No volya ne edina u tebya. V izvilinah tvoih ostaviv sled, YA, Vil', ne uvil'nu, v glazah ryabya; A vdrug bez Vilya vovse voli net? Nezvanyj i nenazvannyj primknu K tvoim zhelan'yam, chtoby prinyala Ty volyu na sebya eshche odnu, Kak budto by ona tebe mila. Byt' mozhet, vspomnish' ty potom, kak byl': Lyubila ty menya za imya "Vil'". Sonnet CXXXVII Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, That they behold, and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies, Yet what the best is take the worst to be. If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks, Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied? Why should my heart think that a several plot, Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Or mine eyes, seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face? In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, And to this false plague are they now transferred. Lyubov', slepaya dura! Ty dlya glaz Ne porcha li? Zachem tebya ya chtu? V tvoem ya navazhdenii pogryaz, Hotya, byvalo, videl krasotu. A esli porchenyj moj glaz - kryuchok, CHtoby menya zhe, greshnogo, sudit', Ne ya li zhadno klyunul, durachok, Vsem serdcem, razuchivshimsya sudit'? Poverit' zagovorshchikam-glazam, Kak budto by horoshee v plohom, Prel'shchat'sya serdcu razve zhe ne sram CHertami, iskazhennymi grehom? Tak zabluzhden'e muchaet menya, Bolezn'yu zarazitel'noj kaznya. Sonnet CXXXVIII When my love swears that she is made of truth, I do believe her though I know she lies, That she might think me some untutored youth, Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, Although she knows my days are past the best, Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue: On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed: But wherefore says she not she is unjust? And wherefore say not I that I am old? O! love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love, loves not to have years told: Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flattered be. Lyubov' moya klyanetsya, chto ona Pravdivaya, vsya do kornej volos. YA veryu ej, hot' lozh' ee vidna. Tak mog by verit' lish' molokosos. Zavorozhennyj lzhivym yazykom, YA, ves' vo vlasti prihotlivyh char, Sebya uporno ubezhdayu v tom, CHto mne ona ne lzhet i ya ne star, CHto zh pravdu mne ona ne govorit, Kogda kruzhit mne golovu mechta? Vsegda lyubov' pravdiva lish' na vid, Vlyublennyj rad zabyt' svoi leta. S nej lgu ya sam, kak lzhet ona so mnoj, I oba pol'shcheny takoj cenoj. Sonnet CXXXIX O! Call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart; Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue: Use power with power, and slay me not by art, Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight, Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside: What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide? Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows Her pretty looks have been mine enemies; And therefore from my face she turns my foes, That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: Yet do not so; but since lam near slain, Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. Ne govori, chto dolzhen opravdat' YA prichinennoe toboyu zlo. Ot slov tvoih mne luchshe postradat', Ot glaz tvoih mne slishkom tyazhelo. Mne izmenyaj ne na glazah moih! YA, dorogaya, razve ne postig, Kak ty hitra, kogda, lyubya drugih, So mnoyu ty pokonchit' mozhesh' v mig? Ty znaesh' horosho, lyubov' moya, CHto smert'yu mne glaza tvoi grozyat, I, ot menya vragov moih taya, K drugim stremish' svoj smertonosnyj vzglyad. No vzglyadom luchshe ty menya ubej, Izbav' ot zhizni, kak i ot skorbej. Sonnet CXL Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were, Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so; As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, No news but health from their physicians know; For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee; Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. ZHestoka ty, no takzhe bud' mudra! YA vse-taki, hot' svyazan moj yazyk, Kogda byvaet slishkom bol' ostra, Krasnorechivejshij iz goremyk. Mne govori: "lyublyu", pust' ne lyubya, I ya poverit' etomu gotov; Tak pri smerti prishedshemu v sebya Bol'nomu govoryat, chto on zdorov. Inache ya v otchayan'e pridu, Pripravlyu pravdoj gor'kij vkus klevet, Derznu tebya ogovorit' v bredu, I mozhet mne durnoj poverit' svet. Ot etogo menya ty uderzhi Ne serdcem - vzglyadom, polnym nezhnoj lzhi. Sonnet CXLI In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote. Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted; Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast with thee alone: But my five wits nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man, Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be: Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain. Tebya ne lyubit moj revnivyj vzglyad, Moi glaza tvoj chernyj vidyat greh; Dlya serdca zhe lyuboj porok tvoj svyat, Dlya serdca moego ty luchshe vseh. Ni sluha ne prel'stish', ni osyazan'ya; Ni nozdri, ni razborchivyj moj rot Imet' uzhe ne mogut prityazan'ya Na chuvstvennejshij pir tvoih shchedrot. Pyat' chuvstv moih i pyat' dushevnyh sil Uderzhivayut serdce, no ono, Kto by iz nih ego ni pristydil, Odno toboyu rabski pleneno. No neizmenno tem ya voshishchen, CHto lish' toboj pokaran i prel'shchen. Sonnet CXLII Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O! but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profaned their scarlet ornaments And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents. Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee: Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows, Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied! V lyubvi k tebe legko menya vinit', Sej nenavistnyj greh moj bezusloven, No ty sebya izvol' so mnoj sravnit' - I ubedish'sya, kto iz nas vinoven. Osudyat kak prekrasnye usta Tvoi menya, kogda, manya mechty, Lyubovnym lihoimstvom zanyata, Kak ya, chuzhie lozha grabish' ty? Brosayu na tebya vlyublennyj vzor, Kak ty vlyublenno smotrish' na drugih. Neuzhto ne nahodish' do sih por Ty zhalosti dlya gorestej moih? V bezzhalostnoj ty vspomnish' zapadne, Kak ty byla bezzhalostna ko mne. Sonnet CXLIII Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Sets down her babe, and makes all swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay; Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent To follow that which flies before her face, Not prizing her poor infant's discontent; So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind; So will I pray that thou mayst have thy "Will," If thou turn back and my loud crying still. Brosaetsya hozyayushka lovit' Stremyashchegosya s ptich'ego dvora Sbezhat', chtoby ego ostanovit': Na vertel, mozhet byt', emu pora. Krichit ee mladenec bez konca Pokinutyj, poka v pogone mat'; Pernatogo ne znaya begleca, Ditya ne mozhet materi ne zvat'. Ty za nadezhdoj gonish'sya svoej, Ty gonish'sya, a pojmannoe gde zh? Pojmat' neulovimoe sumej, No i menya, ditya tvoe, utesh'. Zovu tebya, pechali ne taya: YA Vil', ya volya - ch'ya, kak ne tvoya! Sonnet CXLIV Two loves I have of comfort and despair, Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil, Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride. And whether that my angel be turned fiend, Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; But being both from me, both to each friend, I guess one angel in another's hell: Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out. Tak ya zhivu vo vlasti duhov dvuh: Hranitelyu perechit nedrug moj; Muzhchinoj predstaet mne svetlyj duh, A zhenshchina grozit mne vechnoj t'moj. Ona menya davno v Geennu prochit, Svyatogo pohishchaet u menya I, silyas' v besa prevratit', morochit, Tshcheslav'em chistotu ego draznya. YA podozren'em tyagostnym tomim: CHto esli angel v besa prevrashchen? Uzh slishkom on sblizhaetsya s drugim, Kak budto preispodneyu prel'shchen, No vse eshche mne kazhetsya: vot-vot Zloj angel s dobrym geniem porvet. Sonnet CXLV Those lips that Love's own hand did make, Breathed forth the sound that said "I hate". To me that languished for her sake: But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue that ever sweet Was used in giving gentle doom; And taught it thus anew to greet; "I hate" she altered with an end, That followed it as gentle day, Doth