Vil'yam SHekspir. Sonety (Per.S.I.Turuhtanova)
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Perevod S.I. Turuhtanova
Novye perevody sonetov SHekspira: podlinnye teksty s parallel'nym
perevodom na russkij yazyk / V. SHekspir; per. s angl. S.I. Truhtanova;
predisl. O.B. Timashevoj. - M.: Astrel': ACT, 2006.
OCR Bychkov M.N.
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Zatejlivye stihi o muzhskoj druzhbe
U kazhdogo iz nas svoe videnie SHekspira. Odni associiruyut ego s Gamletom
v ispolnenii Smoktunovskogo, drugie s YArvetom v obraze korolya Lira. Dlya
kogo-to SHekspir - eto kogda Otello dushit Dezdemonu, ili Romeo, karabkayushchijsya
na balkon k Dzhul'ette, a dlya kogo-to - eto Katarina, razyashchaya svoimi
ostroumnymi replikami budushchego supruga ili izrygayushchij nepristojnosti (horosho
esli tol'ko) ser Fal'staf, popravlyayushchij svoj gul'fik.
Kovarstvo YAgo, bespredel'naya nezhnost' Kordelii, vzaimnaya nenavist'
Montekki i Kapuletti, upertoe skopidomstvo SHejloka, raznuzdannost'
Petruchchio, erotomaniya Gertrudy... Mozhno dolgo prodolzhat' spisok porokov i
dostoinstv shekspirovskih geroev, imena kotoryh stali naricatel'nymi.
Kul'turnoe chelovechestvo citiruet ih na pereput'e civilizacij, na vseh
perekrestkah zemnogo shara. YUgo-vostok i Aziya, musul'mane, pravoslavnye i
katoliki, yaponcy i afrikancy stol' zhe chuvstvitel'ny k SHekspiru, kak i lyudi
evropejskoj rasy. Nikto iz pisatelej ne oboznachil nam tak konkretno, ceplyaya
i soznanie, i voobrazhenie, nebo i zemlyu, svet i t'mu, buryu i shtil', chernoe i
beloe. Dostoinstvo SHekspira v tom, chto i segodnya my chasto vidim mir ego
glazami i govorim o nem ego slovami. Rezhissery-postanovshchiki, beryas' za
SHekspira, ne tol'ko podpravlyayut ego teksty, chto vozmozhno pri sochetanii
razlichnyh ego perevodov, skol'ko, ne zadumyvayas' perenosyat proshlye sobytiya v
raznye epohi, i vo dvory megapolisov, ili v sumrak vechnoj merzloty Sibiri.
Bol'shinstvo zritelej ponimaet ego s poluslova, s pervoj repliki, s pervogo
utverzhdeniya geroya:
Vek rasshatalsya - i skvernej vsego,
CHto ya rozhden vosstanovit' ego!
Byt' ili ne byt' - takov vopros,
CHto blagorodnej duhom - pokoryat'sya
Prashcham i strelam yarostnoj sud'by...
Umeret', usnut' - i tol'ko...(?)
(per. B. Pasternaka)
Prostoj vopros "byt' ili ne byt'" dlya massy lyudej, sklonnyh k
virtual'nomu samoischeznoveniyu sovsem ne tak uzh star i neznachitelen. Byt' ili
ne byt' - slova, vsegda otsvechivayushchie noviznoj, bar'er i pregrada, vo vsyakom
sluchae razmyshlenie o tom, kakoj zhe parol' u neznakomogo fajla? Pozyvnye? No
kakov zhe otvet?
Izdatel'stvo reshilo "byt'" sonetam SHekspira v perevode Truhtanova. I
vot chitatel' derzhit v rukah ego sbornik i veroyatno ishchet znakomye emu sonety
o smugloj ledi ili o "dostoinstve, chto prosit podayan'ya", "Uzh, esli mne
pogibnut', to sejchas..."
Srazu predosterezhem ot etoj oshibki. Vo vselennoj ili universume SHEKSPIR
est' raznye planety. My napomnili, veroyatno, samye znakomye, no oboznachim
takzhe, to, chto uskol'znulo ot glaz shirokogo chitatelya. Rech' idet v dannom
sluchae o sonetah sovershenno opredelennoj pory, kotorye vklyucheny v obshchie
sobraniya sonetov, no poroyu ih pechatayut i otdel'no. Kazhdyj predmet trebuet
svoih priblizhenij i utochneniya. V shekspirovskom mirozdanii ih sleduet strogo
raspolozhit', a dlya etogo nachnem razgovor v obychnom poryadke, povtoryaya
izvestnoe, idya k menee izvestnomu.
Dlya bol'shinstva sovremennikov SHekspir - poet, odarennyj osobym zreniem,
otkryvshij v samoj tkani zemnogo bytiya nalichie polyarnyh sil, grozovoe
skoplenie protivoborstvuyushchih energij. Vse zemnoe konchaetsya smert'yu, ved'
dazhe vozniknovenie lichnosti est' protivorechie, uzel. CHem yarche vspyhnet poryv
samoutverzhden'ya demonstracii voli, tem blizhe neotvratimaya razvyazka
reguliruemaya ne chelovekom, sud'boj il' bozh'im providen'em, vysshimi silami.
Odnomu iz vnimatel'nyh chitatelej SHekspira L'vu Tolstomu dramaticheskie
obobshcheniya anglijskogo dramaturga voobshche pokazalis' poverhnostnymi, a
hudozhestvennaya tehnika neestestvennoj. Massovaya slava SHekspira, s ego tochki
zreniya - gipnoz, epidemiya. SHekspir yavno nizhe teh dramaturgov, anonimnyh
avtorov povestej i poem, kotorye posluzhili emu ishodnym materialom. O chem
eto bish' govorit nash velikij pisatel', opirayas', kstati skazat', na
evropejskih literaturovedov Gervinusa i Brandesa? Poprobuem otvetit'.
Delo v tom, chto SHekspir i posledovatel', i predshestvennik velikogo
mnozhestva dramaticheskih poetov Dzhona Bella, Dzhona Hejvuda, Nikolasa YUdella,
Dzhona Stilla, Tomasa Kida, Kristofera Marlo, Bena Dzhonsona, Tomasa Hejvuda,
Dzhona Fletchera, Frensisa Bomonta, Dzhona Forda, Dzho Uebstera i drugih. Bez
nih ego sushchestvovanie vryad li bylo by vozmozhno. Kazhdym iz etih dramaturgov
napisany desyatki, esli ne sotni p'es. Vse eti dramaturgi orientirovalis' na
teatr Italii, Francii, Ispanii, povtoryaya to syuzhet, to priemy, privnosya svoe,
no chasto imitiruya, luchshe ili huzhe, chuzhoe. V literature net absolyutnoj
novizny, no est' ceniteli. V epohu SHekspira eto bogatye mecenaty i
neobrazovannye zriteli, ch'e chut'e na pravdivost' obmanut' nevozmozhno.
Golosuyut nogami. Stoya v partere pri plohom tekste, dolgo ne protyanesh'.
V Londone konca XVI - nachala XVII vv. est' poldyuzhiny postoyannyh
teatral'nyh zdanij, hotya mestom dlya postanovki kakogo-nibud' spektaklya mozhet
posluzhit' i zala vo dvorce, i dvor gostinicy ili harchevni. ZHenskie roli
ispolnyayut muzhchiny, i tol'ko muzhchiny. (Predstav'te sebe tol'ko i Dzhul'etta, i
Kleopatra - muzhchiny! |to ne roli dlya Garrika, no nahodilis' i drugie
aktery). Peredvizhnye truppy vystupayut imenno vo dvorah harcheven, a znachit vo
vsej izborozhdennoj dorogami strane.
Teatr - eto svoeobraznaya zamena knigi, rasskazyvayushchej o tom, chto
sluchilos' s chelovechestvom. Bol'shinstvo zritelej imenno v teatre uznavali o
Troyanskoj vojne, o gibeli Rimskoj imperii, ob Afinskoj respublike, o
pohozhdeniyah srednevekovyh rycarej, ob istorii anglijskogo korolevstva.
Sushchestvuet neglasnoe pravilo o tom, chto v p'esah nel'zya kasat'sya carstvuyushchih
osob (nyneshnee pravlenie samoe luchshee), i religii (eto svyatoe). Posle
prosmotra nekotoryh p'es lyudi dazhe nachinayut poroj molit'sya o nyne
zdravstvuyushchih oficial'nyh osobah.
Nehitrye dekoracii shekspirovskoj epohi (kushetka - eto spal'nya, tron -
oboznachenie korolevskogo dvorca, srazhenie - chetyre aktera s mechami i t.p.)
kazhutsya ischerpyvayushchimi. Odnako primitivnost' vneshnih sredstv ne meshala
videt', ili skoree voobrazhat' mesto velichajshih dram. Nedostatochnost'
ubranstva zamenyali poeticheskie opisaniya. Dejstvovala magiya poeticheskogo
slova. Zriteli ne interesovalis' ryadovym i povsednevnym. Ih volnovali
velikie poiski i smelye avantyury, neveroyatnye vozmozhnosti dlya vzleta i
padeniya otdel'nyh smel'chakov.
Nel'zya otricat', chto vnutr' epohi Vozrozhdeniya mozhno bylo by zaglyanut' i
skvoz' teksty inyh, neshekspirovskih p'es. Odnako etogo uzhe ne sluchilos'.
Veroyatno, potomu chto v shirote i vseobshchnosti SHekspiru otkazat' trudno dazhe
pri gluboko kriticheskom k nemu otnoshenii. Naprimer, poet Serebryanogo veka
Hodasevich polagal, chto ego mir - "krasivyj risunok prichudlivyh linij i
krasivyh zvukov, bezdelushka, simfoniya prekrasnyh slov". I voobshche mozhno li
ponyat', mozhno li poznat' smysl proisshedshego?
Minuvshee - mal'chik, upavshij s balkona,
Togo, chto nastanet, ne nuzhno kasat'sya,
Byt' mozhet i vpravdu zhila Dezdemona
Vot v etom palacco...
Uil'yam SHekspir (1564-1616) rodilsya v gorode Stredford-na-|vone v sem'e
remeslennika ili melkogo burzhua - perchatochnika. Okonchiv mestnuyu
grammaticheskuyu shkolu, to est' nauchivshis' latyni i grecheskomu, SHekspir
pereselilsya v London, gde rabotal suflerom v teatre, chto pomoglo emu stat'
snachala posredstvennym akterom, potom blestyashchim dramaturgom. Povtoryaya chuzhie
p'esy, on nauchilsya sozdavat' svoi sobstvennye. Delo bylo za "malym" - za
talantom. A etot bozhij dar u nego bezuslovno byl.
Vprochem avtorstvo shekspirovskih p'es do sih por osparivaetsya. Ih
pripisyvayut pisatelyu i filosofu Frensisu Bekonu, grafu Derbi, lordu
Retlendu, motiviruya nevozmozhnost'yu dlya provincial'nogo nedouchki global'nogo
videniya mira i cheloveka v nem. U nego sluchalis' geograficheskie, istoricheskie
ili hronologicheskie oshibki: rimlyane u nego nosyat shlyapy, korabli pristayut k
beregam Bogemii, i vo vremena Troi citiruetsya Aristotel'. Govoryat tak zhe,
chto Uil'yam SHekspir prosto dal svoe imya tomu, kto pozhelal i dlya
sovremennikov, i dlya vechnosti ostat'sya neizvestnym. Interesuyas' tajnami
shou-biznesa sovremennoj epohi, mozhno poverit' i takim, pust' dosuzhim,
vymyslam o proshlom. Gipotezy ne menyayut dela.
SHekspir, takoj, kakoj on est' - eto suverennaya territoriya, vklyuchayushchaya v
sebya dve poemy, sto pyat'desyat chetyre soneta i mnozhestvo p'es, podrazdelyaemyh
na tri perioda: svetlyj optimisticheskij, tragedijnyj i melodramaticheskij. Ne
obremenyaya chitatelya dlinnymi perechisleniyami znakomyh emu naimenovanij,
otmetim tol'ko, chto, populyarnyj imenno segodnya, Son _v letnyuyu noch'_ - eto
pervyj period, a ne shodyashchie s podmostkov vseh teatrov mira tragedii
"Gamlet", "Korol' Lir", "Otello", "Makbet" - eto vtoroj. Menee znakomye
p'esy "Burya" i "Zimnyaya skazka" - eto tretij.
V biograficheskih predaniyah o SHekspire est' t'ma legend. Odna iz nih
rasskazyvaet o tom, kak poet nachal pisat' stihi. Ohotyas' na chuzhoj zemle, to
est' zanimayas' brakon'erstvom, poet okazalsya licom yuridicheski presleduemym.
Togda on reshilsya otvechat' vlastyam, razveshivaya zashifrovannye poeticheski slova
opravdan'ya na vseh stolbah v okruge. Znaya latyn' i grecheskij s detstva,
SHekspir mnogih avtorov chital v podlinnike, no osobenno on lyubil Vergiliya i
Ovidiya, ch'i stihi znal naizust'. Ih mozhno vstretit' vstavlennymi ili iskusno
vpletennymi v ego dramaticheskie teksty. On skryto ili otkryto ih citiruet,
perefraziruet, utochnyaya i uluchshaya dlya sovremennikov.
Kogda SHekspir stal dramaturgom, to on srazu nachal pisat' ne huzhe teh,
kto uzhe rabotal dlya sceny, prichem stihi ego byli vyshe izvestnogo, neglasno
prinyatogo urovnya. |to byli stihi zrelogo poeta. Oni mogli vstupit' v
konkurenciyu so stihami uzhe izvestnyh horoshih dramaturgov. Kristofer Marlo,
naprimer, pisal v rifmu, potom otverg ee i vvel belyj stih. SHekspir
posledoval ego primeru. P'es v rifmu u nego ne men'she, chem p'es napisannyh
prozoj ili belym stihom. Sluchaetsya, chto on soedinyaet vse tehniki v
odnom proizveden'e.
Pervoe izvestnoe poeticheskoe proizvedenie SHekspira - eto poema "Venera
i Adonis". V posvyashchenii on nazyvaet ee "pervencem svoej fantazii", kotoryj
on hochet podarit' trem znatnym licam. SHekspir prosit ih stat' ego "krestnym
otcom". Esli schitat' ego stihi podrazhaniem antichnoj poezii, to my imeem delo
s anglijskim ritoricheskim i ponyatijnym ego oformleniem. SHekspir ton'she i
emocional'nee svoih predshestvennikov. Stihi erotichny, no eto ne erotika
srednevekovogo obrazca. Ona vpolne v duhe vremeni - vozrozhdencheskaya, stol'
zhe smelaya, skol' grubaya, sryvayushchaya tajnye pokrovy, nazyvayushchaya vse svoimi
imenami. Tak Venera
...hvataet potnye ladoni
Veselogo i krepkogo yunca
I eti ruki v isstuplennom stone
Bal'zamom imenuet bez konca.
(Per. V. Tomashevskogo)
V sleduyushchej ego poeme "Lukreciya", tozhe zvuchashchej sovremenno, rech' idet o
neravnoj bor'be poroka i dobrodeteli. Obescheshchennaya geroinya konchaet s soboj,
utverzhdaya tem samym, chto chest' cennee zhizni. SHekspir masterski pokazyvaet
razlagayushchee dejstvie na dushu nizmennoj strasti i stradanie oskorblennoj
chistoty. Obshchij ton poemy sumrachnyj, slegka, kak i v pervom sluchae
pateticheskij, nahodyashchijsya v soglasii s syuzhetom o nasilii. Syn poslednego
rimskogo carya Tarkviniya vozzhelal zhenu svoego druga Lukreciyu. Tarkvinij
otricaet srednevekovyj asketizm (grehi vo t'me), on zhazhdet obladat' vsemi
blagami zhizni i zhenshchinoj tozhe, zdes' i sejchas. Prepyatstviya lish' razzhigayut
ego strast'. Da, on cenit krasotu voobshche, no podajte emu totchas to, chto on
hochet. Emu nevazhno, chto ego nazovut nizkim slastolyubcem, chto zhenshchina ne
perezhivet nasiliya, i on sovsem ne dumaet o nakazanii - emu pridetsya
otpravit'sya v izgnan'e za porugannyj simvol krasoty. V finale poemy takie
stroki:
Oni Lukrecii krovavyj prah
Vsem rimlyanam s pomosta pokazali,
Kak povest' o Tarkviniya grehah.
I vyneslo zlodeyam vsem na strah
Svoj prigovor narodnoe sobran'e:
Tarkviniyu navek ujti v izgnan'e.
(per. V. Tomashevskogo)
Poemy otrazili dva polyusa talanta SHekspira: legkuyu maneru iz®yasnyat'sya
po povodu predmetov trudnyh i neodnoznachnyh i zhelanie proiznesti verdikt
vsem skazannym, mozhet byt', dazhe veshchee slovo, kotoroe pryamo ili ispodvol'
ozhidaet chitatel'.
