyu dal'. No kon' kakoj nastol'ko budet skor, CHtoby k tebe nesti menya stremglav? YA naletu ne obojdus' bez shpor, Neuderzhimyj veter osedlav. Poprobuj moj poryv ostanovi, ZHelan'e rasstoyaniem draznya, Kogda v doroge rzhanie lyubvi Operezhaet zhalkogo konya. Kon' plelsya, pomysel moj razgadav. Pust' medlit on; lechu k tebe stremglav. Sonnet LII So am I as the rich, whose blessed key, Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since, seldom coming in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special-blest, By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope. Hranyashchij dragocennost' pod zamkom, Bogach glazam svoim ne doveryaet; Lyubuyas' eyu izredka tajkom, On etim naslazhden'e obostryaet. Moj pyl otvazhivaetsya edva Izvedat' moj charuyushchij sekret; V techen'e goda redki torzhestva; Est' v ozherel'e glavnyj samocvet. Vo vremeni ty zapert, kak v larce, Ty v garderobe luchshij moj naryad; Redchajshij prazdnik ty v moem dvorce; Toboj gorditsya moj vlyublennyj vzglyad. Vot moj triumf - toboyu obladat', A bez tebya tebya s nadezhdoj zhdat'. Sonnet LIII What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you but one, can every shadow lend. Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new: Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear; And you in every blessed shape we know. In all external grace you have some part, But you like none, none you, for constant heart. Kakov, skazhi mne, plotskij tvoj sostav? Odnoyu ten'yu kazhdyj nadelen. Prisvaivaesh' teni, zablistav; Ih u tebya, dolzhno byt', million. Adonis byl by na tebya pohozh, Bud' on, kak ty, plenitel'no krasiv; No kak sama Elena, ty horosh, V otlichie ot grekov drevnih zhiv. Vesna - tvoih nositel'nica char; Menyaet god oblichil, kak ty; Prinosit osen' svoj roskoshnyj dar, Podobie tvoej zhe krasoty. Vse prelesti sredi tvoih lichin, No postoyanstvom slaven ty odin. Sonnet LIV O! How much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live. The canker blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth. Prekrasnej krasota, kogda verna Ona sebe, i vneshnij vid pravdiv; Luchitsya sut' ee, izvne vidna, Blagouhan'em oblik podtverdiv. Prel'shchayut s chervotochinoj cvety Takoj zhe tochno roskosh'yu raskraski; Sredi shipov podob'yam krasoty Daruet leto prazdnichnye maski. Im suzhdeno cvesti ni dlya kogo. Kto pozhelaet budushchej truhi? Drugie rozy - nashe torzhestvo. Iz ih smertej sladchajshie duhi. Ne bojsya otcvesti kogda-nibud', V moem stihe svoyu ostaviv sut'. Sonnet LV Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. "Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. Zabven'yu obrekaya carskij prah, Neryaha-vremya mramory chernit, No prosiyaesh' ty v moih stihah, Tebe ono vreda ne prichinit. Vojna i smuta statui krushat, Vzryvaya s kornem kamennyj chertog. Drugih mech Marsa i ogon' strashat, A ty ugrozy eti prevozmog. Ne bojsya! Nevozmozhen tvoj zakat, I dlya potomstva yasnye cherty Ostanutsya; vospetyj mnoyu klad, Do svetoprestavlen'ya budesh' ty. Do voskresen'ya mertvyh ty v moih Glazah vlyublennyh, vernyh, kak moj stih. Sonnet LVI Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, To-morrow sharpened in his former might: So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, To-morrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness. Let this sad interim like the ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted new Come daily to the banks, that when they see Return of love, more blest may be the view; As call it winter, which being full of care, Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. Ty vechno obnovlyaesh'sya, lyubov'. Edva ty svoj nasytish' appetit, Uzhe gotov on obostrit'sya vnov'. ZHelan'yu vozderzhanie pretit. Neuzhto ty, lyubov', ne takova? Vostorgom ne uspeesh' ty upit'sya, I vnov' glaza nesyty, kak sperva: Nikak lyubov' ne mozhet