oizvol slepoj Obrek zloschastnoj uchasti menya: Zaiskivat' pred suetnoj tolpoj? YA ploshchadnym zapyatnan remeslom. Krasil'shchik ne otmoet ruk nikak. Storonyatsya menya - i podelom. Isprav' menya, kogda ty mne ne vrag. Gotov po ukazan'yu tvoemu YA pit' lekarstvo ot zarazy zlejshej. Gorchajshee za sladkoe primu, Pokayavshis' v pogreshnosti malejshej. Ty pozhalej menya v moem razore - I zhalost'yu moe izlechish' gore. Sonnet CXII Your love and pity doth the impression fill, Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow; For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? You are my all-the-world, and I must strive To know my shames and praises from your tongue; None else to me, nor I to none alive, That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong. In so profound abysm I throw all care Of others' voices, that my adder's sense To critic and to flatterer stopped are. Mark how with my neglect I do dispense: You are so strongly in my purpose bred, That all the world besides methinks y'are dead. Tvoya li nezhnost', kak tvoya lyubov', Postydnyj na chele moem rubec Vrachuet, vozlagaya mne na brov' Zatmivshij zelen' zelen'yu venec? Ty dlya menya ves' mir. V ustah tvoih Pozor moj i vostorg; ty bliz', ty dal'; Ne hochet znat' poetomu drugih Moya dusha, zakovannaya v stal'. YA v bezdnu brosil vse, v konce koncov; YA perestal ugadyvat' gadyuk V oblich'e kritikanov i l'stecov; Mne ostaesh'sya tol'ko ty, moj drug. Tak, torzhestvuya lish' v tebe odnom, Lish' smert' ya vizhu v mire ostal'nom. Sonnet CXIII Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch: Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, The mountain or the sea, the day or night, The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus maketh mine eye untrue. Tebya ne vidya, glaz vselilsya moj V moj duh, a eto ne sulit udach; Svet putayu s obmanchivoyu t'moj. YA zryachij lish' na vid, a sam ne zryach. I v serdce vneshnim formam net puti, Ni molnii, ni ptice, ni cvetku; Tuda zhe, gde viden'e vzaperti, Predmetov bystryh ya ne zavleku. Mne viditsya tvoya v prekrasnom ten'; S nej obrazy menyayutsya mestami; Vorona i golubka, noch' i den', Tvoimi vse stanovitsya chertami. YA mira bez tebya ne vosprimu; Moj vernyj glaz neveren potomu. Sonnet CXIV Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you, Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, And that your love taught it this alchemy, To make of monsters and things indigest Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, Creating every bad a perfect best, As fast as objects to his beams assemble? O! 'tis the first, 'tis flattery in my seeing, And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: Mine eye well knows what with his gust is "greeing, And to his palate doth prepare the cup: If it be poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. CHto esli ya monarh, i potomu, CHto koronovan ya toboj, mne l'styat, I vydaet za svet nochnuyu t'mu Alhimiya tvoya, yavlyaya ryad Svoih ischadij, chudishch i chudes I heruvimov, chej proobraz ty, Prevoznosya durnoe do nebes, Edva pridav emu tvoi cherty. Tak duhu l'stit ugodlivoe zren'e, Somnitel'nyh revnitel'nica uz, I v chashe predlagaet uveren'e V tom, chto celebno sladkoe na vkus. Otrava - men'shij greh na etot raz, CHem sovrashchen'e upoennyh glaz. Sonnet CXV Those lines that I before have writ do lie, Even those that said I could not love you dearer: Yet then my judgment knew no reason why My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. But reckoning Time, whose million'd accidents Creep in "twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp's! intents, Divert strong minds to the course of altering things; Alas! why, fearing of Time's tyranny, Might I not then say, "Now I love you best," When I was certain o'er incertainty, Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? Love is a babe, then might I not say so, To give full growth to that which still doth grow? Pisal ya, za stihom slagaya stih, CHto plamenet' mne yarche nevozmozhno, Kak budto ya lyubil ot sih do sih, No priznayus': to, chto pisal ya, lozhno. Poskol'ku prihot' vremeni v tshchetu Vvergaet povelen'ya korolej, Mysl' prituplyaya, sushit krasotu, I sil'nyj um prel'shchen igroj rolej. Kak mog ya novyh ot lyubvi shchedrot ZHdat', esli rushit vremya vremena I nenadezhnym obnadezhen tot, Komu lish' beznadezhnost' suzhdena? Odno iz dvuh: lyubov' uzhe proshla Ili ona poka eshche mala. Sonnet CXVI Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Puskaj dva duha vernyh vstupyat v brak, Lyubov' lyubov'yu ne byla by, net, Menyayas', kak menyat'sya mozhet znak Sredi drugih izmenchivyh primet. No esli ya skazal, chto ya lyublyu, Za