Sleduyushchie poeticheskie opusy SHekspira - eto sonety. Kak druzhno
utverzhdayut kritiki: osnovnaya massa sonetov byla sozdana mezhdu 1592 i 1598
godami, hotya ne isklyuchena vozmozhnost', chto otdel'nye stihotvoreniya byli
napisany ran'she ili pozzhe etogo perioda i lish' potom vklyucheny v svod ego
stihotvorenij.
Po soderzhaniyu sonety mozhno podrazdelit' na dve chasti, odna iz kotoryh,
esli ugodno, povestvuet o strastnoj druzhbe poeta s prekrasnym yunoshej i ne
menee strastnoj lyubvi k nekrasivoj, no plenitel'noj zhenshchine. Dalee, my
uznaem, chto drug i vozlyublennaya poeta sblizilis', to est' oba izmenili emu,
stav prichinoj ego stradanij.
Sredi syuzhetno svyazannyh sonetov mel'kayut poroj i prosto
stihotvoreniya-razmyshleniya, meditacii, malen'kie tragedii ili zavyazki dram.
Celyj ryad motivov i obrazov liriki SHekspira nahodit zatem sootvetstvie v ego
dramaticheskih proizvedeniyah:
YA ne mogu, mne videt' nevterpezh,
Nad prostotoj glumyashchuyusya lozh',
Nichtozhestvo v roskoshnom odeyan'e
I sovershenstvu lozhnyj prigovor,
I devstvennost', porugannuyu grubo...
(per. S. Marshaka)
Odnako sonety k drugu i sonety k vozlyublennoj - eto kak by dva raznyh
cikla, hotya mezhdu nimi est' svyaz'. Esli prosmotret' i izuchit' voobshche vse
sonety SHekspira, to mozhno sdelat' zaklyuchenie, chto oni ne byli napisany po
zaranee obdumannomu planu. Sonetov, posvyashchennyh drugu, gorazdo bol'she, chem
stihov, posvyashchennyh vozlyublennoj. |to sil'no otlichaet sonety SHekspira ot
sonetov drugih poetov Vozrozhdeniya, ital'yanca Dante i Petrarki, francuzov Dyu
Belle i Ronsara. Oni pisali o lyubvi k zhenshchine i tol'ko. Pust' ona byla
vydumannaya. Kto imenno - zhenshchina ili lyubov'? To zhenshchina (Kassandra Dyu
Belle), a to lyubov' (Beatriche Dante, Laura Petrarki).
Surovyj Dant ne prezirav soneta,
V nem zhar lyubvi Petrarka izlival...
A. S. Pushkin
V anglijskuyu poeziyu sonet byl vveden v carstvovanie korolya Genriha
VIII, muzha i ubijcy Anny Bolejn, anglijskimi podrazhatelyami Petrarki - Tomas
Uajetom i Genri Serreem. Oba umerli v sravnitel'no molodye gody. Tauer, kuda
pervyj poet popal kak zameshannyj v processe zlopoluchnoj suprugi Genriha, i
dni tam provedennye, podorvali zdorov'e Uajeta, i on vskore skonchalsya.
Serrej slozhil golovu na plahe, pav zhertvoj dvorcovoj intrigi. Odnako v
istorii literatury oni ostalis' kak pervye i bezuslovnye reformatory
anglijskoj metriki i stilya. Puteshestvuya po Italii, oni pochuvstvovali vysokuyu
sladost' ital'yanskogo stiha i potom popytalis' eto povtorit' po-anglijski.
Vsled za nimi prishel chered zamechatel'nyh avtorov sonetov na anglijskom
yazyke - |dmunda Spensera i Filippa Sidneya. Cikl sonetov "Astrofel' i
Stella", sozdannyj poslednim, osobenno zamechatelen tem, chto poet vospel i
oplakal svoyu neschastnuyu lyubov' k Penelope, sestre grafa |sseksa,
vposledstvii kaznennogo. Filipp Sidnej, u kotorogo sovremenniki vysoko
ocenili ego roman "Arkadiya", napisal v podrazhanie Dyu Belle svoyu "Zashchitu
poezii", gde, v chastnosti, ob etom zhanre skazal: "Vechnodostohval'naya poeziya
preispolnena doblesterodnoj usladitel'nosti i ne lishena ni odnogo iz
kachestv, prisushchih vysokomu ponyatiyu uchenosti; poeliku huleniya na nee
vozvodimye, libo lozhny, libo bessil'ny... zaklinayu vas vseh, imevshih
neschastie prochest' moyu cherniloproizvoditel'nuyu bezdelku... ne prezirajte
dolee svyashchennyh tainstv poezii, ne izdevajtes' nad pochtennym zvaniem
rifmotvorca... vse poety byli rodonachal'nikami vsyakogo vezhestva... Ver'te
vmeste so mnoyu, chto v poezii sokryty mnogie tajnosti, narochito tumanno
napisannye, daby ih vo zlo ne upotrebili umy neposvyashchennye... Ver'te, chto
poety est' lyubimcy bogov i chto vse, imi sochinyaemoe, proistekaet ot
bogovdohnovennogo umoisstupleniya... togda-to vy stanete prekrasnejshimi,
bogatejshimi, mudrejshimi..." (per. G.I. YArho)
Konec shestnadcatogo veka - eto oficial'nyj rascvet sonetnoj formy. V
Anglii v tot moment bylo napechatano okolo dvuh s polovinoj tysyach stihov, a
napisano navernyaka eshche bol'she. Vozniknuv v Italii v XIII veke na osnove
strofy-kancony, uproshchennoj zatem pod vliyaniem strofiki narodnyh pesen, sonet
shirokuyu izvestnost' priobrel blagodarya ital'yancam. On byl i ostavalsya vplot'
do XVIII veka odnoj iz osnovnyh form liriki v Italii.
Stihotvorenie sonet sostoit nepremenno iz chetyrnadcati strok, obychno iz
dvuh katrenov i dvuh tercetov. SHekspirovskie sonety sostoyat i treh katrenov
i odnogo dvustishiya, podvodyashchego itog tomu, chto antiteticheski
protivopostavleno v pervyh dvuh katrenah i ob®edineno "pod shapkoj" -
sintezom v tret'em katrene. Vot, naprimer, sonet 22:
Vret zerkalo, chto ya starik, poka ty
YUn yunost'yu yuncov;
Moj lish' togda nastupit chas rasplaty
Kogda tvoe sostaritsya lico
Esli pervoe chetverostishie eto tezis, mysl', oblechennaya v krasivuyu
formu, vtoroe chetverostishie - antitezis:
Tvoya krasa kak dragocennyj kamen',
Kak dar lyubvi, chto my granim hranya.
S teh por, kak obruchilis' my serdcami,
Kak ya mogu staree byt' tebya?
Drug ochen' molod, poet mnogo starshe, no polagaet sebya v vozraste emu
ravnym. Poetomu on ubezhdaet ego v obobshchenii:
Lelej sebya, bud' molodym do sroka:
V sebe menya spasesh'. Pust' vse umrut -
YA sberegu tebya, moyu zenicu oka,
Kak materi rebenka beregut.
I nakonec posle sinteziruyushchego chetverostishiya proiznositsya sentenciya:
Razbiv mne serdce, voli ty ne zhdi:
Ty u menya, ya - u tebya v grudi.
(per. S. I. Truhtanova)
Stihi, posvyashchennye drugu, imeyut neskol'ko tem. Pervye devyatnadcat'
sonetov na vse lady tolkuyut ob odnom i tom zhe: drug dolzhen zhenit'sya, chtoby
ego krasota ozhila v potomkah. Platonicheskij harakter druzhby vyrisovyvaetsya v
sonetah 44-47, 50-51, zvuchit u nego i lyubov' k drugu, ne znayushchaya ni ubyli,
ni tlena (116).
CHerez vsyu gruppu pervyh, posvyashchennyh drugu sonetov, prohodit
protivopostavlenie brennosti krasoty i neumolimosti vremeni. Vremya voploshchaet
tot zakon prirody, soglasno kotoromu vse rozhdayushcheesya rascvetaet odnazhdy,
zatem nachinaetsya uvyadanie i dal'she - smert'. Vremya mozhet unichtozhit' ne odno
sushchestvo, no oni mogut najti prodolzhenie v potomstve. ZHizn' pobedit, poet
vzyvaet k drugu, prosya ego ispolnit' zakon zhizni, pobedit' vremya, ostaviv
posle sebya syna.
Lingvisty otmechayut segodnya, chto znachenie slova friend stalo bolee
"slabym", tak chto dlya obreteniya prezhnej sily teper' prihoditsya ispol'zovat'
vyrazhenie close friend. V shekspirovskom konkordanse Spevaka etogo vyrazheniya
net, no v sovremennyh istochnikah eto samoe chastoe sochetanie. V vysoko
dinamichnom sovremennom obshchestve lyudi naschityvayut druzej dyuzhinami. Vseh novyh
lyudej, kogo vstrechayut, totchas nazyvayut druz'yami. V shekspirovskuyu epohu
vzglyad na druzhbu predpolagal medlennoe stanovlenie otnoshenij, druzhba dolzhna
dlit'sya "do konca dnej moih".
Est' eshche odno sredstvo bor'by so vremenem - eto tvorchestvo. ZHizn'
korotka, iskusstvo vechno. |tot urok drevnih poet zapomnil ochen' horosho.
Vladeya masterski formoj soneta, SHekspir, rifmuya, ne stremitsya donesti do nas
novoe soderzhanie. On postupaet kakie zabotivshijsya ob izvestnosti
srednevekovyj poet, delayushchij stavku na ottochennost' i sovershenstvo formy. V
poeticheskom cehe rabotali kak v cehu sapozhnikov. Vse sdelannoe dolzhno bylo
byt' nepremenno dobrotno srabotano, vydelano na slavu. Kakaya sut' u bashmaka
ili perchatki? Ih dolzhna byt' para, a u kazhdoj perchatki po pyat' pal'cev na
ruke.
Teryaya formu, vyzhivesh' edva,
No v aromate budet sut' zhiva.
(Per. S.I. Truhtanova)
Donesti sut' mozhno, lish' zaklyuchiv leta divnyj aromat v "steklo tyur'my".
Metafora zvuchit chrezvychajno sovremenno. Kak sledyat sejchas cherez kameru,
steklo vitriny za "zhivoj zhizn'yu" ohranniki ili lyubopytnye, ustalye ili
dotoshnye zriteli? Lenivo ili napryazhenno? S lyubopytstvom ili iz prazdnosti?
Vsyako byvaet, no ispolniteli "zhivoj zhizni", uchastniki eksperimenta ili
artisty poroj sposobny donesti, esli hotite "aromat zhivoj zhizni",
zaklyuchennoj v "steklo tyur'my" (U Marshaka, dlya sravnen'ya: "flakon, gde
aromatov sut'...")
Prostranstvo i vremya - kategorii, kotorymi polno tvorchestvo SHekspira. I
sut' ih ne tol'ko v tom, chto poet, kak skazochnik, menyaet vremya i mesto
dejstviya v tragediyah i komediyah, ostavayas' pri etom realistom i istorikom,
no i v tom, chto kartiny prirody i kosmosa dlya nego soizmerimy s
chelovecheskimi chuvstvami i faktom sushchestvovaniya. _Mirozdan'e, mrak, potop,
krugovert', svet, mir, priroda, zvezdy, nebesa, oko bozhie, Bog_. Takovo
prostranstvo sonetov. Nu a vremya? Vremya - _ubijca, razrushitel' i zlodej,
zabven'e, cepochka let, smert' s kosoj, zemnaya brennost', tiran, zastoj,
kladbishchenskij pokoj_.
Prostranstvo protivopostavleno vremeni, ono sposobno raznesti,
razognat' povsyudu tu "krasotu, chto ubivaet vremya". Poetomu poet govorit
prosto, po-mirski:
Ves' v traure mir udivlen i tih:
Emu ty ne ostavil nichego;
Vdova, hotya b v glazah detej rodnyh,
Uvidit serdcem muzha svoego.
(Per. Truhtanova)
Porazitel'no, kak kartina pohoron otca semejstva peredaet otnosheniya
mira i togo, chto real'no ego prodlevaet - chelovecheskoj zhizni.
Kak skazal Stendal', sushchestvuet stol'ko zhe vidov prekrasnogo, skol'ko
privychnyh sposobov otyskat' schast'e. Sovremennaya zhizn' obladaet sobstvennoj
krasotoj, u nee est' svoj smysl velichiya i svoj sobstvennyj geroizm. Myslya
posledovatel'no i vsegda v razvitii, on, traktuya Rasina, v sopostavlenii s
SHekspirom nahodit antichnuyu krasotu v skul'pture. S ego tochki zreniya, ona
predstavlyaet soboj idealizaciyu voinskoj i grazhdanskoj sily. Predstavim sebe
Gerkulesa, togda kto takoj dendi? "Gerkules, ne nashedshij sebe upotrebleniya".
Ochen' razumno Stendal' v dvuh esse "O SHekspire" predstavil anglijskogo
dramaturga, kak obrazec dlya podrazhaniya sovremennikam, kak hudozhnika,
znayushchego inuyu, chem klassicheskaya, krasotu, kak dramaturga, sochetayushchego svet i
ten', bol'shoe i maloe, nizmennoe i vozvyshennoe tak iskusno, chto eto pohozhe
na samu zhizn'.
To zharko svetit solnce s vysoty,
To oko bozhie zatyagivayut teni;
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I den' smenyaet noch', a stuzhu znoj;
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Uzri s vostoka voshodyashchij svet...
...................Ugasshij den'
Domoj speshit kak nemoshchnyj starik.
Protivopostavlenie sveta i teni v devyatnadcatom veke podhvatili
romantiki, perehodya postepenno k smesheniyu vysokogo i nizkogo,
kategoricheskomu razgovoru o kontrastah ("vysokoparnost' tozhe bozhij dar").
|to svoego roda filosofiya, racional'no vyrazhennaya vzyskuyushchaya kratkost', i,
esli ugodno, dohodchivost'. SHekspir ponyatliv i vsemi ponimaem. Esli on
rassuzhdaet v stihah, stanovyas' to starym, ubelennym sedinami muzhem, to
matronoj, to gosudarem, to politikom, to soldatom, znachit on prekrasno vidit
ih vnutrennij mir i znaet ih slovar'. V dramaticheskih proizvedeniyah ego
geroi ne zvuchat uzh ochen' vysokoparno, skoree aforisticheski, no v sonetah,
gde forma trebuet nekotoroj narochitosti, on povtoryaet znakomye sentencii
antichnyh avtorov, a takzhe prostye istiny, rascvechivaya ih skoropis'yu svoego
duha - metaforami. Ved' metaforizm, po mneniyu russkogo poeta (B.
Pasternaka), - stenografiya bol'shoj lichnosti. Kogda poet risuet celuyu
vselennuyu, SHekspir vosstanavlivaet, izbegaya narushenij, celostnost' vsego
mira. A ves' etot mir on vmeshchaet v poeziyu. V tvorchestve hudozhnika vremya
prevrashchaetsya v vechnost', potomu chto v samoj ego lichnosti vechnost'
prevratilas' vo vremya.
Vsyu poeziyu XVI stoletiya nazyvayut evfuisticheskoj (ot imeni geroya romana
Dzhona Lili "|vfues, ili anatomiya uma"). Ne izbezhal vliyaniya etogo stilya i
SHekspir. |vfuizmy vstrechayutsya chasto v ego rannih komediyah "Dva veronca",
"Besplodnye usiliya lyubvi". Mnogochislennye tropy, sintaksicheskie i
leksicheskie parallelizmy, voshodyashchie k ritorike srednevekovyh latinskih
propovedej i traktatov, k didakticheskim sochineniyam gumanistov sposobstvovali
obogashcheniyu anglijskogo yazyka. V pervoj chasti "Genriha IV". SHekspir
parodiruet etot stil' ustami Hotspera:
Kotenkom luchshe stat' mne i myaukat',
CHem byt' kropatelem ballad nesnosnyh.
Skorej gotov ya slushat', kak skoblyat
Podsvechnik mednyj ili kak skripit
Nemazannoe koleso; vse eto
Tak ne nab'et oskominy, kak sladost'
Poezii zhemannoj: mne ona
Kak dryablaya rysca razbitoj klyachi.
(per. E. Birukovoj)
Sozdavaya odin sonet za drugim, SHekspir nepremenno pol'zuetsya
perifrazom, to est' tozhe priblizhaetsya k evfuizmam i estetike barokko, no vse
chashche uhodit ot nee. V ego sonetah est' katreny, dostatochno vitievatye,
evfuisticheskie, no kogda on delaet umozaklyuchenie v konce, ono u nego vse
prosto i yasno, kak razgovornaya rech', kak poslovica: "Umresh' i isparish'sya,
kak dymok, a ved' v naslednikah ostat'sya mog"; "No esli strah zabven'ya ne
znakom tebe sovsem, umri holostyakom"; "Bez slov tebe orkestr poet raz sto,
kto zhil odin, dlya vechnosti nikto".