follow night, who like a fiend From heaven to hell is flown away. "I hate", from hate away she threw, And saved my life, saying "not you". Iz ust, kotorye ruka Lyubvi odnazhdy sozdala, Sorvavsheesya s yazyka: "YA nenavizhu!" Mne so zla Skazala tak ona, no zlost' Smenilas' zhalost'yu v tot mig, Kak ischezaet strashnyj gost', CHto lish' otchasti ya postig. "YA nenavizhu", - tak mne vsluh Skazala ty, no net, ne tak. Gotov ischeznut' adskij duh, Noch' vozvrashchaetsya vo mrak. "YA nenavizhu!" - ya, skorbya, Ponik i slyshu: "Ne tebya!" Sonnet CXLVI Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, (???) these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. Dusha, ty zhalkij centr zemli, gde greh Buntuet, na tebya naklikav tlen. Zachem zhe ty, starayas' izo vseh Sil, ukrashaesh' vneshnost' brennyh sten? Zachem ty zhizn'yu zhertvuesh' svoej, CHtoby ukrasit' plotskij svoj chertog I nakormit' bezzhalostnyh chervej, Kotoryh izbezhat' nikto ne mog? ZHivi zhe ty sama, dusha, za schet Lukavogo i hishchnogo slugi; Smelee rastochaj naprasnyj gnet, Smertel'noj roskosh'yu prenebregi. S®esh' to, chto smert' gotova s®est' sejchas; Smert' umoriv, spasesh' sebya i nas. Sonnet CXLVII My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now Reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At random from the truth vainly expressed; For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. Lyubov' moya muchitel'no techet; Tem sladostnej na rany sypat' sol', A bol' moyu tem bolee vlechet To, chto, kak prezhde, prichinyaet bol'. Rassudok vracheval moyu lyubov', Menya pokinuv po moej vine, A nyne smert', kak ej ni prekoslov', Svoe lekarstvo predlagaet mne. Zachem zhe mne lechen'e, esli vlech' Smert' prodolzhaet, vyzyvaya bred, I naugad moya bluzhdaet rech', Utrativshaya pravdu mne vo vred. YA klyalsya, naprimer, chto ty svetla, A ty cherna, kak noch', i adski zla. Sonnet CXLVIII O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight; Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no, How can it? O! how can Love's eye be true, That is so vexed with watching and with tears? No marvel then, though I mistake my view; The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears. O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. Neuzhto zren'e izmenyaet mne, Lyubov'yu ochevidnoe poprav, I potomu rassudok v storone, CHto pered navazhdeniem ne prav? Dopustim, vernyj glaz ne mozhet lgat', I ty svetla, tak pochemu zhe svet Glaza moi gotov oprovergat' Svoim neumolimym rezkim "net"? CHto delat'! Ot lyubvi v glazah temno. Zavolokla zrachki moi toska. Glazam skvoz' slezy videt' ne dano. Ne viden solncu mir skvoz' oblaka. Lyubov' slepit kovarno tokom slez, No tem prelestnej gryaz' grehovnyh grez. Sonnet CXLIX Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not, When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake? Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon, Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend Revenge upon myself with present moan? What merit do I in myself respect, That is so proud thy service to despise, When all my best doth worship thy defect, Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind, Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind. Ty govorish', tebya ya ne lyublyu, No kak priznat' podobnuyu vinu, Kogda ya porazhenie terplyu, S toboj vedya protiv sebya vojnu? Mil, skazhesh', mne byl nenavistnik tvoj, I ya podmigival tvoim vragam? Zachem karaesh' ty menya s lihvoj, Kak budto ne kaznyu sebya ya sam? No kak by ya tebe perechit' mog? Gordit'sya mne dostoinstvom kakim, Kogda ya obozhayu tvoj porok I povinuyus' lish' glazam tvoim? Konechno, ya v lyubvi moej nelep. Ty lyubish' teh, kto vidit, ya zhe slep. Sonnet CL O! From what power hast thou this powerful might, With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantlse of skill, That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate? O! though I love what others do abhor, With others thou shouldst not abhor my state: If thy unworthiness raised love in me, More worthy I to be beloved of thee. Tak ty prevozmogaesh' svoj iz®yan? Kakoyu siloj dvizhesh' mnoj, skazhi, Tak chto klyanus', toboyu obuyan: Dnyu vreden svet, pogryaz moj vzor vo lzhi? Otkuda u tebya podobnyj dar? I pochemu davno nichem inym YA ne prel'shchayus', krome etih char, Zatmivshih nailuchshee durnym? Ne ob®yasnish' li ty mne, pochemu Lyublyu ya to, chto nenavidyat vse? Dover'sya, nakonec, ty moemu Pristrastiyu k tvoej durnoj krase. Tak ya lyublyu tebya odnu iz vseh. Lyubi menya za to, chto eto greh. Sonnet CLI Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born oflove? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: For, thou betraying me, I do betray My nobler part to my gross body's treason; My soul doth tell my body that he may Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason, But rising at thy name doth point out thee, As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride, He is contented thy poor drudge to be, To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. No want of conscience hold it that I call Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. Stol' moloda lyubov', chto sovest' ej Nevedoma, hot' eyu rozhdena. Prelestnica! Menya ty pozhalej! V kom, esli ne v tebe, moya vina? Ty predala menya, i ya predam Sebya moej zhe nizmennoj prirode; Moya dusha zaviduet skotam, Plot' vosstaet v neistovoj svobode. Kogda tebya po imeni zovut, Plot' ukazuet na tebya uzhe, Kak predannyj holop tvoj, tut kak tut, Vstaet i padaet pri gospozhe. Tak chto zhe eto - sovest' ili strast': Lyubvi moej v ugodu vstat' i past'? Sonnet CLII In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing: But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee, When I break twenty? I am perjured most; For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee, And all my honest faith in thee is lost: For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness, Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy; And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness, Or made them swear against the thing they see; For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured eye, To swear against the truth so foul a lie! YA klyalsya lozhno, pylok i revniv. Ne dvazhdy li ty neverna obetam? Prel'shchaesh' lozh'yu, lozhe oskverniv, I nenavidish' ty menya pri etom. No esli ty klyalas' dva raza lozhno, Ne dvadcat' li poklyalsya lozhno raz YA v tom, vo chto poverit' nevozmozhno, V tom, chto ty mne verna ne napokaz? YA klyalsya, chto nemyslimo dobra ty, CHto somnevat'sya mne v tebe greshno; Moi glaza, ya klyalsya, vinovaty V tom, chto tak yasno videt' im dano. CHto ty chista, poklyalsya ya, lyubya, I lozh'yu zapyatnal ya sam sebya. Sonnet CLIII Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep: A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distempered guest, But found no cure, the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes. Bog Kupidon zasnul i fakel svoj Zabyl v trave. Odna iz nezhnyh dev V otmestku pogruzila ognevoj Sej svetoch v vodu, zhara ne sterpev. I u lyubvi zaimstvovannyj zhar Istochnikom uvekovechen byl, I priobrel istochnik divnyj dar: Celit' bol'nyh, vrachuya vrednyj pyl. Prosnulsya bog i razdobyl ognya V plenitel'nyh glazah moej lyubvi, I zapalil on serdce u menya. Kakaya hvor' s teh por v moej krovi! Istochnik ot nee menya ne spas, Pomozhet mne lish' plamen' teh zhe glaz. Sonnet CLIV The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions of true hearts had warmed; And so the General of hot desire Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmed. This brand she quenched in a cool well by, Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual, Growing a bath and healthful remedy, For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall, Came there for cure and this by that I prove, Love's fire heats water, water cools not love. Spal bog lyubvi, svoj fakel uroniv, Kotoryj u neschastnyh ne v chesti; Sbezhalis' docheri lesov i niv, Poklyavshiesya devstvennost' blyusti, I samaya prekrasnaya iz nih Tot okunula plamennik v rodnik; Tak devstvennoj rukoj v lesah gluhih Razoruzhen byl derzkij ozornik. Goryach istochnik ot lyubvi s teh por; Tuda prihodit skorbnyj piligrim, I mozhet iscelit'sya tot, kto hvor, Lish' ya, tvoj bednyj rab, neizlechim. Voda sposobna plamen' pobedit', Odnako ej lyubvi ne ostudit'.