pritupit'sya. Svoeyu grustnoj dal'yu okean Daruet pyl serdechnyj dvum vlyublennym, I kazhdomu iz nih svoj bereg dan, CHtob drug tomilsya s drugom otdalennym. Zimoj zovetsya skorbnaya pora, No tem zhelannej letnyaya zhara. Sonnet LVII Being your slave what should I do but tend Upon the hours, and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend; Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world without end hour, Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, When you have bid your servant once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are, how happy you make those. So true a fool is love, that in your will, Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. CHego delat' mne, rabu, kak ne lovit' Tvoi zhelan'ya v cherede chasov? Ih ne uskorit', ne ostanovit', Poka na tvoj ne otzovus' ya zov. Ne klyast' zhe mne tot beskonechnyj chas, Kogda pokorno na chasah stoyu, Poka ne otoshlesh' menya ty s glaz. Tak volyu vypolnyayu ya tvoyu. Pechal'nyj rab ne smeet voproshat' Revnivoj mysl'yu, gde ty, gospodin, Kogo gotov soboyu uteshat' Naedine, kogda ty ne odin. Kakoj by na sebya ni vzyal ty greh, Dlya durochki lyubvi ty luchshe vseh. Sonnet LVIII That god forbid, that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! O! let me suffer, being at your beck, The imprison'd absence of your liberty; And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong That you yourself may privilege your time To what you will; to you it doth belong Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. Menya, vsego lish' tvoego raba, Da sohranit Gospod' ot nablyudenij Nad gospodinom, hot' vlechet sud'ba Tebya stihiej greshnyh naslazhdenij. K stradan'yu mne davno ne privykat'; Moya svoboda u tvoej v plenu. Kak hochesh', mozhesh' mnoyu pomykat'; YA vse ravno tebya ne proklyanu. Ty priznaesh' lish' sobstvennuyu vlast', Sebe prisvaivaesh' kazhdyj mig, I esli v greh ty soizvolish' vpast', Ty sam sebe sud'ya i duhovnik. A ya po milosti tvoej v adu Blazhenstva vse eshche naprasno zhdu. Sonnet LIX If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, Which labouring for invention bear amiss The second burthen of a former child. Oh that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundred courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done, That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame; Whether we are mended, or where better they, Or whether revolution be the same. Oh sure I am the wits of former days, To subjects worse have given admiring praise. CHto esli novoe - vsego lish' bred Obmanutogo mozga, i ditya Dolzhno rodit'sya prezhnee na svet, Uhudshennomu veku dan' platya? CHto esli obraz tvoj let za pyat'sot Do nas najdu ya v knige, ch'ya cena Tem vyshe sred' plenitel'nyh krasot S teh por, kak sushchestvuyut pis'mena; Togda by mog skazat' ya, nakonec, Mir luchshe, huzhe ili zhe takov, Kak byl, i ty bessmertnyj obrazec Prekrasnogo v techenie vekov, No menee prekrasnomu hvala Izyskannee v drevnosti byla. Sonnet LX Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, Crooked eclipses "gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. Kak b'yutsya volny v kamenistyj breg, CHtoby razbit'sya kazhdoj v svoj chered, Tak za minutoyu minuta v beg Puskaetsya i, probezhav, umret. Rozhden'e - svet v techenii vremen, Kotoryj dvizhet nami do pory; Zatmen'yami on budet iskrivlen, I vremya sokrushit svoi dary. Ono pronzaet prelest' yunyh form, Userdstvuet, morshchiny uglubiv; Priroda dlya nego - vsego lish' korm, I vechnyj serp ego trudolyubiv. No ty ne bojsya; mnoyu ty vospet Dlya nyneshnih i dlya gryadushchih let. Sonnet LXI Is it thy will, thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So far from home into my deeds to pry, To find out shames and idle hours in me, The scope and tenor of thy jealousy? O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great: It is my love