Kak otmechal eshche Genrih Gejne yazyk SHekspira peredan emu ego
predshestvennikami i sovremennikami: "Stoit lish' beglo perelistat' Collection
of plays Dodsleya, chtoby zametit', chto vo vseh tragediyah i komediyah togo
vremeni gospodstvuet tot zhe stil', te zhe evfuizmy, ta zhe preuvelichennaya
manernost', neestestvennost' v slovoobrazovanii, te zhe concetti, to zhe
ostroslovie, te zhe vychurnye izvoroty mysli, kotorye my vstrechaem i u
SHekspira i kotorye vyzyvali slepoe voshishchenie i u ogranichennyh umov;
pronicatel'nyj zhe chitatel' esli ne osuzhdal ih, to snishoditel'no proshchal, kak
nechto vneshnee, kak trebovanie vremeni, kotoroe prihodilos' po neobhodimosti
vypolnyat'". {Genrih Gejne Sobr. Soch., t. 7, M, 1958. C. 221.}
O sdelannyh S.YA. Marshakom perevodah sonetov SHekspira A. A. Fadeev
zametil, chto eti perevody yavlyayutsya "faktami russkoj literatury". Budem
pomnit' ob etom. No pogovorim o perevodah. Est' pravilo, chto perevodimoe
proizvedenie dolzhno sohranyat' istoricheskoe i nacional'noe svoeobrazie. Ono,
na nash vzglyad, soblyudeno. My znaem, chto v poslednee desyatiletie poyavilos'
mnogo novyh perevodov SHekspira, i p'es, i, v osobennosti, sonetov,
dostatochno tol'ko zaglyanut' v Internet. Vprochem, na sajte chashche vsego rech'
idet ne o celenapravlennoj rabote perevodchika, a o bystrom, nedostatochno
produmannom perevode odnogo-dvuh lyubovnyh stihov, veroyatno sledstviyah
poslednego romana, ob imitaciyah-perelozheniyah, man'eristskih opytah i t.p.
Mozhno tol'ko poradovat'sya takomu uvlecheniyu molodyh sootechestvennikov,
delayushchih SHekspira "pod sebya". Kolichestvo horosho znayushchih anglijskij yazyk
chitatelej neizmerimo vozroslo. V nashej knige ryadom s perevodom est'
anglijskij tekst, i nedovol'nyj mozhet pokvitat'sya predlozhiv izdatel'stvu
svoj zakonchennyj trud.
Oksana Timasheva
From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
CHtob vechno sad byl rozami bogat.
Uvyanet roza, novuyu rozhaya,
I peredast ej cvet i aromat.
Ty kak Narciss: lish' otrazhen'yu rad.
Sebya szhigaya, osvetish' li mrak?
V pustynyu prevrativ cvetushchij sad,
Sebe ty budesh' sam zhestokij vrag.
Soboyu mirozdan'e uvenchal
Ty, nashej budushchej vesny gonec.
Tvoe zerno - nachalo vseh nachal,
|h ty, durak, tranzhira i skupec!
Mir pozhalej, ne to, krasavec milyj,
Sam stanesh' dlya svoej krasy mogiloj.
Then forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse'
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
Kogda let_a_ i zimy vspashut lob,
Pokryv sedoj travoj lico tvoe,
Kto vspomnit molodezhnyj garderob,
Za sorok let snosivshijsya v tryap'e!
A na vopros: "Gde krasota lezhit,
CHto bujno rascvetala toj vesnoj?"
"V glazah - skazhi - ona nashla pokoj,
Gde spit gordynya, slezy, bol' i styd".
Sovsem drugim otvet tvoj byt' by mog:
"Moj mladshij syn - milejshij iz detej -
Prozhitoj zhizni podvedet itog,
Moyu krasu nasleduya v svoej".
On mog by zhit', tvoe teplo hranya:
Sogrel by starost' zhar ego ognya.
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime,
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
Ty v zerkale sprosi svoe lico,
Prishla l' pora takoe zhe sozdat'.
Mir obednil by ty, ne stav otcom,
Lishiv detej nesbyvshuyusya mat'.
Da est' li ta, chto, devstvennost' lyubya,
Ne pozhelaet nivoj stat' tvoej?
Tot egoist, kto lyubit sam sebya -
On, on ubijca sobstvennyh detej.
Vot vidit mat': ee prekrasnyj syn -
Blik na stekle ee vesennih dnej;
I ty pod starost' skvoz' vual' morshchin
Uvidish' solnce yunosti svoej.
No, esli strah zabven'ya ne znakom
Tebe sovsem, umri holostyakom.
Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend,
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive,
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which used lives th' executor to be.
CHto zh rastochaesh' ty, krasavec moj,
Prekrasnyh let bescennyj kapital?
On ne podaren byl tebe sud'boj,
A ssuzhen - chtob procentom prirastal.
Tak pochemu zhe, moj plohoj kupec,
Zabyl ty o procentah i pribytke?
Ne rostovshchik ty - skryaga i skupec,
Zaryvshij v zemlyu zolotye slitki.
Privyknuv sam s soboj dela vesti,
Ne slishkom, chto obmanut, prichitaj
I dumaj nynche, chem v konce puti
Oplatish' ty sud'by svoej scheta.
Ssudi svoyu krasu potomkam, chtoby
Ne sgnil tvoj kapital pod kryshkoj groba.
Those hours that with gentle work, did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
Will play the tyrants to the very same,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there,
Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summer's distillation left
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.
But flowers distilled though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.
Kak gody sozidayut masterkom
Otradu vzoram, yunosti dvorec,
I, tut zhe vse sminaya grubo v kom,
Zakonchennoj krase kladut konec,
Tak vremya uvlekaet v krugovert'
Vesnu i leto - soki stynut tam,
Gde ih, zhivyh, zimy zastala smert'.
Net, ne cvesti zasnezhennym cvetam!
I, esli leta zhidkij aromat
Ne budet zaklyuchen v steklo tyur'my,
Ni krasotu, ni blagovonnyj sad
Uzh nikogda ne smozhem vspomnit' my.
Utrativ formu, leto ne vernut',
No v zapah sladkij perel'etsya sut'.
Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place,
With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed:
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier be it ten for one,
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair,
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.
Zime ne razreshaj rukoj holodnoj
Razbit' flakon, gde aromatov sut';
Vlej v lono dev sirop svoj zhivorodnyj
I lish' togda ty mozhesh' sam usnut'.
Procent zakonnyj yunost' soberet
S zaemshchic, otdayushchih bez zatej,
I v desyat' raz schastlivej stanet tot,
Kto desyat' zavedet sebe detej,
No - v desyat' raz po desyat', kol' oni
Emu vo sled po desyat' zavedut.
Kak smozhet Smert' tebya pohoronit'?
Takie praotcy v vekah zhivut.
Ne skryazhnichaj, ne to, krasavec nash,
V nasledstvo chervyakam krasu otdash'.
Lo in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty,
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch with weary car,
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon:
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.
Uzri s vostoka voshodyashchij svet:
Vokrug glavy ocherchen gordyj nimb.
Kuznec i voin, lavochnik i smerd -
Vse pali nic pred korolem svoim.
Kogda v zenit voznosit kolesnica
Naezdnika vo cvete yunyh let,
Podobostrastiem siyayut lica
Pridvornyh, r'yano chtyashchih etiket.
Kogda zh s poludnya vniz ugasshij den'
Domoj speshit, kak nemoshchnyj starik,
Na ih cherty totchas lozhitsya ten'
I kazhdyj spryatat' norovit svoj lik.
Vot tak, bezdetnym perejdya zenit,
Uvidish', chto k zakatu ty zabyt.
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear:
Mark how one string sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee, 'Thou single wilt prove none'.
Ty - muzyka, chto zh lyutne ty ne rad?
Smeh druzhit s shutkoj, s medom - sladost';
A rad - togda zachem tvoj grusten vzglyad?
Il' grust' tebe i dostavlyaet radost'?
Postyla pesn' semejnyh klavikordov?
Znaj - v nej odin uprek: ty slishkom gord!
Tshchas' notoj zamenit' soyuz akkordov,
Ty predal ih: stal sam sebe akkord!
Zvuchat zhe struny liry il' gitary -
Vse po odnoj, no vmeste. Vspomnim: On,
I Deva yunaya, i plotnik staryj -
Tri odnomu molilis' v unison.
Bez slov orkestr tebe poet sam-sto:
"Kto zhil odin, dlya vechnosti - nikto";
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
That thou consum'st thy self in single life?
Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee like a makeless wife,
The world will be thy widow and still weep,
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep,
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:
Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused the user so destroys it:
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murd'rous shame commits.
Ne ottogo l' zhivesh' ty holostoj,
CHto vdov'ih slez strashish'sya bezuteshnyh?
Da polno! Sdelaesh' ves' mir vdovoj,
Put' na zemle okonchiv greshnyj.
Ves' v traure, mir udivlen i tih:
Emu ty ne ostavil nichego;
Vdova zhe hot' v glazah detej rodnyh
Uvidit serdcem muzha svoego.
Ne propadaet v etom mire zlato,
Kto b ni vladel im - skryaga ili mot,
No bezvozvratna krasoty rastrata:
Bezdetnaya, ona ne ozhivet.
O, net! Sovsem lyudej ne lyubit tot,
Kto krasotu v samom sebe ub'et.
For shame deny that thou bear'st love to any
Who for thy self art so improvident.
Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident:
For thou art so possessed with murd'rous hate,
That 'gainst thy self thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire:
O change thy thought, that I may change my mind,
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be as thy presence is gracious and kind,
Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove,
Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
Ne govori, chto chuvstvom okoldovan
I chto zhivesh', ves' mir vokrug lyubya:
Vot lyudi polyubit' tebya gotovy;
A ty, uvy, vlyublen lish' sam v sebya.
Ne ty li sam sebe pervejshij vrag -
Prestupnik, zagovorshchik neumelyj?
Mechtaesh' ty razrushit' tot ochag,
CHto sam slozhit' byl dolzhen pervym delom.
Ochnis', chtob polyubit' tebya ya smog,
Dobru - ne zlobe - pishchu daj i krov;
Bud' serdcem blagoroden i shirok
Iz zhalosti k sebe, v konce koncov.
Lyubya menya, stan' luchshe i svetlej,
Umnozh' svoyu krasu krasoj detej.
As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow'st,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest,
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest,
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase,
Without this folly, age, and cold decay,
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore year would make the world away:
Let those whom nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
Sedeya, vozrozhdaemsya opyat'
V lyubom iz novyh otpryskov. I chto zh?
Tu krov', chto, yunyj, ty speshil otdat',
Ty v starosti svoeyu nazovesh'.
Vse v etoj krugoverti - krasota,
A bez nee - starenie, zastoj.
Razrushit mir bezdetnyh nishcheta:
Polveka - i kladbishchenskij pokoj.
Te, kto prirodoj ne byl nagrazhden,
Zabudutsya - pechalen ih udel,
Tebe zh, chtob ne propala svyaz' vremen,
S gryadushchim podelit'sya Bog velel.
Ty byl na medi vyrezan igloj,
CHtob v detyah povtorilsya ottisk tvoj.
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silvered o'er with white:
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
Then of thy beauty do I question make
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow,
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence.
Kogda ya vizhu, kak stremglav letyat
Dve strelki v krugoverti zavodnoj,
Kak vdrug fialki bleknet aromat,
Kak lokon otlivaet sedinoj,
Kak gol bez list'ev les, k zime gotov,
Gde letom byl v teni skotu priyut;
Kak proch' sedye borody snopov
Pod skrip i plach teleg s polej vezut;
Togda sproshu: "Nu, a lico tvoe
Ne poshchadit li Vremya, chelovek?"
Uvy! I krasotu zhdet zabyt'e:
Na smenu nam prihodit novyj vek.
Kto zashchitit ot Vremeni kosy?
Lish' tvoj potomok, dochka ili syn.
O that you were your self, but love you are
No longer yours, than you your self here live,
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination, then you were
Your self again after your self s decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know,
You had a father, let your son say so.
ZHivi takim, kakim tebya lyublyu!
No kak tebe prinadlezhat' sebe?
Ty smerten. K Sudnomu gotov'sya dnyu,
Dari sebya potomkam i zhene.
Tak ssudu krasoty v arendu b smog
Ty prevratit' i vechno sam soboj
Ostalsya b ty, pereshagnuv porog,
V potomkah sohranyaya oblik svoj.
Net duraka, chtob dom svoj ne bereg,
Ego napolniv teploj dobrotoj.
Kto by v moroz sogret' ego ne smog,
Vpuskaya v steny holod grobovoj?
Lyubov' daet tebe sovet odin:
Ty znal otca - pust' znaet i tvoj syn.
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good, or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality,
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find.
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And constant stars in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive
If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert:
Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
YA ne astrolog, hot' gadat' mogu,
No ne po zvezdam, chto na nas glyadyat.
Net, nichego ne znayu pro sud'bu,
Pro epidemii, pro zasuhu, pro glad;
Mne ne podskazhut vernye primety,
Komu gryadut lihie vremena;
I sil'nym mira mne l' davat' sovety,
Tolkuya zvezd nemye pis'mena?
YA po glazam sud'bu chitat' privyk
I v etih tvoih zvezdah vizhu yasno:
Raz ty Krasy i Sovershenstv cvetnik,
Semyan ne vysevaesh' ty naprasno!
YA predskazhu: iz zhizni tvoj uhod
I Sovershenstvo, i Krasu ub'et.
Then I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky:
\&unt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory.
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay,
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
Kogda smotryu na les, gde pravit Flora,
YA vizhu: sovershenstva mig letuch.
Ves' mir - vsego lish' scena, na kotoroj
Sud'bu veshchayut zvezdy iz-za tuch.
Nad vsem zemnym odin dovleet rok,
Pod solncem vse podvlastno nebesam;
Ty gord, poka techet po zhilam sok,
A v starosti zabytym budesh' sam.
Na etoj scene brennosti zemnoj
Tebe bogatstvo yunosti dano;
Tut Vremya vechnyj spor vedet s Zimoj
Za pravo yada vlit' v tvoe vino.
I esli Vremya skosit zhizn' tvoyu,
YA svoj sonet na koren' tvoj priv'yu.
But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this (Time's pencil) or my pupil pen
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
To give away your self, keeps your self still,
And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill.
Uzheli nas nichto ne zashchitit
Ot Vremeni - ubijcy tiranii
I eti strochki lomkie, suhie
I est' tot samyj luchshij shchit?
V zenite let, poka ty zhizni rad,
Sady pokorno zhdut trudov tvoih,
CHtob dat' plody - prekrasnyj vinograd,
CHto ves', kak ty, a ne besplodnyj stih.
Zaveshchano nam v detyah voploshchat'sya.
Ni metra kist', ni karandash poka
Tvoj oblik ne sposobny, kak ni tshchatsya
Potomkam donesti cherez veka.
Dari sebya v zenite yunyh let -
I sam v vekah napishesh' svoj portret.
Who will believe my verse in time to come
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts:
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say this poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.
So should my papers (yellowed with their age)
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antique song.
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme.
Kto mne poverit, kak krasiv byl milyj,
Prochtya moi sonety vse podryad?
No, vidit Bog, stihi, kak i mogily,
Skorej skryvayut, a ne govoryat.
Sluchis', chto slov nevidannyh najdu ya,
Daby sravnen'em rascvetit' sonet,
"Ty lzhesh', - potomok skazhet, negoduya, -
Krasy podobnoj ne bylo i net".
I rukopisi vse v konce koncov
Sochtut pridumkoj glupoj starika;
Tebya zhe - duhom, vlozhennym pevcom
V protyazhnyj slog antichnogo stiha.
Imej ty syna - verili by mne;
V nem i v sonetah prozhil by vdvojne.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Tebya b sravnit' mne s dnem progretym,
Hot' ty ego priyatnej vse ravno.
Tam to potop, to veter; da i leto
Nam lish' v arendu kratkuyu dano:
To zharko svetit solnce s vysoty,
To oko Bozhie zatyagivayut teni;
Razmyty ideal'nye cherty
Vnezapnoj cep'yu strannyh izmenenij.
Krase zh tvoej v vekah ne zamutnet',
Ne rasteryat' vseh krasok nenarokom;
O kak zhe budet zlit'sya Smert',
Kogda ty zazhivesh' v bessmertnyh strokah!
Pokuda lyudi dyshat, govoryat,
ZHivut stihi, zhizn' i tebe darya.
Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood,
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood,
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt swift-footed Time
To the wide world and all her fading sweets:
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime,
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen,
Him in thy course untainted do allow,
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
O Vremya, razrushitel' i zlodej!
Ty tupish' tigra klyk i kogot' l'va,
Daesh' Saturnu est' svoih detej,
Szhigaesh' vechnyh Feniksov dotla;
Tasuesh' karty s Letom i Zimoj,
Tvorish', chto tol'ko vzdumaesh' so vsej
Vselennoj bespredel'noj krasotoj,
Ty tol'ko trogat' milogo ne smej:
Ne daj ego vesennim dnyam otcvest',
Pust' on rezcom ne budet iskazhen.