godom god lyubov' - odna i ta zhe Zvezda, siyayushchaya korablyu, Nepostizhimo vernaya na strazhe. Lyubov'yu Vremya probuet igrat', Tuskneet s kazhdym chasom cvet lanit; Serp Vremeni gotov nas pokarat', A lyubyashchij lyubov' svoyu hranit. A esli vse, chto napisal ya, bred, To nikakoj lyubvi na svete net. Sonnet CXVII Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all, Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call, Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds, And given to time your own dear-purchased right; That I have hoisted sail to all the winds Which should transport me farthest from your sight. Book both my wilfulness and errors down, And on just proof surmise accumulate; Bring me within the level of your frown, But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate; Since my appeal says I did strive to prove The constancy and virtue of your love. Vpolne umesten gor'kij tvoj ukor, Kogda i vpravdu vinovat ya v tom, CHto ne cenil dostoinstv do sih por Tvoih ya v samomnenii pustom. Bezvestnye umy menya vlekli, I ya toboj gotov byl prenebrech', PodŽemlya parusa, chtoby vdali Iskat' zamanchivyh, opasnyh vstrech. Zachti v negodovanii tvoem Vse vyhodki mne, vse grehi podryad, No tol'ko ne goni za okoem, V kotorom tvoj mne viden gnevnyj vzglyad, I esli prichinil tebe ya bol', Mne ispytat' lyubov' tvoyu pozvol'. Sonnet CXVIII Like as, to make our appetite more keen, With eager compounds we our palate urge; As, to prevent our maladies unseen, We sicken to shun sickness when we purge; Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness, To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness To be diseased, ere that there was true needing. Thus policy in love, to anticipate The ills that were not, grew to faults assur'd, And brought to medicine a healthful state Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cur'd; But thence I learn and find the lesson true, Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. Kak pishcha nam privychnaya pretit I pryanosti dlya vkusa nam nuzhny, Kak posle svoj chrezmernyj appetit My vrachevat' slabitel'nym dolzhny, Tak, ne presyshchen sladost'yu tvoeyu, K lyubvi gotovlyu gor'kuyu pripravu, Narochno v dobrom zdravii boleyu, Uverivshis', chto ya lechus' na slavu. Vedet lyubov' politiku svoyu, I ya sebya bol'nym, poka zdorov, Poroyu dal'novidno priznayu, CHtob ne lishit'sya vseh ee darov. Urok vernejshij v etom, govoryat: Kogda lyubov' - bolezn', lekarstvo - yad. Sonnet CXIX What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart committed, Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never! How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted, In the distraction of this madding fever! O benefit of ill! now I find true That better is by evil still made better; And ruined love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuked to my content, And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent. V slezah siren tailsya eliksir, Proizvedennyj vzgonkoyu v adu, CHtoby ya pil ego, spravlyaya pir, Gde, vyigrav, ya proigrysha zhdu. Sebya schastlivym ya neostorozhno Schital v dushe, takim podverzhen charam, CHto byt' glazam v glaznicah nevozmozhno: Vyprygivayut, muchimye zharom. O zlo! S toboj istochnik blag edin, Gorchajshee sposobstvuet nadezhde; Tak, zanovo vosstala iz ruin Lyubov' moya prekrasnee, chem prezhde. V moej bolezni gorestnyj uprek Trojnoe schast'e na menya navlek. Sonnet CXX That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. For if you were by my unkindness shaken, As I by yours, you've passed a hell of time; And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken To weigh how once I suffered in your crime. O! that our night of woe might have remembered My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, And soon to you, as you to me, then tendered The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! But that your trespass now becomes a fee; Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. Zapyatnannyj prostupkami shal'nymi, Vvedennyj v zabluzhdenie sud'boj, Ne hvastayus' ya nervami stal'nymi Pod bremenem viny pered toboj. Pust' nanesti posmel tebe ya ranu, Napomnit' i v adu tebe pozvol', Kak tyazhelo teryat' pokoj tiranu, Kak bol'no prichinyayushchemu bol'. Noch' nashego vzaimnogo stradan'ya Poprobuj vspomni, no smotri ne sglaz' Vrachuyushchego samoobladan'ya, Dlya nashih ran gotovyashchego maz'. Drug druga my zastavili stradat'. Dlya nas oboih v etom blagodat'. Sonnet CXXI 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be receives reproach of being; And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing: For why should others' false adulterate eyes Give salutation to my sportive blood? Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their wills count bad what I think good? No, I am that lam, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own: I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown; Unless this general evil they maintain, All men are bad and in their badness reign. Sluh o poroke huzhe, chem porok. Ne luchshe li ne byt', chem lish' kazat'sya? V chuzhih glazah i radost' - lish' predlog, YA predpochtu po-svoemu terzat'sya. No pochemu chuzhoj derzaet glaz Sudit', chto horosho vo mne, chto durno? Moj soglyadataj sam ne bez prokaz, A krov' moya igraet slishkom burno. No ya sem' tol'ko ya, nikto inoj, A skol'ko ih, klejmit' menya ohochih I poprekat' svoeyu kriviznoj, Hot' ya pryamoj v otlichie ot prochih. Vseobshchee v nih torzhestvuet zlo. Ko vlasti na zemle ono prishlo. Sonnet CXXII Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full charactered with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain, Beyond all date, even to eternity: Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature to subsist; Till each to razed oblivion yield his part Of thee, thy record never can be missed. That poor retention could not so much hold, Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; Therefore to give them from me was 1 bold, To trust those tables that receive thee more; To keep an adjunct to remember thee Were to import forgetfulness in me. Tvoj dar, tvoi skrizhali - u menya V mozgu vospominaniya, chej srok Prodlitsya, nezabvennoe hranya, I uvenchaet vechnost'yu itog. Poka prirode protivostoyat Moj mozg i serdce, obraz tvoj taya, Ty vne vsesokrushayushchih utrat, I pamyat' ne izgladitsya tvoya. Net, metki ne nuzhny lyubvi moej, Beg vremeni bez nih neuderzhim, No, dumayu, lyubov' moya celej, Kogda skrizhalyam vveryus' ya tvoim. Podspor'e nashej pamyati vo vred, Zabvenie za nim prihodit vsled. Sonnet CXXIII No, Time, thou shall not boast that I do change: Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; They are but dressings of a former sight. Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire What thou dost foist upon us that is old; And rather make them born to our desire Than think that we before have heard them told. Thy registers and thee I both defy, Not wondering at the present nor the past, For thy records and what we see doth lie, Made more or less by thy continual haste. This I do vow and this shall ever be; I will be true despite thy scythe and thee. Izmenchivost'yu, vremya, ne kori Menya ty, strazh velikih piramid, Gde drevnie spyat mertvym snom cari: Bylaya novizna menyaet vid. Pri zhizni kratkoj voshishchayut nas Poddelki vremeni pod starinu, Kotorye rodyatsya chto ni chas, CHtob nadoest', edva na nih vzglyanu. O Vremya! My tvoi annaly chtim, Gde s budushchim byloe zaodno. Brosayu vyzov hronikam tvoim, CH'i daty oprovergnuty davno. Kak ni grozish' ty nyneshnemu dnyu, Ne izmenyus' ya i ne izmenyu. Sonnet CXXIV If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered, As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls: It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-number'd hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. Zakonnoe ditya ili bastard - Lyubov' moya, kogda na etom svete Ee zachali Vremya i Azart: Sornyak ona ili cvetok v bukete? Lyubvi sozdat' ne mozhet sluchaj, net. Smeyushchayasya roskosh' ne strashna Moej lyubvi, kotoroj ne vo vred Igrayushchie mirom vremena. Politika, izvestnyj eretik, Predostavlyaet vremennyj kredit. Lyubov' moya, odnako, vne intrig: Ni zhar, ni holod ej ne povredit. A u kogo prestupnaya igra, Tot predaetsya zlu, strashas' dobra. Sonnet CXXV Were't aught to me I bore the canopy, With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity, Which proves more short than waste or ruining? Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour Lose all and more by paying too much rent For compound sweet, forgoing simple savour, Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent? No; let me be obsequious in thy heart, And take thou my oblation, poor but free, Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art, But mutual render, only me for thee. Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul When most impeached stands least in thy control. Po-moemu, ne nuzhen baldahin Velich'yu na izmenchivoj zemle, Gde vechnost' - lish' skoplenie ruin, Vidneyushchihsya v prahe i v zole. Ne ya li videl mnimye pobedy, Iz-za kotoryh nes poteri trus, Kak na pirah teryayut priveredy Iz-za priprav k zdorovym yastvam vkus? Izvol' menya ty serdcem prichastit'! Darov svyatyh, no bednyh, ne tayu, CHtoby tebya iskusstvom ne prel'stit', A zhertvu prinesti tebe moyu. Naprasno mnit lukavyj klevetnik, CHto vzglyadom v dushu vernuyu pronik. Sonnet CXXVI O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein showest Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growest. If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back, She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill. Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure! She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure: Her audit (though delayed) answered must be, And her quietus is to render thee. Ty, milyj mal'chik, nam sulish' ushcherb, K chasam pesochnym priravnyav svoj serp, Ty vyrastaesh', nashu zhizn' gubya, I bleknut vse, vlyublennye v tebya. Priroda, gospozha procvetshih chad, Otbrasyvaet i tebya nazad, Tebe vveryaya besposhchadnyj trud, CHtoby ty byl ubijceyu minut. Tebya, hotya ty slyl ee lyubimcem, Ona sochtet kogda-nibud' mzdoimcem. Scheta proverit, podvedet itog, I dlya tebya nastupit epilog. Sonnet CXXVII In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slandered with a bastardshame: For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland'ring creation with a false esteem: Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, That every tongue says beauty should look so. Cvet ne kazalsya chernym v starinu, Byla dosele krasota svetla, A nynche za kakuyu zhe vinu CHernit ee naslednicu hula? Umelaya ruka s prirodoj v spore Licom poddel'nym draznit nayavu, A krasota v svoem nemom pozore Ne vedaet, gde preklonit' glavu. Tak voronovym sumrachnym krylom Okrasheny i brovi, i vlasy, Omracheny pechal'yu o bylom Glaza moej vozlyublennoj krasy. I zlyh nikto ne slyshit yazykov, Vse govoryat: cvet krasoty takov. Sonnet CXXVIII How oft when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand! To be so tickled, they would change their state And situation with those dancing chips, O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips. Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. Kogda letyashchim naperegonki, O muzyka moya, perstam tvoim Tak nezhno vtoryat gammy-pozvonki, Zvuk v dereve, kotorym sluh tomim, Zaviduyu schastlivym pozvonkam; Dlya nih tvoya zhelannaya ruka, Dlya dereva, sposobnogo k pryzhkam, Ot gub moih zapretno daleka. Moi by guby vmesto etih shchep Tancuyushchih vkusili torzhestvo. Sudi sama: ne gluh ya i ne slep, ZHivehonek, a derevo mertvo. CHto derevyashki! Hvatit s nih persta, A mne tvoi by celovat' usta! Sonnet CXXIX The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action: and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad. Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. Duh, rastochaemyj cenoj styda, - Vot strast' v razgare, i dotole strast' - Predatel'stvo, muchitel'stvo, vrazhda, Smyaten'e, bujstvo, pagubnaya vlast'. Eshche ne radost', no uzhe pozor; Ohotit'sya zastavit, a sama Otravit pravote naperekor Nazhivkoyu, svodyashcheyu s uma. S uma svedet v pogone, provedet, Narushiv obladaniem zapret; Lish' ten' blazhenstva tam, gde t'ma tenet, Sokrovishchem prikinuvshijsya bred. Vse eto znayut vse, no kto ne rad Podobnym nebesam, vedushchim v ad! Sonnet CXXX My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare. Ne solnce, net, moej lyubimoj vzor, Korally krashe gub, ne ver' molve; Grud' u nee tusklee snezhnyh gor, CHerneyut zavitki na golove. Hot' rozami vesennij sad bogat, Ee lanitam roskosh' roz chuzhda; U nej v ustah ne tol'ko aromat, Primeshan tlen k dyhaniyu vsegda. Otradoj nezhnyj golos mne zvuchal, Odnako blagozvuchnee struna; YA priznayus': bogin' ya ne vstrechal, A miloj pochva tverdaya nuzhna. Napyshchennost'yu lzhivoj bredit svet, A dlya moej lyubvi sravnenij net. Sonnet CXXXI Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold, Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; To say they err I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone. And to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face, One on another's neck, do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds. Tiranstvuesh', pokornogo draznya To shutkoyu zhestokoj, to prikazom Lish' potomu, chto tol'ko u menya Ty bleshchesh' v serdce redkostnym almazom. No, govoryat, ne stol' ty horosha, CHtoby vlyublennyj muchilsya, skorbya I serdce den' za dnem sebe krusha, Kak ya teper' tomlyus' iz-za tebya. Tak, muchayas' po sobstvennoj vine, Oprovergat' ya ne derznu molvu, No v chernom krasota siyaet mne, I potomu ya svetom t'mu zovu. No u tvoih deyanij chernyj cvet, I v etom podtverzhdenie klevet. Sonnet CXXXII Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain, Have put on black and loving mourners be, Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, Nor that full star that ushers in the even, Doth half that glory