Ostav' ego - pust' prozhivet, kak est',
Kak krasoty bessmertnyj etalon.
A, vprochem, ispolnyaj svoj merzkij plan:
V moih stihah on ne sostaritsya i sam.
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou the master mistress of my passion,
A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted
With shifting change as is false women's fashion,
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling:
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth,
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she pricked thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
Priroda zhenskim lik tvoj napisala,
Moj syuzeren, o net, moj h'yuzeren!
V tebya vlozhili zhenskoe nachalo,
No bez nepostoyanstva i izmen.
Tvoj vzor koketstva nachisto lishen,
On chist i pryam, no vlasten ne po-zhenski;
On manit vozvyshayushchim blazhenstvom u
Serdca muzhej i iskushaet zhen.
Zadumannyj vnachale kak devica,
Ty tak Prirodu krasotoj plenil,
CHto ot nee dovesok poluchil.
Uvy! Teper' nam ne soedinit'sya!
Dlya zhen uteh ty nagrazhden streloj,
Ih i razi. Lyubov' deli so mnoj.
So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven it self for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems:
With April's first-born flowers and all things rare,
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me true in love but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair,
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well,
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
Kak mozhno s geniyami sostyazat'sya,
CHto virshi razryazhayut v puh i prah?
Lish' shag ot krasoty do svyatotatstva,
Ves' mir - teatr v zatejlivyh stihah,
CHto lomyatsya ot vyvertov otmennyh.
Luna i Solnce, zvezdy, pervocvet -
Vse eto v ih tvoreniyah netlennyh
Lish' sovershenstva mira argument.
Ne lgu ya ni v lyubvi, ni v pesnopen'i,
A pervaya mne tak zhe doroga,
Kak syn - otcu, chto huzhe kak sravnen'e,
CHem "v nebesah zhivye zhemchuga".
Vysokoparnost' - tozhe Bozhij dar:
YA zh ne torgash, a chuvstva - ne tovar.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date,
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me,
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O therefore love be of thyself so wary,
As I not for my self, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart which 1 will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain,
Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.
Vret zerkalo, chto ya starik, poka ty
YUn yunoj yunost'yu yuncov;
Moj lish' togda nastupit chas rasplaty,
Kogda tvoe sostaritsya lico.
Tvoya krasa, kak dragocennyj kamen',
Kak dar lyubvi, chto my granim, hranya.
S teh por, kak obruchilis' my serdcami,
Kak ya mogu staree byt' tebya?
Lelej sebya, bud' molodym do sroka:
V sebe menya spasesh'. Pust' vse umrut -
YA sberegu tebya, moyu zenicu oka,
Kak materi rebenka beregut.
Razbiv mne serdce, voli ty ne zhdi:
Ty - u menya, ya - u tebya v grudi.
As an imperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I for fear of trust, forget to say,
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might:
O let my looks be then the eloquence,
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ,
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
Kak debyutant smushchennyj na prem'ere
Ne v silah pered zalom vspomnit' rol',
Kak v yarosti stenayushchemu zveryu
Na vremya pamyat' otshibaet bol',
Tak ya, lyubovnik robkij, pozabyl,
Kak vazhen kurtuaznyj ritual.
Ispolnen chuvstv, pochti lishivshis' sil,
YA vse slova pozorno rasteryal.
O, vzglyad moj, bud' zhe gromche i bogache
Vseh slov, chto v serdce udalos' sberech';
Ishchi lyubvi i trebuj vmig otdachi
Nastojchivej, chem mozhet ch'ya-to rech'.
Uchis' chitat' nemye pis'mena:
Glazami slyshit lish' lyubov' odna.
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled,
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart,
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes:
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
Srisovyvat' tebya ya ne ustal
Na holst dushi moej mazkom galantnym
I sam stal ramoj etogo holsta.
Kartina - dokazatel'stvo talanta.
Risunki sohranyayutsya v tvorce,
I ne ponyaten zamysel do sroka.
Moi visyat napravo, na torce,
V moej dushe, gde ochi vmesto okon.
Kakaya vse zhe zren'e blagodat'!
Tvoi glaza - mne vnutr' tebya okonca;
Moi nuzhny, chtob druga risovat'
I chtob chrez nih tebe svetilo solnce.
Vse zh v zhivopisi im ne vse dano:
CHto risovat', kogda v dushe temno?
Let those who are in favour with their stars,
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars
Unlooked for joy in that I honour most;
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
Bogach, kumir, ministr, aristokrat -
Pust' hvastayut oni, a ya ne budu:
YA u Sud'by vsegda lezhal pod spudom,
V bezvestnosti tvoej lyubvi ya rad.
Kak nogotki, sogretye sud'boyu,
V luchah kupayas' solnca zolotyh,
Sojdut v mogilu gordye geroi:
Hmur syuzeren - i gde gerojstvo ih?
Pri neudache, slave vopreki,
Sedoj voyaka vseh nagrad lishen
Po manoven'yu carstvennoj ruki;
Zabyt navechno, slovno strashnyj son.
YA vseh vel'mozh schastlivej v sotni raz:
Lyublyu, lyubim, nikto mne ne ukaz.
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;
To thee I send this written embassage
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tattered loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect,
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee,
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
O, gosudar', kolenopreklonenno,
Dan' sovershenstvam zaplativ spolna,
Vruchaet tvoj vassal sej stih smirenno
Kak znak sluzhen'ya dolgu - ne uma.
Moj dolg velik, a razum ogranichen,
Ne hvatit slov ego zhivopisat',
No l'shchu sebya nadezhdoj, chto ty lichno
Dodumaesh', chto ya ne smog skazat'.
I, mozhet byt', proyavit blagosklonnost'
Ko mne zvezda, chto sverhu mne svetit
I priodenet tak moyu vlyublennost',
CHtob svitu ne smutil lohmot'ev vid.
Togda b lyubov'yu hvastat'sya ya mog,
A tak - zakroyu rot svoj na zamok!
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tired,
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night)
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for my self, no quiet find.
Ustav za den', speshu prilech' v krovat',
Ot stranstvij otdyh predostavit' telu,
Odnako mozg sovsem ne hochet spat',
Stremya menya v mechtah k drugim predelam.
Mechty, raspraviv kryl'ya v tot zhe chas
K tebe vlekut menya, prezrev pokoj,
Palomnikom. Ne v silah smezhit' glaz,
Vsyu noch' vperyayus' v temen', kak slepoj,
S toj raznicej, chto ishchushchij moj vzglyad
Tebya uzret' sposoben sred' tenej.
Tvoj lik luchistyj - chistyj brilliant,
CHto sumrak nochi delaet svetlej.
I nayavu, i v snah puskayus' v put':
Ne splyu, i drugu ne dayu usnut'.
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed.
And each (though enemies to either's reign)
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make griefs length seem
stronger.
I kak zhe dnem vse mozhet byt' v poryadke,
Kogda mne ne usnut' vo t'me nochnoj?
Ot dnya trudov vo sne mne net razryadki,
Ot snov nochnyh - gde dnem dostat' pokoj?
Speshat zaklyatye vragi Svet s T'moyu
Menya pytat', drug druga vozlyubya,
Dnevnoj rabotoj i mechtoj nochnoyu;
YA v mukah umirayu bez tebya.
Mne ih toboj ne ublazhit' nikak:
Ty - den' licom, glaza - zvezdam pod stat'
I, esli nebo skroyut oblaka,
Gotov ty dnem svetit', v nochi - blistat'.
Hot' dnem nevynosima grust', za neyu
Prihodit noch', chtob ya grustil sil'nee.
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon my self and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Kogda odin, u schast'ya ne v favore,
YA, kak izgoj, u vremeni v plenu
Vzyvayu k nebu v bezotvetnom gore
I zhizn' svoyu, i sam sebya klyanu,
No zhazhdu sily, krasoty bez mery,
Hochu kutit', druz'yami okruzhen,
Blistat' talantom, rvat' plody kar'ery,
Imet' vse to, chego vsyu zhizn' lishen;
Togda zhe, preziraem sam soboyu,
Lish' tol'ko vspomnyu ya tvoi glaza,
Vzletayu vvys', otrinuv vse zemnoe,
CHtob zhavoronkom slavit' nebesa.
Mne mysl' o tom, chto ya lyubim, milej
Beschislennyh sokrovishch korolej.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow)
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee (dear friend)
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
Kogda povestkoj vyzyvayu v zal
Sudebnyj na dopros vospominan'ya,
Mne yasno: ne sbylos', o chem mechtal,
I tshchetny po proshedshim dnyam stenan'ya.
Mogu lish' posle sleznyh apellyacij
Pochtit' ushedshih dorogih druzej,
Oplakat' nizkij kurs lyubovnyh akcij,
Prosrochennye vekselya skorbej,
Pogorevat' nad gorem pozabytym,
K bede bedu priplyusovat' v itog,
Vesti uchet otmolennym molitvam,
Vnov' oplatit' oplachennoe v srok.
A vspomnyu pro tebya - i snova rad:
Poteri mne vozmeshcheny stokrat.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear,
But things removed that hidden in thee lie.
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give,
That due of many, now is thine alone.
Their images I loved, I view in thee,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of me.
Ty mne tem blizhe, chem v tvoej grudi
Sil'nej stuchat serdca druzej lyubimyh;
Sosudy soobshchayutsya lyubvi,
A znachit, vse oplakannye zhivy.
Za eti gody okeanam slez
Nad nimi bylo suzhdeno prolit'sya;
No slezy - eto tol'ko malyj vznos,
A kapital v tvoej grudi hranitsya.
Ty - sklep nezhnejshih chuvstv moih druzej,
Kotorye, v sebe menya leleya,
Potom otdali vse svoi trofei,
CHtob vse slilos' v odnom - tebe.
Lyubimyh prezhnih blesk v glazah tvoih
I sam ya tozhe tvoj, a znachit - ih.
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl death my bones with dust shaft cover
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover:
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be outstripped by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought,
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love'.
Ty budesh' zhit', kogda pridet moj srok
I ya sojdu v smertel'nyj mrak mogily.
Perechitaj togda hot' paru strok
Iz virshej, chto pisal tebe tvoj milyj.
Ne plach', chto izmenilis' vremena,
YAviv na svet talantlivye per'ya:
Ty oceni lyubov' - ne pis'mena,
V kotoryh stal ya tol'ko podmaster'e.
A prochitav, skazhi: "Kakaya zhalost',
CHto Muze druga bylo stol'ko let
I chto u nih v potomstve ne ostalos'
Stihov, chtob mog pohvastat'sya poet.
Moj milyj master byl, on prevzojden.
Mladye luchshe, no lyubimej - on".
Full many a glorious morning have I seen,
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green;
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy:
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride,
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow,
But out alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth,
Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.
O, skol'ko zhe rassvetov videl ya,
CHto zolotyat luchami piki gor,
Laskayut reki, roshchi i polya
I nezhnye poverhnosti ozer!
No nabegayut stai chernyh tuch
Na neba svod mrachneyushchej gryadoj
I zapad grubo gasit solnca luch,
Mir Bozhij ostavlyaya sirotoj.
Vot tak v to utro moj nevzrachnyj lik
Sogrel svoej ulybkoj milyj drug.
Uvy! To byl vsego lish' kratkij mig -
Vse skryla mrakom zlaya tucha vdrug.
YA ne ropshchu: v lyuboe vremya goda
Tvoej lyubvi izmenchiva pogoda.
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou bleak,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief,
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss,
Th' offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.
Zachem mne byl obeshchan yasnyj den'?
YA, bez plashcha gulyaya bezzabotno,
Vrasploh zastignut: vse sokryla ten',
Tvoj obraz zavolok tuman bolotnyj.
Skvoz' tuchi redko laskovym teplom
Ot slez dozhdya lico mne solnce sushit,
Hotya kakoj mne prok v bal'zame tom,
CHto lechit rany tela, a ne dushu?
Raskayan'ya tvoi - chto za lekarstvo
Dlya druga, esli serdce tak bolit!
I klyatvy zapozdalye naprasny:
Kto oskorblen, neset svoj krest obid.
Vot slezy - zhemchuga i ih cenoyu
Moj drug i rasschitaetsya so mnoyu.
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done,
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud,
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
Ail men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
My self corrupting salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are:
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense,
Thy adverse party is thy advocate,
And 'gainst my self a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate,
That I an accessary needs must be,
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.
Tvoi grehi da budut pozabyty:
U roz - shipy, osadok - u vina,
Cvety - zhilishche tlej; stydlivo skryty
Zatmen'em solnce, tuchami - luna.
Povsyudu greh. V sravnen'yah sih ne smog
Ne pogreshit' ya, greshnyj, protiv pravdy
I vse prostil, chem greshen, vidit Bog,
No greh lyuboj tak mog by byt' opravdan.
Ne poricayu ya prostupok tvoj
I vystupit' v tvoyu zashchitu zhazhdu.
YA dolzhen po sudu byt' vzyat pod strazhu:
Lyubov' idet na nenavist' vojnoj,
A ya - predatel' v sej vojne, kotoryj
Otdal svoi bogatstva maroderu.
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be bome alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Prizn_a_yus': razluchit'sya nam pridetsya,
Hotya lyubov' u nas na dvuh odna.
Tak pust' moj greh so mnoyu ostaetsya.
YA vse snesu, mne pomoshch' ne nuzhna.
Oboih tol'ko mysl' odna trevozhit,
Kogda nas vroz' razvodit rok surovo:
Ne v silah on ubit' lyubov', no mozhet
Otnyat' na vremya druga dorogogo.
YA spryachu nas svyazuyushchuyu nit',
CHtob druga ne ispachkal moj pozor.
A kak tebe sebya ne uronit',
Vstupiv so mnoj pri lyudyah v razgovor?
Osteregis'! YA tak tebya lyublyu,
CHto mnyu svoeyu chest'yu chest' tvoyu.
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 despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
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 rad otec bespomoshchnyj poroyu
Zabavam otpryska v krugu druzej,
Tak ya, starik, izranennyj sud'boyu,
CHerp_a_yu schast'e v yunosti tvoej.
I kol' ugodno Slave i Umu
Tvoj gerb venchat' figurami svoimi,
Togda i ya, kol' mesto tam najdu,
Lyubov' svoyu postavlyu ryadom s nimi.
I vot uzh damy klanyayutsya mne:
Ten' sovershenstv kosnulas' starika.
Mne i chut'-chut' dostatochno vpolne,
A slavy bleska hvatit na veka.
Pust' tvoj uspeh umnozhitsya stokrat;
A esli bol'she - bol'she budu rad.
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.
Slepaya Muza ishchet tem opyat',
A ya chertami vdohnovlen tvoimi:
V menya vlivaet sily druga imya,
CHto vsue ne pristalo nazyvat'.
Iz-za tebya lish' udostoen ya
I trud moj odobritel'nogo vzglyada.
Gde tot nemoj, chto b ne vospel tebya,
Kogda ty sam i tema, i nagrada?
Stan' Muzoj, zameniv vse devyat' prezhnih,
CHto pesni vdohnovlyali sotni let.
Pust' tot, kto poveryal tebe nadezhdy
V vekah proslavlen budet kak Poet.
A budu ya otmechen sred' lyudej,
Trud budet moj, a slava vsya - tvoej.
O how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art 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 mne vospet' tvoj oblik i dela,
Kogda ty plot' moya - rodnee brata?
I chto mne dast moya zhe pohvala,
CHto vsyakij raz ko mne letit obratno?
Poetomu v lyubvi nam stoit byt'
Dvumya, ne perestav lyubit' drug druga.
Smogu togda tebya ya pohvalit'
Za to, v chem est' odna tvoya zasluga.
Kakoyu pytkoyu byla b razluka ta,
CHto ispytal, ostavshis' bez tebya ya!
No, slava Bogu, v mire est' mechta:
YA muk izbegnu, o tebe mechtaya.
Kak ne grustit', nauchat eti dni:
Dva serdca ty v stihah soedini.
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 blamed, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thy self 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 greater wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.
Hot' vseh moih lyubovnic otnimi,
(YA sam by _o_tdal ih tebe bez boya):
Ty ne poluchish' predannej lyubvi,
CHem ta, chto obruchila nas s toboyu;
Podrugu ukradesh', menya lyubya,
YA v tom nichut' vinit' tebya ne budu.
Obizhus', kol' obmanesh' sam sebya,
Nazvav porok lyubov'yu, a ne bludom.
Tebya proshchu, vorishka moj bescennyj,
Hot' bez grosha toboj ostavlen sam.
Znaj, chto v lyubvi carapina izmeny
Sadnit bol'nej, chem nenavisti shram.
Predav lyubov', smeshav ee s grehom,
Ubej menya, no ne schitaj vragom.
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 assailed.
And when a woman woos, what woman's son,
Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed?
Ay me, but yet thou mightst 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.
Tvoi greshki - pobochnyj dar svobody:
YA s glaz doloj - totch_a_s iz serdca von.
Ty st_o_ish' ih: v svoi mladye gody
Kto tol'ko imi ne byl iskushen!
Ty dobr, a znachit, budesh' sovrashchen;
Krasiv - predmet povyshennoj zaboty.
Ne smozhet tot, kto zhenshchinoj rozhden,
Ne stat' trofeem sladostnoj ohoty.
Vse zh, mog hotya b ne lezt' v ee krovat',
Derzhas' vdali granic moih vladenij,
A tak ved' greh pridetsya iskupat'
Dvuh verolomnyh klyatvoprestuplenij:
Podrugu sovratil, krasoj manya,
I tak krasivo obmanul menya.
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 lenow'st I love her,
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suff'ring 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.
V tom polbedy, chto ty uvel ee,
Hotya nikem ne dorozhil ya tak, kak eyu;
Ty uveden - vot gore v chem moe:
Tvoyu lyubov' utratit' mne bol'nee.
Prestupniki, ya opravdat' vas smog:
Ee ty lyubish', znaya, chto lyublyu ya;
Ona zh tebe vruchila svoj cvetok,
Menya lyubya, v tebe menya celuya.
Ujdet ona k tebe - ee lishus',
S toboj rasstanus' - drug ej dostaetsya;
Kak gorek mne vash dvojstvennyj soyuz,
Mne odnomu nesti sej krest pridetsya.
No chto priyatno: s drugom ya edin,
I, stalo byt', ya u nee odin.
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.
S zakrytymi glazami mne vidnej:
Sut' veshchi skryta zrimoj obolochkoj.
Glaza tvoi mne svetyat v temnote,
I lish' vo sne tebya ya zryu vooch'yu.
O ty, chej vzor rasseivaet teni,
CHto za istochnik sveta skryt v tebe,
Kak on zatmil by den', raz v snoviden'yah
Ten' blednaya tak svetitsya vo t'me!
I kak by, nedostojnyj, ya hotel
Dnem oblik tvoj uvidet' nastoyashchij,
A ne fantom sredi besplotnyh tel,
CHto vydumal moj razum poluspyashchij!
Den' bez tebya - mne slovno mrak nochnoj,
A noch', kak den', osveshchena toboj.
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 removed 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.
Vot stat' by mysl'yu i, otrinuv plot',
Soboj protknut' zavesu mirozdan'ya,
Bezdushnoe prostranstvo poborot',
K tebe letya stremglav chrez rasstoyan'ya.
Togda ne vazhno bylo b, gde ya est',
Naskol'ko ot tebya sejchas dalek:
Menya by mysl' sumela perenest'
Kuda ej hochetsya - v odin pryzhok.
Pechal'na mysl', chto ya ne mysl', odnako;
Za prizemlennost' ya sebya klyanu;
YA, sozdannyj iz vlagi i iz praha,
Vsyu zhizn' u sily tyazhesti v plenu.
CHto ot zemli s vodoj ya poluchil?
Lish' slezy, da soznan'e, chto beskryl.
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 - dve drugih stihii.
Gde b ni byl ya, oni s toboj, moj svet.
Strast' i mechta, ih kachestva takie:
To est' oni, to ih v pomine net.
Iz chetyreh stihij bez bystryh dvuh,
CHto mnoj posol'stvom poslany k tebe,
YA plot'yu stal, chto ispustila duh,
V toske tonu, vkonec otyazhelev.
Ob®edinyu stihii vse potom,
Kogda uvizhu vnov' svoih poslov
I zaveren'ya ih uslyshu v tom,
CHto drug, na radost' mne, vpolne zdorov.
No i togda nedolgo budu rad
I zagrushchu, poslov vernuv nazad.
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 pierced with crystal eyes),
But the defendant doth that plea deny
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To' cide this title is impanneled
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 thy outward part,
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.
Glazam moim i serdcu net pokoya:
Za tvoj portret smertel'nyj boj idet.
Svoim ego schitaet retivoe,
Glaza tverdyat, chto vse naoborot.
Klyanetsya serdce: tvoj portret zhivoj
Na dne ego upryatan, kak v temnice,
Otvetchik vozrazhaet: obraz tvoj
V ih glubine do vremeni hranitsya.
Daby reshit' imushchestvennyj spor,
V sude zaslushav preniya storon,
Im svoj vynosit razum prigovor:
Moj drug da budet chestno podelen:
Glazam moim - vse prelesti fasada,
A serdcu - chuvstva, skrytye ot vzglyada.
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,
Thyself away art resent 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 eye's delight.
Kak brat s sestroj moi dusha i vzglyad,
V lyubvi odin gotov pomoch' drugomu,
Kogda glaza tebya nedoglyadyat
Il' serdce stisnut vdrug toski okovy.
Lish' pishchu daj - i nenasytnyj vzor,
Nemedlya serdce zhdet na pir bogatyj;
To serdce zren'e pozovet na dvor,
CHtob vspomnit' perezhitoe kogda-to.
Kartinoj ili grezoj o lyubvi
Vo mne hranitsya imya dorogoe.
Mechty najdut hot' na krayu zemli:
Oni so mnoj i v tot zhe mig - s toboyu.
Mne zren'e narisuet tvoj portret -
I bol'shego dlya serdca schast'ya net.
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 of 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.
Ne glupo l'? Bezdelushki zolotye,
Puskayas' v put', ya spryatal pod zaporom
Pri strazhnikah, ch'i kulaki litye
Sposobny ohladit' lyubogo vora,
A ty, pred kem moi bril'yanty - sor,
Moya nezazhivayushchaya rana,
Otrada dnej, laskayushchaya vzor,
Ostavlen byl na prihot' sharlatana.
Ne v sunduke tebya ya shoronil.
Tebya tam net, ya eto znayu tochno:
Ty zdes', gde serdce - u menya v grudi,
Otkuda vyhod ne zakazan, vprochem.
Ty i ottuda propadesh' kogda-to:
Pri cennostyah i CHestnost' vorovata.
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,
Call'd to that audit by advised respects;
Against that time when thou shalt 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 myself 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 tot den', kogda (kol' sej nastanet srok)
Menya zavidev, ty skrivish' lico,
A audit lyubvi sochtet itog,
Poslushno sleduya sovetam mudrecov;
Kogda ty s vyrazheniem chuzhim
Projdesh', ne podariv ochej siyan'em,
Kogda lyubov', otrinuv svyaz' s bylym,
Otyshchet ravnodush'yu opravdan'e,
Togda tebya v obidu ya ne dam:
V sude, svoyu nichtozhnost' osoznav,
YA obvinit' sebya sumeyu sam,
Ne dav lishit' tebya zakonnyh prav.
Ty prav, prognav bednyagu bez zatej:
Kto ya takoj, chtob zhdat' lyubvi tvoej?
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 loved 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.
Kak tyazhko ehat' s gruzom myslej gor'kih:
V konce puti mne radosti nemnogo,
Ved' s kazhdym povorotom, s kazhdoj gorkoj
Vse dal'she ya ot milogo poroga.
Mne tyazhelo i kon' moj iznemog,
Pod gruzom dum moih pletetsya hmuro,
Kak budto ponimaet, chto sedok
Odobrit vryad li bystrye allyury.
Ego v serdcah kolyu ya shporoj zloj,
V otvet on tol'ko stonet mne v ukor,
I mne bol'nee ston ego nemoj,
CHem samomu konyu udary shpor.
Tot ston mne ranu serdca beredit:
Vse schast'e - doma, gore - vperedi.
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.
Lyubov' prostit medlitel'nost' konya:
Sovsem ne mnoj on byl obremenen,
A tem, chto ot tebya vezet menya.
Kakoj zhe toropit'sya tut rezon?
Vot kak on opravdaetsya, kogda
Mne malyj mig pokazhetsya stolet'em,
Kogda ya, pticej buryu osedlav,
Ego prishporyu i ogreyu plet'yu?
I ne dognat' ni ptice, ni konyu
ZHelan'ya moego, chto vdal' poskachet,
Pustivshis' v samyj beshenyj allyur;
Prosti, lyubov', medlitel'nuyu klyachu,
CHto ot tebya trusila ne spesha;
Nazad stremglav sama letit dusha.
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 earcanet.
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 lack'd, to hope.
Kak na skupogo ya pohozh sejchas
S klyuchom ot polnoj zolota temnicy!
I ya toboj lyubuyus' v mesyac raz,
Boyas', chto naslazhden'e pritupitsya.
Poetomu i roskosh' prazdnyh dnej
Krasneet redko sredi budnej seryh;
I v ozherel'e sred' drugih kamnej
Nanizany tak skupo solitery.
I Vremya, kak naryady v garderobe
Tebya hranit, ne vypuskaya v svet.
V razluke kazhdyj vstrechi mig toropit
Vot on prishel - i bol'she schast'ya net.
Blazhenstvo mne pri vstrechah darit drug;
Nadezhdu na svidan'e - v dni razluk.
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.
Kakaya mysl' v tebe voploshchena,
CHto schest' ne smog otbroshennyh tenej ya?
Kol' kazhdoj sootvetstvuet odna,
K chemu ih sonm i lish' odna ideya?
K primeru, vot Adonisa portret, -
S tebya risunok sdelan neumelo.
Elenu vspomnim my v rascvete let -
Tvoe, hot' v grecheskoj tunike, telo.
Voz'mem vesnu il' osen' - vremya zhatvy.
Odna tvoyu krasu vzyala v zaem,
Drugaya - shchedrost', nrav tvoj blagodatnyj.
My v nih tebya mgnovenno uznaem.
V zemnyh realiyah ya ugadal
Tvoj obraz - nedostupnyj ideal.
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 fade, my verse distills your truth.
Naskol'ko sovershennej krasotu
Sposobno sdelat' istinnoe znan'e!
Prekrasna roza, no i rozu tu
Stokrat nam ukrashaet obonyan'e.
Ni cvetom, ni kolichestvom shipov
SHipovnik roze ne ustupit v mae;
Podobno ej, koketnichat' gotov,
Kogda s butonov maski briz sryvaet.
Kak zhal', chto vneshnost' suti ih bogache:
Im suzhdeno uvyat' bez kavalerov,
Vestalkami. No s rozami - inache;
Ih upokoyat v lavkah parfyumerov.
Pod starost', smotrish' - gde kras_o_ty? Net ih.
No vyzhimka Lyubvi zhivet v sonetah.
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 lover's eyes.
Ni idolam, ni byustam zolotym
Ne perezhit' moi proizveden'ya;
Sohrannee v sonetah budesh' ty,
CHem pamyatnikov stertye kamen'ya.
Projdet pehota Marsa, seya smert',
Dvorcam carej pridet poslednij srok,
No ni ognyu, ni stali ne steret'
Rodnogo imeni iz etih strok.
Poprav i smert', i mrak mogil nemoj,
Ty budesh' zhit'. I temi zhe slovami
Pevec tebya vosslavit molodoj,
CHto mir pridet donashivat' za nami.
Vosstanesh' v den' Suda pod trubnyj zvuk,
Poka zhivi v moih stihah i serdce, drug.
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 sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
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;
Else call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer'sw elcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.
Vospryan', lyubov'! Uzhel' tvoya strela
Dolzhna kakoj-to zhazhdy byt' tupee?
Ved' ta, bud' hot' sto raz utolena,
Nazavtra tem stanovitsya ostree.
Vot i tvoj vzglyad, lyubov', chto vdrug potuh
I, golod utoliv, vpal v morok sonnyj,
Pust' alchet vnov', chtoby zhelan'ya duh
Ne omrachalsya skukoj monotonnoj.
Pust' presyshchen'e budet, kak reka,
Delyashchaya ravninu na dve chasti;
Lyubovnikov vlekut ee brega -
Uvidet' druga - vot chto znachit schast'e!
Il' budet kak zima, chtob ryadom s neyu
Kazalsya letnij znoj vtrojne milee.
Ageing 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 any thing, he thinks no ill.
CHto zhizn' raba? Vsegda sluzhit' tebe
I zhdat', poka ty narezvish'sya vvolyu;
I nikogda ne dumat' o sebe,
Tvoyu pokorno ispolnyaya volyu;
Perenosit' spokojno skuki smert',
Sledya za begom strelok zolotyh;
I slez svoih vykazyvat' ne smet',
Kogda sovsem slugu progonish' ty.
YA revnosti ne dam sebya ob®yat',
Kogda speshish' iz doma "po delam"
Odnu lish' mysl' ne v silah otognat':
Kogo ty veselish' i gde ty sam.
YA ot lyubvi stal glupym, pravo slovo:
CHto b ni bylo - ne dumayu plohogo.
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 cheque,
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.
Izbavi Bog, ch'ej volej ya - v nevole,
CHto b ya s tebya k otvetu prizyval!
Za syuzerenom ne sledit vassal,
A rab zhdet tol'ko milosti - ne bole.
Ty gospodin, tak obizhaj slugu,
Zabud' ego sovsem dlya naslazhdenij.
YA bol' terpen'em obuzdat' smogu,
Privychno obhodyas' bez obvinenij.
Ty polnopraven, kak i vse vel'mozhi,
Idesh', kuda stopy tebya vlekut:
Ty vse, chto pozhelaesh', delat' mozhesh' -
Ty sam sebe prisyazhnye i sud.
I, plamenem szhigaem ozhidan'ya,
Tebe vsegda syshchu ya opravdan'e. k
If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden of a former child!
O, 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 whether better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.
No, esli pod Lunoyu vse ne novo,
Prirodoj my obmanuty shutya!
Pytayas' novoe pridumat' slovo,
Rodim uzhe rozhdennoe ditya.
Ah, esli b vremya povernulos' vspyat'
I ya perechitat' by knigi smog,
CHto pisany tomu stoletij pyat',
I v bukvah istiny najti istok,
YA sam reshil by, kto milej, kogda
Uznal by, na kogo pohozh moj drug,
Kto luchshe - my sejchas, oni togda,
Il' neizmenno vse i zamknut krug.
Uveren, chto ya prav i knigi te
Slagali gimny men'shej krasote.
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 crown'd,
Crooked elipses '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.
Podobno v_o_lnam, chto o bereg b'yut,
K nam priplyvayut umirat' minuty,
Smeniv odna druguyu. Tak v boyu
Soldaty nastupayut na reduty.
Mladenchestvo i yunosti rassvet
Venchaet zrelost' - vozrast blagodatnyj,
No Vremya zatmevaet zhizni svet,
Podarennoe trebuya obratno.
O, kak ono koverkaet cherty
I lob morshchinoj borozdit kosoyu!
Kak vmig srezaet stebli krasoty
Svoeyu besposhchadnoyu kosoyu!
Sonet zhe, gde vospel ya milyj vzglyad tvoj,
Nadeyus', ustoit pred etoj zhatvoj.
Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.
Skazhi mne chestno, ten' tvoya narochno
YAvlyaetsya, prervav moj son nochnoj,
Obmanyvaya zren'e ezhenoshchno
I vechno izdevayas' nado mnoj?
Skazhi, zachem byl poslan sej shpion
Ko mne tvoim zloveshchim povelen'em?
CHtob duhom etim byl ya ulichen
V grehah postydnyh, prazdnosti i leni?
Uvy, moj drug, slabej vo mnogo raz
Tvoya lyubov'. Odna vo vsej Vselennoj
Lyubov' moya ne dast mne smezhit' glaz,
Poskol'ku tol'ko ya tvoj strazh bessmennyj.
Vot tak zhe budu na chasah stoyat' ya,
Kogda prosnesh'sya ty v chuzhih ob®yat'yah.
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
Moj vzor vlyublen v moe otobrazhen'e,
YA sam sebe bescennyj etalon.
Ot etogo greha net iscelen'ya,
Tak sil'no on vo mne ukorenen.
Moi dostoinstva mne vseh drugih milee.
CHto za lico! Nu chto sravnitsya s nim!
YA sam sud'ya - mne iznutri vidnee:
YA luchshe vseh, ya byl vsyu zhizn' takim!
No v zerkale ya pravdu vizhu yasno:
Lico potaskannoe s zadubeloj kozhej,
CHto videl ya prekrasnym stol' naprasno,
Menya lish' potomu ukrasit' mozhet,
CHto krasotu tvoyu ya schel svoej,
Ukrasiv starost' bleskom yunyh dnej.
Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.
V tot den', kogda, kak ya, lyubimyj moj,
Dryahl stanet i gorbat ot gruza let,
S licom, izmyatym vremeni rukoj,
Kogda ego prekrasnejshij rassvet
Vdrug obernetsya vecherom staren'ya
I yunost', chto zhelannej vseh nagrad,
Vdrug medlenno ujdet iz polya zren'ya
I uneset vesny bescennyj klad,
Uzhe nadezhnyj budet skovan shchit
Ot zlogo Vremeni kosy krivoj:
On pamyat' mne o druge zashchitit,
Kogda okonchit on svoj put' zemnoj.