to the sober west, As those two mourning eyes become thy face: O! let it then as well beseem thy heart To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack. Kak dorog mne v glazah tvoih namek Na zhalost'; ne v tvoem li serdce gnev CHernejshej t'moj glaza tvoi oblek, Za skorb' moyu menya zhe pozhalev? Ne tak idet licu vostoka v serom Luch solnca, zolotyashchij sklony gor, Ne tak idet zvezda nebesnym sferam, CHej luch privetnyj na zakate skor, Kak skorb' moya by serdcu tvoemu Poshla, kak mrak tvoim glazam idet, Kogda by sostradatel'nuyu t'mu Ty mne prednaznachala v moj chered. I podtverdit' ya mog by nesprosta: Klyanus', chto tol'ko v chernom krasota! Sonnet CXXXIII Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Is't not enough to torture me alone, But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken, And my next self thou harder hast engrossed: Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken; A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed. Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward, But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail; Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard; Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail: And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee, Perforce am thine, and all that is in me. Proklyat'e serdcu, ranivshemu nas Oboih, tak chto muchit nas nedug, I ne odin skorblyu ya chto ni chas, So mnoyu v rabstve moj sladchajshij drug; Na volyu rvat'sya - tshchetnaya potuga. Tvoim zhestokim vzorom sokrushen, Tebya i samogo sebya i druga, Kaznennyj trizhdy, ya toboj lishen. YA zaklyuchen v tvoej stal'noj grudi. Moj drug so mnoj, pust' serdcem ya ubog, Ty hot' ego ot muk osvobodi, A serdce ty ostav' moe v zalog. No ty moya tyur'ma, stena k stene; YA tvoj, on tvoj, kak vse, chto est' vo mne. Sonnet CXXXIV So now I have confessed that he is thine, And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, For thou art covetous, and he is kind; He learned but surety-like to write for me, Under that bond that him as fast doth bind. The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use, And sue a friend came debtor for my sake; So him I lose through my unkind abuse. Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me: He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. Ego tvoim priznat' mne suzhdeno, I predayus' ya sam tebe v zaklad, Poskol'ku v zhizni on i ya - odno: Osvobodit' ego ya byl by rad. Prisvoila ego tvoya alchba, I on tebe prinadlezhat' ne proch' Hot' v kachestve poslednego raba Ne dlya togo li, chtoby mne pomoch'? No krasota - tvoj gibel'nyj statut. Ne darish' nichego, daesh' ty v rost; Kto na tebya podat' nameren v sud, Tot proigraet, beznadezhno prost. Itak, moj drug toboyu oderzhim, I oba my tebe prinadlezhim. Sonnet CXXXV Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in over-plus; More than enough am I that vexed thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus. Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious, Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? Shall will in others seem right gracious, And in my will no fair acceptance shine? The sea, all water, yet receives rain still, And in abundance addeth to his store; So thou, being rich in Will, add to thy Will One will of mine, to make thy large will more. Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill; Think all but one, and me in that one Will. Sred' raznyh vol' tvoih zovus' ya "Vil'". Svoyu kak hochesh' volyu pozabav', No nevznachaj menya ne peresil', Net, k vole ty svoej menya pribav'! Neuzhto volya tak tvoya tesna, CHto Vilyu v etu volyu hodu net? Neuzhto tak ona zaselena, CHto nezhnyj tvoj ne dlya menya privet? Vbiraet more glad'yu zybkih mil' Do kapli vlagu bryzzhushchih dozhdej. A dlya tebya neuzhto lishnij Vil', I brezguesh' ty voleyu moej? Ty poshchadi moj alchushchij fitil'. Sredi drugih puskaj mercaet Vil'. Sonnet CXXXVI If thy soul check thee that I come so near, Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love, my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. Will, will fulfil the treasure of thy love, Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one. In things of great receipt with ease we prove Among a number one is reckoned none: Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy store's account I one must be; For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold That nothing me, a something sweet to thee: Make but my name thy love, and love that still, And then thou lovest me for my name is "Will." Kogda menya ty hochesh' otognat', Kak prochuyu svetyashchuyusya pyl', Slepoj tvoej dushe pora by znat': Tvoeyu volej mog by stat' ya, Vil'.