Ty vossiyaesh' v chernote chernil
Cvetushchim, yunym, kak pri zhizni byl.
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
Kogda ya vizhu, kak obezobrazhen
ZHestokoserdno trud sedyh vekov -
Dvorcov bogatstvo, kamni drevnih bashen
I bronzovye statui bogov;
Kogda ya vizhu, kak glubiny vod
Prostranstva sushi pogloshchayut zhadno,
No, tol'ko more bereg otberet,
Tot vse otvoevat' speshit obratno;
Kogda ya vizhu, kak ves' mir ustroen,
Kak nenadezhny trony korolej,
Pod gruzom dum lishayus' ya pokoya:
CHto budet s tem, kto mne vsego milej?
I eta mysl' gnetet menya, kak smert':
My rozhdeny teryat', a ne vladet'.
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Tune's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
Bezdonno more, kamni skal tverdy;
Ih skosit vse ravno serp Smerti zlobnyj.
Kak tut uslyshat' Krasoty mol'by,
CHto ruchejka zhurchaniyu podobny?
Kak sohranit'sya zapaham medovym,
Kogda tarany Vremeni u sten
I dazhe krepostnym vratam dubovym
Ne perezhit' polon, raspad i tlen?
Gde tot larec, gde brilliant moj milyj,
Ot Vremeni skryvayas', mog by lech'
I izbezhat' razverznutoj mogily,
CHtob krasotu svoyu v vekah sberech'?
Uvy! I lish' chernil volshebnyj shchit
Tvoj blesk ot t'my zabven'ya zashchitit.
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
Davno ushel by sam, terpet' ustav
Sej gnusnyj mir, gde chestnyj sir i hladen,
Gde ryaditsya nichtozhestvo v shelka,
Gde chistyj serdcem dochista obkraden,
Gde vse nagrady vporu izymat',
Gde devstvennost' osmeyana i chest',
Gde krivda mazhet gryaz'yu pravdu-mat',
Gde silu gnet rasslablennaya lest',
Gde prikusil pevec sebe yazyk,
Gde s kafedry vitijstvuet podpasok,
Gde umnyj nosit gluposti yarlyk,
Gde v kandalah dobro, a zlo - v lampasah.
Davno b ushel ot etogo vsego,
Da strashno druga brosit' odnogo.
Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve
And lace itself with his society?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek
And steal dead seeing of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains.
O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had
In days long since, before these last so bad.
Kak mozhet zhit' on, okruzhen grehom,
Ego blagoslovlyaya krasotoj?
Tem samym Zlo usilivaet on,
Poroki dekoriruya soboj!
Kosmetikoj ne d_o_lzhny otbirat'sya
U sovershenstva cvet lica i shchek.
Na chto nam, pravo, rozy imitaciya?
Moj drug i sam - izyskannyj cvetok.
CHto zhizn'? Ona est' sovershenstv bankrot,
Plodit lish' anemichnye tela;
A moj lyubimyj - bank zemnyh krasot,
Ego procentami i zhizn' zhiva.
Kak raritet on budet sohranen,
CHtob ne zabylsya blesk bylyh vremen.
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before the bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
Tvoe lico - cvetok bylyh vremen,
Siyayushchij prirodnoj krasotoyu
Teh dnej, kogda ne mog byt' zamenen
Rumyanec divnyj kraskoyu prostoyu;
Kogda ne krali lokon u mogil,
Gde tot do Dnya Suda nashel pokoj,
CHtob on vtoroyu zhizn'yu vdrug zazhil
I vnov' ukrasil modnic, kak zhivoj.
Ty sam - kak otblesk dnej zavetnyh,
A cvet lica estestvenen i svezh:
Vesny krasot ne zanimaet leto,
Ne nosit yunost' starosti odezhd.
Nam, glyadya na tvoe lico, vidnej,
Skol' fal'sh' Iskusstva Istiny bednej.
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
The solve is this, that thou dost common grow.
Lyubaya chast' tebya laskaet vzor:
Mir voshishchen tvoeyu krasotoj,
Ty - sovershenstvo - obshchij prigovor
I dazhe vrag soglasen s pravdoj toj.
Za sorazmernost' chert - hvala bez mery.
No, govorya priyatnye slova,
Kto poumnej, ne brali ih na veru,
Nashchupyvaya koren' estestva.
Ponyav, chto istina - v dushe, ne v tele,
Ocenku vynesli tvoim delam vser'ez,
Do nih doshlo, kto ty na samom dele -
Sornyak zabil tvoj kust prekrasnyh roz.
Zachem zhe vid i sushchnost' tak razlichny?
Da potomu, chto ty - cvetok publichnyj.
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy evermore enlarged:
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.
Tebe ne povredili obvinen'ya:
Mishen'yu lzhi vsegda byla krasa,
Ee lish' ottenyayut podozren'ya,
Kak chernaya vorona - nebesa.
Bud' ideal: on nuzhen klevete,
CHtob sdelalis' dostoinstva vidnej.
Iz vseh cvetov chervyak est tol'ko te,
CHto sovershenny v sladosti svoej.
Ty iskushen'ya dnej mladyh izbeg
Bog znaet kak, no to byla udacha!
A vot tebe i potrudnej zadacha -
Kak rty klevetnikam zakryt' navek.
Ah, esli b zavist' obuzdat' ty smog,
Ves' mir togda b lezhal u tvoih nog.
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.
Ne dol'she chernyj cvet, kogda umru,
Nosi, chem golos kolokola grustnyj
Rasskazhet vsem, chto otoshel tvoj drug
V tot gnusnyj mir, gde cherv' piruet gnusnyj.
Ne vspominaj, kak umershij piit
Lyubil, kogda uvidish' eti stroki:
Hotel by ya byt' navsegda zabyt,
CHtob ty stradanij izbezhal zhestokih.
I, esli perechtesh' ty etot stih,
Kogda moj prah smeshaetsya s zemleyu,
Ne voskreshaj menya v mechtah svoih,
A pogrebi lyubov' svoyu so mnoyu,
CHtob smerdam ne uslyshat' gor'kij ston,
CHtob ne byl ty nasmeshkoj oskorblen.
O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
O! Kak ya ne hochu, chtob kto-nibud'
Tebya, moj drug, uchil by, chto ne dolzhno
ZHalet' shuta. YA umer. Pozabud':
Ved' vse moi dostoinstva nichtozhny.
Pribegnut' mog by ty k krasivoj lzhi,
Moj priukrasit' mog talant i nrav by,
Na kamne vybiv: "Genij zdes' lezhit..."
Dozhdesh'sya slov takih ot skryagi-pravdy!
No, esli ya tvoej lyubvi ne stoyu
Nastol'ko, chtob solgal ty v zhizni raz,
Pust' imya lyazhet v grob so mnoj. ZHivoe,
Ono b komprometirovalo nas.
Stydimsya oba my, ne znayu, kto sil'nej:
YA - virshej, ty - bezdarnosti moej.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
V moih chertah ty vidish' vremya goda,
Kogda listva zheltee knig stranic
Valyaetsya, zamerzshaya, u vhoda
Vo hram lesnoj, gde peli hory ptic;
Vo mne ty vidish' kratkij sumerk dnya,
Proshchal'nyj otblesk krasnogo svetila,
I noch', chto ezhenoshchno prihodya,
Nas savanom spokojstviya nakryla;
Svet starogo kostra ty vidish' tut,
CHto rasplastalsya na uglyah bylogo:
Na sem odre otdast on dushu Bogu,
Kogda sozhzhet vse to, chto prinesut.
Ponyav, menya polyubish' tem sil'nej,
CHem blizhe osen' starosti moej.
But be contented: when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee:
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.
Ne lej zhe slez, kol' na uzhasnyj sud,
Gde net ni apellyacij, ni kassacij,
Menya v grobu dubovom ponesut:
Sim rifmam suzhdeno s toboj ostat'sya.
Kogda prochtesh' napisannoe mnoj,
Pojmesh', chto eto o tebe, konechno;
Moj brennyj prah smeshaetsya s zemlej,
Moya dusha s toboj prebudet vechno!
Teryaesh' ty obnoski, gorst' kostej,
CHervej dobychu, gliny zhirnoj kom,
Trudov razbojnyh nishchenskij trofej,
Ne stoyashchij i pamyati o nem.
Ved' v sushchem sut' cenn_a_, ne obolochka:
Moya zhe - ne vo mne, a v etih strochkah.
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
Tvoya lyubov' mne tak nuzhna dlya schast'ya,
Kak letnij dozhd' cvetam, pokryvshim lug;
Takoyu zhe k tebe pylayu strast'yu,
S kakoj skupec leleet svoj sunduk:
To vsem tverdit o tajnike svoem,
To zhadnyh opasaetsya sosedej;
Tak ya s toboj to byt' hochu vdvoem,
To radost' etu razdelit' so vsemi;
To um moj nasyshchaetsya toboj,
To snova em tebya golodnym vzglyadom.
Net, ne ishchu ya radosti drugoj,
Kak tol'ko byt' vsegda s toboyu ryadom.
Vsyu zhizn' to goloden, to em bez mery;
Leg nishchim - utrom vstal millionerom.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
Zachem moi stih tak gol i tak privychen,
Bez ritmov stil'nyh i polutonov,
Ne sovremenen i ne ekzotichen,
Tak sverhtradicionen i ne nov?
K chemu plodit' sonety bestolkovo,
CHto mysli povtoryayut bez konca?
V nih kazhdoe sravnen'e ili slovo
Vo mne priznaet srazu zhe otca.
I vse zh lyubov' ya vospoyu opyat',
A v nej - tebya bez novomodnyh slov;
Snosiv do dyr, ya vyvernut' gotov
Vse rifmy naiznanku - ne uznat'.
Kak solnce nam s utra siyaet snova,
Lyubov' tverdit odno i to zhe slovo.
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory can not contain
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.
Morshchinoj lik v zercale otrazitsya,
Sochtet sekund poteryu ciferblat;
Lish' etoj knizhki chistye stranicy
Dushi otobrazhen'e sohranyat.
Napomnit zerkalo pro tlen utraty,
Pro rty mogil, chto nas s rozhden'ya zhdut,
Krylom, kak voron, gnomon vorovato
V nichto smetet navechno prah minut.
Bumage, a ne pamyati dyryavoj,
Dover' te mysli, chto v mozgu stuchat:
Potom sredi novorozhdennyh chad
Ty vyberesh' druzej sebe po nravu.
Pro brennost' vspominaj, dnevnik vedya, -
On mudrost'yu obogatit tebya.
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly
Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine and born of thee:
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
But thou art all my art and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.
Tebya ya Muzoj nazyval svoeyu,
I vdohnovlen vsegda byl lish' toboj,
Teper' ya ne odin - i ya nemeyu
Pered tvoih poklonnikov tolpoj.
Vseh razom op'yanil tvoj vzglyad galantnyj:
Nemoj zapel, otkryl glaza slepec,
Uchenomu pribavilos' talanta,
Talant nadel velichiya venec.
No ya gorzhus', chto lish' moe iskusstvo
Ne kak u nih, toboyu rozhdeno.
Oni i tak v poezii iskusny:
Ty ne voda v ih zhizni, a vino.
Menya zh podnyat' sposoben ty odin
K vershinam iz nevezhestva puchin.
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word
From thy behavior; beauty doth he give
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.
Poka lish' ya tvoj obraz vospeval,
Toboj odnim dyshali eti stroki.
Uvy! No Muzy istoshchilis' soki:
V drugie ruki otdan moj fial.
Vpolne dostoin ty, chtob byt' vospetym
Talantlivym (ne mne cheta) perom,
No znaj, chto novomodnye poety
Torguyut vse vorovannym dobrom:
Tverdyat o dobrodeteli, kradya
Dostoinstva tvoi - i vse im malo!
I krasota, kotoroj nagradyat,
Lish' slepok neumelyj s ideala.
Proshu: poetov ne blagodari
Za ih dary, chto sam im podaril.
O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame!
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride:
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this; my love was my decay.
Kakim mne kazhetsya moj golos slabym,
Kogda tebe talantlivyj pevec
Sonetov rastochaet difiramby:
Pristyzhennyj, slagayu svoj venec.
Kak tema ty bezbrezhen, slovno more,
Gde vsem dovol'no i vetrov, i voln -
I geniyu, i mne. Vse zh na prostore
Ustupit brigu svoevol'nyj cheln.
Hozhu s opaskoj melkoyu vodoyu;
Talant zhe tam, gde dna ne znaet lot.
YA zatonu - chto zh, mnogo ya ne stoyu,
Lish' nash fregat svoj flag uberezhet.
On vozvelichen, ya zhe na meli:
Moya lyubov' est' krah moej lyubvi.
Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen)
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
Mne l' plakat' o tvoej pridetsya smerti,
Il' samomu lezhat' v mogile toj,
No, ne sumev lishit' tebya bessmert'ya,
Zabven'e rasschitaetsya so mnoj.
V vekah netlennym budesh' ty, moj milyj,
A ya tak skoro budu pozabyt!
YA stanu prah, mne hvatit i mogily,
Tebya zh lyudskaya pamyat' priyutit.
Ty ozhivesh' sonetami moimi,
Potomki vnov' ih perechtut ne raz;
I sotni ust tvoe proshepchut imya,
Kogda umrut vse te, kto zhiv sejchas.
Tak, pod perom bessmertnym stav,
Ty zazhivesh' dyhan'em na ustah.
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise,
And therefore art enforced to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days
And do so, love; yet when they have devised
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend;
And their gross painting might be better used
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused.
Ne prisyagal moej ty Muze, znayu,
U Muz chuzhih ishcha chuzhoj lyubvi,
Sluchis', tebe ponravitsya kakaya,
Ee stihi soboj blagoslovi.
Tvoj um ottochennyj krase pod stat',
I esli vidish' ty, chto ya ne genij,
Najdi togo, kto b mog stihi pisat',
Sredi vitij novejshih napravlenij.
Kogda zhe izoshchrennyh slov zapas
Ischerpaet sovsem takoj piit,
Ty vspomnish' druga vernogo ne raz,
Togo, chto prosto pravdu govorit.
Rumyanyatsya, chtob skryt' takoj iz®yan,
Kak blednost' shchek, a ty i tak rumyan.
I never saw that you did painting need
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet's debt;
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself being extant well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
Ty istinno krasiv i bez rumyan
I ya tebya v stihah ne ukrashal.
YA ponyal (il' to byl samoobman?):
Ty vyshe l'stivyh i pustyh pohval.
Smirenno ya zatem molchat' gotov,
CHtob stalo vsem i kazhdomu vidnej,
Kak malo u plohih poetov slov
Dlya pesen, ravnyh krasote tvoej.
Molchanie v vinu mne stavish' ty,
Hot' eto tozhe trud, ugodnyj Bogu:
Nemoj, ya ne pyatnayu krasoty,
A yazykami v ad mostyat dorogu.
Tebya vosslavlyu, vzglyad prekrasnyj chej,
ZHivej pohval oboih rifmachej.
Who is it that says most? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story,
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired every where.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
K chemu sravnen'ya? Ty zhe bespodoben,
A ya tebya toboj uzhe nazval.
Kakoj eshche sosud vmestit' sposoben
Stol' sovershenstvu ravnyj ideal?
Pevec zanudliv, skuchen i unyl,
Kogda zabudet on pro ukrashen'ya;
Naoborot - dostoin voshishchen'ya,
Tot, kto tebya s toboj samim sravnil.
Pust' tol'ko im napisannyj portret
To otrazit, chto sozdala priroda:
Nadolgo, dumayu, takoj poet
Kumirom pochitalsya b u naroda.
Dobavlyu v med tvoj degtya tol'ko lozhku:
Priemlya lest', tuskneesh' ty nemnozhko.
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write good words,
And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen'
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say "Tis so, 'tis true,'
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.
Usta moej neschastnoj Muzy nemy,
Poka pohval tebe kuritsya dym,
I devyat' Muz perom svoim zlatym
Vpletayut lest' v nebesnye napevy.
YA voshishchen iskusstvom sih bogin'
I, hot' ya luchshe ih slagayu stroki,
No to - v ume, vsluh lish' mogu v vostorge
Tverdit', kak d'yak negramotnyj: "Amin'!"
YA vtoryu pohvalam: "O, kak chudesno!"
I - bol'shih - ot sebya dobavit' rad,
Da chto slova! Oni v tolpe, gde tesno;
Moej lyubov'yu zanyat pervyj ryad.
Ceni v poetah krasotu stihov,
Vo mne zhe chuvstva, chto bogache slov.
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence
As victors of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence:
But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.
Ego l' stihi, chto parusami v more,
CHej priz edinstvennyj - lyubov' tvoya,
Menya lishili razuma i voli,
Ubiv vse plany, chto vzleleyal ya?
On razve duh, chto nagrazhden za chto-to
Talantom kak podarkom temnyh sil?
Ne on li, sokol derzkogo poleta,
Poeta vdohnoveniya lishil?
No net, ni on, ni dazhe ada sila,
CHto um v nego vlivaet po nocham,
Ne skazhet, chto poeta pobedila
Il' budto ya ot straha zamolchal.
On otnyal temu - vot ego grehi:
Ved' bez tebya pusty moi stihi.
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Proshchaj navek! Ty slishkom dorog mne.
Dostoinstva tvoi, kak znaesh' sam,
Teper' nastol'ko vyrosli v cene,
CHto mne ne uplatit' po vekselyam.
YA nagrazhden - v chem tut moya zasluga?
Vo mne dostoinstv ne bylo i net.
I, vvolyu nasladivshis' darom druga,
Daritelyu vernu ya svoj patent.
Sebya togda ty otdaval, ne znaya,
Ni kto ty est' cenoj, ni kto est' ya.
Ispravlena oshibka rokovaya:
Vernulsya dar tvoj na krugi svoya.
Kak sladko o tebe vsyu noch' mechtat':
Vo sne - korol', k utru - nikto opyat'.
When thou shall be disposed to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted,
That thou in losing me shall win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
Otvergnutyj, hlebnuvshij unizhen'ya,
YA zashchishchu tebya, sebya predav,
Zabyv navek o klyatvoprestuplen'i,
YA miru dokazhu, chto ty byl prav.
Mne luchshe vseh moi grehi izvestny.
O tom, kakoj ya vse-taki podlec,
Povedaet sudu rasskaz moj chestnyj.
Ty slaven budesh' kak so zlom borec.
I ya dovolen vsem na udivlen'e -
Mnogie, ne vedayut one:
Vse eti rany samoobvinen'ya
Tebe na pol'zu, znachit, mne - vdvojne.
YA - tvoj. Lyubya tebya, lyubov' moya,
CHtob ty byl prav, nepravym budu ya.
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence;
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee against myself I'll vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
Kogda menya prognat' reshish' opyat',
Osobyh obvinenij ne ishchi ty:
Skazhi: "On hrom", - i ya nachnu hromat',
A ne iskat' svidetelej zashchity.
Kak sam sebya pokroyu ya beschest'em,
Nikto ne smozhet i napolovinu.
Lish' namekni - ya sam tebya pokinu,
Zabyv, chto my kogda-to byli vmeste.
Pust' proshloe navek pokroet tajna:
YA imya druga spryachu pod zamkom,
CHtob lyudi, proslediv moj vzglyad, sluchajno
Ne ponyali, chto ya s toboj znakom.
YA obolgu sebya, skazhi lish': "Lgi!"
Tak nenavistny mne tvoi vragi.
Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scoped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger Out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.
Ostav' menya segodnya, bud' zhestok
Sejchas, sej den', kogda zloj rok nameren
Sognut' menya za vse v baranij rog;
Bud' mnoj ne pozzhe, a teper' poteryan.
Ne uvelichivaj dushi tyazhelyj gruz
Doveskami skorbej, ya umolyayu;
Ne bur' ya, - zatyazhnyh dozhdej boyus',
CHto l'yutsya, smert' muchen'em udlinyaya.
Proshchan'ya ne zatyagivaya srok,
Zabud' menya, poka ya polon sil;
I toropis', chtob pervym tvoj klinok,
A ne kakoj chuzhoj mne grud' pronzil,
Togda i bedy, chto gryadut - ne gore:
CHto utonuvshemu bushuyushchee more!
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away and me most wretched make.
Kto hvastaetsya drevom rodoslovnym,
Kto sokolom, kto goncheyu svoej,
Kto plat'em novomodnym i neskromnym,
Kto koshel'kom, kto stat'yu loshadej.
Legko otyshchet vsyakij um tshcheslavnyj,
Kak luchshe vyzvat' zavist' u drugih;
YA zh u lyudej sniskat' ne zhazhdu slavy,
Poskol'ku znayu, chem ya vyshe ih:
Tvoya lyubov' mne zolota dorozhe,
ZHelannej zamkov i gerbov karet,
Milej odezhd iz zolochenoj kozhi:
Poka lyubim, menya schastlivej net.
Odnu lish' mysl' dushu v sebe tajkom:
Razlyubish' - totchas stanu bednyakom.
But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine,
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend;
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O, what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.
Ne poshchadi i, uhodya, ubej -
Narush' predel ocherchennogo kruga
Sud'by, chto nam dala drug druga:
Mne zhizn' ne v radost' bez lyubvi tvoej.
CHto mne boyat'sya uragannoj strasti,
Kol' perebranki vmig menya ub'yut?
Na nebe ya osvobozhus' ot vlasti
Tvoih kaprizov, prihotej, prichud,
Ty zla ne prichinish' mne, izmenyaya,
Tvoya lyubov' mne mozhet zhizn' prodlit'.
O, kak ya schastliv, schast'em obladaya
Ujti iz zhizni, ne ustav lyubit'!
Da, ideal lyuboj pyatnaet gryaz':
YA gluh i slep, tvoih izmen boyas'.
So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's looks the false heart's history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!
Kak muzh roga, ya vse snesu pokorno,
Kak budto ya eshche toboj lyubim.
Ty dobr ko mne, skorej vsego, pritvorno:
Hot' ty so mnoj, tvoya dusha s drugim.
V lice tvoem ni kapli gneva net,
Ono nichem ne vydast osuzhden'ya;
U mnogih licemeriya sekret
Nam brovi vydayut i povelen'e.
Tebe zhe nebo nisposlalo milost':
Vsegda tvoj chist i neporochen vzglyad
I, chto by v tvoem serdce ni tvorilos',
Glaza tvoi ognem lyubvi goryat.
Tvoya krasa, skryvaya zlo, cvetet;
Tak sozreval v rayu zapretnyj plod.
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Kumiry dum, chto ne priemlyut zla
I lest'yu lipkoj ne pyatnayut togi,
CHto v bitve hladnokrovny, kak skala,
A v poveden'i carstvenny i strogi,
I vpryam' dostojny vsyacheskih pohval:
Ih trud spasaet nas ot razoren'ya;
Ih nikogda ne glozhet cherv' somnen'ya,
Im mir uzhe vse dolzhnoe vozdal.
Lyubimec leta, kust nezhnejshih lilij,
Cvetet dlya nas, hot' zanyat lish' soboj,
No, vdrug poddajsya on zaraze gnili -
Ego legko zatmit sornyak lyuboj.
Nam zapah sladkoj lzhi obmanom ploh:
Pravdivej roz gniet chertopoloh.
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O, what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
Skol' aromatnym mnit sebya porok,
CHto, slovno cherv', s®edaet lepestki
I skoro s®est tvoej dushi cvetok:
Tak sladostny na vkus tvoi grehi!
Tolpoj druzej, hmel'nyh ot vozhdelen'ya,
Smakuyushchih razvrat tvoih uteh,
Ty vmig opravdan v forme osuzhden'ya:
Starinnyj gerb lyuboj iskupit greh.
Likuj, porok! Tebe l' ne povezlo;
Vladej odin ego prekrasnym telom:
Zdes' krasoty vual' prikryla zlo
I chernoe pod neyu stalo belym.
Ispol'zuj zhe svobodu ostorozhno:
Tupeet mech, kogda shiroki nozhny.
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stem wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
Odin tverdit: ty merzok i razvraten,
Drugoj - "lyubveobilen i prigozh";
Kak zhizn' spletaet istinu i lozh',
Tak ty - smeshen'e cherno-belyh pyaten.
Na dolgih pal'cah yunoj korolevy
Almazom vossiyaet gran' stekla;
Tvoi prodelki tak zhe mir priemlet,
Ne v silah otlichit' dobra ot zla.
Stada ovec sgubit' sposoben volk,
Nakinuv shkuru slabogo yagnenka.
Nemalo dush vozvyshennyh i tonkih
I ty svoej krasoj smutit' by mog.
Odumajsya! YA tak tebya lyublyu,
CHto mnyu svoeyu chest'yu chest' tvoyu.
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
Kak vyzhit' ya sumel vdali ot druga?
Tam letnij polden' srazu stal zimoj:
YA tak zamerz, mne svet sokryla v'yuga:
Dekabr' zavesil nebo pelenoj.
Vse kraski leta videl ya vo sne,
Kak solnce, ty menya sogrel, svetya;
I osen' tak nasleduet vesne,
I v traure vdova rodit ditya.
I esli ya ostalsya sirotoj,
K chemu mne izobil'e i uyut?
Vernis' ko mne, moj milyj letnij znoj,
Zdes' bez tebya i pticy ne poyut,
A zapoyut - tak grustno, chto poroj
Bledneet list ot straha pred zimoj.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
V tot den', kogda tebe ya stal ne mil,
Hmel'noj Aprel', ves' pestryj ot cvetov,
Vseh tak vinom vesennim napoil,
CHto sam Saturn rezvit'sya byl gotov.
Ni treli ptic, ni robkij plesk ruch'ya,
Ni zapahi zemli, ni pervocvet -
Uvy! ne prinesli mne zabyt'ya:
YA zval tebya - i ne sobral buket.
Ne videl ya ni chistotu lil_e_j,
Ni rozy barhatistuyu istomu;
Byl prizrak tvoj real'nosti milej,
Kuda ni glyan' - odni tvoi fantomy.
V razluke zimnim schel vesennij den' ya,
S tvoej igraya ten'yu v snoviden'yah.
The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.
YA uprekal fialku, mol, ne sled,
Vorishka, krast' chuzhie aromaty -
To vzdoh ego. A v etot carskij cvet
Svoi cvety pokrasila kogda ty?
To druga krov' - ee krasnee net!
Cvet ruk tvoih sebe vzyala lileya,
A lokony - kudryavyj majoran;
Kak na igolkah, rdeya i bledneya,
ZHdut prigovora rozy zharkih stran.
Damasskoj, bledno-rozovoj, krasivoj,
Pohishchen aromat lyubimyh ust;
Kakaya nizost'! V nakazan'e pust'
Zaest ee do smerti cherv' revnivyj.
Vsya prelest' teh cvetov, chto vizhu ya,
Ukradena nahal'no u tebya.
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.
Tak, Muza, ty mogla na stol'ko let
Togo, kto dorog mne, zabyt' sovsem?
Uzhel' v tvoej lampade masla net -
Ushlo na osveshchen'e nizkih tem?
Zabyvchivaya! Stihotvornoj meroj
Vospolni dolg rastrachennyh minut;
Vospoj svoim yambicheskim razmerom
Togo, kto mozhet ocenit' tvoj trud.
Lenivaya! Vzglyani, chto s drugom stalos'
Uzhel' ego morshchin pojmala set'?
Tak zaklejmi togda skoree starost',
Kak ty klejmish' bolezni ili Smert'.
Pust' pesni slavit' druga pospeshat,
Poka ee kosoyu on ne szhat.
O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.
CHem, Muza, vozmestit' ty smozhesh'
Zabven'e istiny i krasoty
Lyubimogo, kto mne vsego dorozhe,
Iz-za kogo vozvyshena i ty?
Ty skazhesh', chto priprava pravde ch_u_zhda,
Poskol'ku ne duhi i ni eda;
Mol, krasotu i ukrashat' ne nuzhno:
V dobre dobra ne ishchut nikogda.
I chto zh teper', on dolzhen byt' zabyt?
CHto dolzhno, delaj - poj stihom negromkim,
CHtob on mogily perezhil granit
I pravdu krasoty otkryl potomkam.
Vosslav' ego, lenivica, hot' raz,
CHtob zhil v vekah takim, kak est' sejchas!
My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear:
That low is merchandized whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.
Lyublyu sil'nej, chem ran'she, no nemeyu;
Smotryu s lyubov'yu, no skryvayu vzglyad:
Tovarom stanut chuvstva tem bystree,
CHem gromche ih proslavit' pospeshat.
Vesnoj lyubvi, ee zarej sogreta,
Moih tebya budila pesen trel'.
Tak solovej poet v nachale leta,
A k seredine gde ego svirel'?
Ne to, chto b nochi chem-to stali huzhe,
Il' masterstvo pevca ushlo s vesnoj;
Teper' vezde hory - solist ne nuzhen -
CHto est' u vseh - ne dorogo cenoj.
CHtob ne naskuchit' pesneyu svoej,
YA tozhe pomolchu, kak solovej.
A lack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.
Uvy! Nam s Muzoj izmenili sily,
I ya talant svoj rano ischerpal:
Kak ni starayus', bez prikras moj milyj
Krasivee, chem v barhate pohval.
Ne mudreno, chto moj talant zachah -
Uzh chereschur tvoe lico prelestno:
Ono privetlivo, umno, otkryto, chestno -
Nu, kak vse eto vyrazit' v stihah?
Zachem pytat'sya uluchshat', skazhi,
To, chto i ran'she sovershennym bylo?
Pytalsya ya o tom stihi slozhit',
Kak ty estestvenno prekrasen, milyj,
No luchshe, mnogo luchshe, chem piit,
Tvoyu krasu zercalo otrazit.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
Ty molod i siyatelen, kak prezhde;
S teh por, kak tvoj vpervye vstretil vzglyad,
Snimali trizhdy letnie odezhdy
S lesov tenistyh tri zimy podryad;
Uzh tri vesny zelenyh pozhelteli;
Prishli v processe smeny zim i let
Aprelyam trem iyunya tri vosled,
A ty vse yun, kak pervocvet v aprele.
Tvoya krasa, kak strelka ciferblata,
Lish' tikan'e, dvizhen'ya ne vidat';
I ty vse tak zhe yun, kak byl kogda-to:
Il' ya obmanut zreniem opyat'?
Pridet tvoj srok i mir pokinesh' ty,
I kanet v Letu leto krasoty.
Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
'Fair, kind and true' is all my argument,
'Fair, kind, and true' varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
'Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived alone,
Which three till now never kept seat in one.
Kumira ya v lyubvi ne sotvoryu
Vse idoly mne kazhutsya chuzhimi;
Lish' odnomu poyu lyubov' svoyu:
Amin'! Da vossvetitsya tvoe imya!
V lyubvi moj neizmenen interes,
Odnim dyshu, priverzhen odnomu;
Tak i v stihah - mne ni k chemu progress,
YA v teme izmenenij ne primu.
Krasivyj, chestnyj, dobryj - vot slova,
CHto ya tasuyu, izbezhav novacij.
Kakoe pole dlya igry uma:
V odnom - tri temy. Ujma variacij!
Tri kachestva, a milyj moj - odin:
Pust' on naveki budet triedin.
When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
Kogda v pyli zabytyh foliantov
Vstrechayu opisan'ya nezhnyh lic,
Gde mertvye s zasushennyh stranic
ZHivopisuyut dam i tonkih frantov;
Kogda ya ih chitayu voshvalen'ya
Prelestnyh talij, gub, brovej i glaz,
YA dumayu, s kakim blagogoven'em
Tebya b poet opisyval sejchas!
Tvoi predtechi byli im vospety
Vzamen togo, kto im gryadet vosled.
Providet' mogut redkie poety:
Obychno to, chto blizhe, zastit svet,
I lish' segodnya nam dano imet'
Vozmozhnost' znat'. No - ne yazyk, chtob pet'.
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs ofbrass are spent.
Ni strah, chto den' i noch' menya gnetet,
Ni razum, chto sud'bu providet' tshchitsya,
Mne ne podskazhut, skoro l' istoshchitsya
V lyubovnom banke mnoj otkrytyj schet.
Perezhila smertel'noe zatmen'e
Luna - i posramlen byl zvezdochet;
Edinovlastno prinyato reshen'e -
I vetv' oliv narodam mir neset.
Nezabyvaemye te sobyt'ya,
Kropya menya svoim svyatym dozhdem,
Smert' popirayut - v rifmah budu zhit' ya:
Zabvenie - udel nemyh plemen.
I ty shagnesh' k potomkam, drug poeta,
A vse gerby tiranov kanut v Letu.
What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
Finding the first conceit of love there bred
Where time and outward form would show it dead.
Net, mysli ni odnoj ne nazovu ya,
CHto by v chernila ne oblek poet;
Iz prelestej svoih voz'mi lyubuyu -
I ej uzhe byl posvyashchen sonet.
No, vse prezrev, ya povtoryayu snova,
Stihi smeshav s molitvami svyatymi:
YA tvoj, ty moj, tvoe svyatitsya imya:
Slova privychny, tol'ko chuvstva novy.
Lyubvi izvechnoj v mire bystrotechnom
Rumyanec il' morshchiny - vse odno:
Ona plyuet na starost' besserdechno
I, kak yunca, gonyaet za vinom.
Ej mesto ugotovila molva,
Gde smert' i tlen. An, vse zh ona zhiva.
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
O! ne vini v izmene verolomnoj
Togo, kto chut' ostyl, tebya lyubya;
S toboj rasstat'sya tak zhe tyazhelo mne,
Kak s glavnoj chast'yu samogo sebya.
Gde b ni brodil, vsegda vernus' domoj,
Tuda, gde ya lyubim toboj ponyne,
I smoyu gryaz' ostavshejsya v kuvshine
Svyatym otcom podarennoj vodoj.
Proshu tebya: ne ver'! Otrin' somnen'ya,
YA chist, hot' i ne golubyh krovej;
YA ne otdam tolpe na razgrablen'e
Sokrovishcha, chto mne vsego milej.
Rozan dushi, prekrasnyj moj kumir,
Mne mir - nichto, ty sam mne - celyj mir.
Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new;
Most true it is that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely: but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
SHutom nashastalsya po miru, kayus'!
Napropaluyu vral, chto bylo sil:
Rasprodaval, s cenoyu ne schitayas',
Lyubvi izmenoj rany nanosil.
Da, pravda, chto mne pravda ne po nravu;
YA znayu, chto izmena - tyazhkij greh,
Hotya nevernost' vse-taki priprava,
Naevshis', ponyal: drug moj luchshe vseh.
Da bud', chto budet! Pogulyav bespechno,
YA obuzdayu k priklyuchen'yam appetit
I nikogda... Pust' Bog menya prostit:
Ty - bog lyubvi i ya tvoj rab navechno.
Pusti brodyagu bludnogo opyat',
Prechistye koleni obnimat'.
O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me then and wish I were renew'd;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
Ty prav, moj drug, Sud'bu moyu korya,
Za to, chto ya dostoinstv ne imeyu.
CHto trebovat' ot nishchego menya,
Potehi nishchih tolp, ot licedeya?
S professii ne smyt' greha klejmo -
Popytkam tshchetnym shchedro otdal dan' ya;
Krasil'shchik chistym byt' by vryad li mog:
Proshu, otmoj mne imya sostradan'em.
YA bolen proshlym i primu, lechas',
I zhelch', i uksus - lish' by ne bolezni;
YA gorech' sladkoj nazovu totchas,
A styd dvojnoj mne lish' vdvojne poleznej.
Menya, o drug moj milyj, pozhalej:
Tvoe uchast'e vseh lekarstv sil'nej.
Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd 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 steel'd 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 are dead.
Lyubov' i zhalost' skryli uglublen'ya,
CHto vyzhglo mne na lbu molvy tavro.
Ty lechish' rany, delaya dobro -
CHto mne togda kakoj-to cherni mnen'e?
Ty mne - ves' mir. YA iz tvoih rechej
Pojmu svoi udachi i oshibki.
Ty - moj, mne vse chuzhie, ya - nichej,
S lyud'mi upryamyj, lish' s toboyu gibkij.
YA v propast' brosil gnusnyh spleten sor
I, kak gluhar', ogloh ili zmeya -
Ni pohvalu ne slyshu, ni ukor;
Vse ochen' prosto ob®yasnyayu ya:
Tak yasno ty vo mne zapechatlen,
CHto bezrazlichno, mir est' yav' il' son.
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 rudest 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 makes mine eye untrue.
S teh samyh por, kak ya tebya pokinul,
Ne zren'em, a dushoyu vizhu svet.
Orlinyj vzor oslep napolovinu:
Posmotrish' - vidit, priglyadish'sya - net.
Vzglyad s mozgom vse snosheniya prerval,
Ne otlichit ot vorona buton;
Gde byl mostok - teper' bol'shoj proval:
Uvidennyj predmet ne vidit on.
Luch krasoty ili urodstva ten',
Staruh il' dev, detej il' p'yanic lica,
Morya i gory, zvezdy, noch' i den', -
On vse v tvoi cherty oblech' stremitsya.
Toboyu poln, pod gruzom tyazhkih dum,
Glaza zastavit lgat' pravdivyj um.
Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd 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?
0,'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 poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.
Il' razum p'et, vozvyshennyj toboyu
Vino monarhov - sladkoj lesti yad,
To li glaza mne pravdu govoryat,
No obladayut vlast'yu koldovskoyu
Iz monstrov, naselyayushchih Aid,
Vayat' tebe podobnyh heruvimov,
Urodstvu pridavaya Bozhij vid,
Lish' tol'ko glaz luchi ego obnimut.
Skoree - pervoe. Mne lest' smutila vzor
I korolevskuyu moj razum p'et otravu:
So znan'em prigotovlen byl rastvor,
CHtob mozgu byl po vkusu i po nravu;
A kol' otravlen on - tem men'she greh:
Glaza nal'yutsya yadom ran'she vseh.
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'st 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?
V stihah svoih tebe ya lgal nevol'no,
CHto chuvstv moih sil'nee byt' ne mozhet:
Otkuda znat' ya mog, samodovol'nyj,
Kak yarko suzhdeno im vspyhnut' pozzhe.
Sobytij milliony, vse poprav,
Smetayut klyatv, zakonov ulozhen'ya;
Tuskneet krasota, myagchaet nrav,
Upryamyj um svoe menyaet mnen'e.
CHto ya lyublyu sil'nej, chem budu vpred',
Krichal togda ya gromche vseh na svete
I dumal: "Den' segodnyashnij, kak tverd',
A zavtrashnij - izmenchiv, slovno veter".
Buton lyubvi, kak mne b on ni byl mil,
Cvetkom nazvat' ya, kayus', pospeshil.
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.
Ne mozhet byt' soyuzu dush prepyatstvij.
Odno proshchu: lyubov'yu ne zovi
To chuvstvo, chto sposobno izmenyat'sya,
Kogda tvoj drug ustanet ot lyubvi.
Lyubov' - kak navigacionnyj znak,
Nedvizhna pod poryvom uragana,
Ee kvadrantom ishchet kazhdyj bark,
Ona yarka, no sut' ee tumanna.
Pri Vremeni dvore Lyubov' ne shut.
Tam serp s kosoj srezayut vse zhivoe,
I lish' ee stolet'ya ne sotrut -
Po Sudnyj den' ostat'sya suzhdeno ej.
A esli ya ne prav i net mne very,
Togda i vse moi stihi - himery.
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.
Rugaj menya, skazhi, chto ya ne smog
Dostojno zaplatit' za kazhdyj vzglyad tvoj,
CHto ya tvoej lyubov'yu prenebreg,
Hot' byl s toboj naveki svyazan klyatvoj;
CHto chasto to chuzhim daril dosug,
Ot vstrech s toboj ego, kak vor, kradya;
To proch' po vetru otpravlyalsya vdrug,
Nesomyj parusami ot tebya.
Sochti moi grehi i pregreshen'ya
I v delo oprihoduj ih skorej;
Pricel'sya hmurym vzorom osuzhden'ya,
Lish' nenavist'yu tol'ko ne ubej,
Togda moya vostorzhestvuet vera,
CHto sovershenstvo druga - ne himera.
Like as, to make our appetites 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 tuff 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 assured
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured:
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you,?
My raduemsya gorechi priprav
I imi vozbuzhdaem appetit;
Nas toshnotoj ot yada zashchitit
Na tom piru nastoj iz gor'kih trav.
O, pritornaya strast' tvoej lyubvi -
Ne smyt' ee mne gor'kim poloskan'em!
Mne b zabolet', chtoby lechit' svoi
Nedugi hinoj s polnym osnovan'em.
Uzh eto mne lyubovnoe kovarstvo:
Zdorovogo terzat', chto bylo sil;
Propisyvat' emu greha lekarstvo,
CHtob o bolezni on svoej zabyl.
YA ponyal na sebe: lekarstvo - yad,
Kogda dusha i mozg toboj bolyat.
That potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd 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 ruin'd 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.
Nastoj iz slez siren glotal v bredu ya
Byl adskim zharom zakopchen fial.
Kak ya stradal, strah s veroj chereduya,
To nahodil, to snova vse teryal!
Oshibkami moj put' byval izryt,
A ya, bespechnyj, radovalsya zhizni;
Kak strashno vylezali iz orbit
Moi glaza v bezumstva paroksizme!
Kto govorit, chto zlo vo blago, prav:
Dobro dobree gore sdelat' mozhet.
Lyubov', iz pepla Feniksom vosstav,
Stanovitsya prekrasnee i tverzhe.
K tebe vernus', smyagchiv lyubov'yu styd:
Mne zlo poteri vtroe vozmestit.
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 pass'd 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 remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble slave which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
C tvoim nepostoyanstvom primiren,
YA ne zabyl, v kakoj ya byl pechali,
I tozhe povinyus' v grehe svoem,
Poskol'ku, vse zhe, sdelan ne iz stali.
Kol' ya tebya potryas izmenoj, drug,
Kak ty menya, sej ad ya ponimayu,
A to mne bylo vspomnit' nedosug,
Kak ty menya izmuchil, predavaya!
Noch' nashih bed napomnila nevol'no,
Kak sil'no postradal ya ot obid;
I ya, kak ty, kogda mne bylo bol'no,
Raskayan'em pomazhu, gde bolit.
Den'gami stal prostupok tvoj zabytyj:
Ty platish' mne, a ya - tebe. My kvity.
'T is better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
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 I am, 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.
Byt' greshnikom priyatnej, bez somnen'ya,
CHem dobrodetel' vynosit' na sud:
O nashej chistote chuzhoe mnen'e
Vmig razbivaet radosti sosud.
Kakogo cherta pohotlivyj vzglyad
Moej obespokoen zhizni tokom?
Ne angely l' s nebes za mnoj sledyat,
CHto shalosti im kazhutsya porokom?
Hanzhi, zabyv sovsem, chto ya est' ya,
Mne vraz svoi pripishut prestuplen'ya;
Ih dushi krivy, slovno venzelya,
YA ves' v gryazi s ih gryaznoj tochki zren'ya.
V grehe oni podozrevayut vseh
I eto tol'ko im prisushchij greh.
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd 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 miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more:
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.
Zalog lyubvi ya poteryal bespechno -
Listki, v tetradku sshitye toboj,
No mysli vse ravno vsegda so mnoj -
Tebya i tak ya budu pomnit' vechno,
Pokuda ne podarit providen'e
Mne v starosti lekarstvo zabyt'ya,
Ty vyzhivesh' i izbezhish' zabven'ya -
Umom i serdcem budu pomnit' ya.
Dlya etogo mne ne nuzhny stranicy;
Ne podschitayut schety nashu druzhbu:
Moej dushe voobshche stranic ne nuzhno -
V nej obraz tvoj naveki sohranitsya.
"Dlya pamyati" ischerkannyj listok -
V zabyvchivosti vetrenoj uprek.
No, Time, thou shalt 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.
Net, Vremya, ne hvalis', chto ya stareyu:
Gromady tvoih yunyh piramid
V moih glazah niskol'ko ne novee,
CHem etot plashch, chto trizhdy pereshit.
I kazhdyj voshitit'sya budet rad
Naspeh perelicovannym star'em;
Obman my ne zametit' predpochtem,
CHem znat', chto eto antikvariat.
Ne veryu, Vremya, ya tvoim skrizhalyam,
Vser'ez ih primet tol'ko idiot:
Nam v zhizni tak vsegda arhivy lgali,
Kak ty nam lzhesh', vsegda spesha vpered.
YA budu veren Istine. Klyanus',
Pod Vremeni serpom ne izmenyus'.
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd'
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the 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.
Byla b lyubov' sirotkoj providen'ya,
Poveleval by ej surovyj rok,
Sud'ba vplela b bednyazhku v svoj venok
Cvetkom il' sornyakom - po nastroen'yu.
No net! Sluchajnosti protivny ej;
Ona opalu perenosit gordo,
Ne myaknet ot ulybki korolej,
Ej vse ravno, chto vydumaet moda;
Ej ne strashny ni burya, ni metel',
Smeshat ee politikanov strasti;
Pred nej odnoj otkryta zhizni cel',
Nichto nad neyu ne imeet vlasti.
V svideteli tomu zovu ya teh,
Kto smert'yu pravoj iskupil svoj greh.
Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove 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 mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul
When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.
Nesya nad syuzerenom baldahin,
Ukrashu l' svitu pyshnym pozumentom?
Reshu l' v svoej gordyne stat' bessmertnym,
Poznav, chto vechnost' - tol'ko tlen ruin?
Zabudu l' yudol' prizhivalov vlasti,
CHto, kak v shelkah, - v dolgah, lishency prav,
I, hleb prostoj prezrev, tak lyubyat slasti,
Pregor'kij zhrebij dlya sebya izbrav?
Net! Belosnezhny pomysly moi.
Vse, chem bogat, - vino i hleb moj bednyj
Kladu ya na altar' svoej lyubvi
I zhdu vzamen slova lyubvi otvetnoj.
A ty, lukavyj, sily b pobereg:
CHem ternii ostrej, tem blizhe Bog.
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold lime's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
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 delay'd, answer'd must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
Ty Vremeni sil'nee, mal'chik moj:
Ono ne vlastno nad tvoej krasoj.
My vse, vzrosleya, priblizhaem smert' -
Tebe cvesti, tvoim druz'yam - staret'.
I, kol' tebya ot Vremeni obid
Priroda hot' na vremya zashchitit,
To lish' zatem, chtob pomnilo odno:
Tem, kto sil'nej ego, ono posramleno.
Strashis' ee nepostoyannoj voli;
Vse eto - lish' rassrochka i ne bole,
Prirode Vremya svoj pred®yavit schet:
Tvoya krasa, moj drug, pojdet v zachet.
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 slander'd with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
Cvet chernyj nizkim mir vsegda schital,
Cvet belyj sovershenstva byl osnovoj,
No nyne ochernili ideal
V pryamom i perenosnom smysle slova.
Krasavicy prirodnyj pravyat cvet
Rumyanami, sur'moyu, ne boyas',
CHto uzh u Krasoty i doma net -
I predan ideal, i vtoptan v gryaz'.
Vlasy moej lyubimoj - ebonit,
Glaza cherneyut plamenem prekrasnym,
Kak budto traur nosyat po neschastnym,
CHej cvet lica pod kraskoyu sokryt.
No dazhe v traure prekrasna ty -
I bredit mir krasoyu chernoty.
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 blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
Lish' tol'ko ty, dushi akkord prelestnyj,
Kosnesh'sya polirovannogo dreva
I drognut pal'cy tonkie nesmelo,
I ya uslyshu vnov' motiv izvestnyj,
Kak, k cherno-belym klavisham revnuya,
CHto mogut celovat' tvoi persty,
Usta, leleya smelye mechty,
Zardeyut v ozhidan'i poceluya.
Oni so zvuchnym derevom mestami
Gotovy obmenyat'sya v tot zhe mig,
Poskol'ku sami klavikordy stali
Pod laskami zhivee gub zhivyh.
A esli ne sud'ba, otdaj, proshu ya,
Im - pal'cy, mne - usta dlya poceluya.
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust m action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd 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.
Priyut greha, rastrata sil dushi -
Vot chto takoe pohot' v golom vide;
Ona zachata v gore i obide,
V krovavom skotstve, grubosti i lzhi.
Kak kratok vozhdeleniya poryv!
Iz ran eshche ne vytashchiv klinka,
Ono uzh, slovno ryba, zaglotiv
Primanku, nenavidit chervyaka.
ZHelaj, imej, shodi s uma nochami,
Zabud' prilich'ya - zhalok zhrebij tvoj:
Pik radosti vlechet ekstaz pechali,
O schast'e son ostanetsya mechtoj.
Vse znayut lyudi, vse ravno speshat
Izvedat' raj, chto ih privodit v ad.
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 damask'd, 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.
Ee glaza na solnce ne pohozhi,
A guby cvetom - vovse ne korall;
I grudi bely, no ne snezhno vse zhe,
I lokon chernyj - net, ne ideal.
S damasskoj rozoj nezhnoj, belo-krasnoj
Lyubimoj shchek ne sporit krasota;
K chemu tverdit' pro zapah ust prekrasnyj,
Kol' ne fialkoj pahnet izo rta?
Rech' miloj, hot' dlya uha i priyatna,
Po tembru - daleko ne arfy zvuk;
Paryat, kak puh, bogini, veroyatno, -
Ee zhe sled pechataet kabluk.
Mezh tem, ona prekrasnej, bez somnen'ya,
Krasavic teh, o kom nam lgut sravnen'ya.
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For welt 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.
Ty tak zhe, milaya, cherstva dushoj,
Kak te krasotki, ch'i serdca, kak kamni,
No bredit serdce glupoe toboj -
Kak kamen' dragocennyj ty mila mne.
Pust' zlye yazyki vokrug tverdyat,
CHto smuglost'yu lyubov' vnushit' ne mozhno;
Otkryto vozrazhu ya im navryad,
Hot' chuvstvuyu, chto utverzhden'e lozhno.
Klyanus', ya prav. Podrugu vspominaya,
Kakih stradanij ya ne perenes,
No vse sterpel, zato uzh tochno znayu:
Svetlee dnya mne noch' tvoih volos.
Otrinu lozh', vosled lyubimoj glyadya:
CHerny ee postupki, a ne pryadi.
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.
Moim glazam menya kak budto zhal':
Oni, ponyav, skol' muchim ya toboyu,
Smyagchayut bol' moyu lyubov'yu i toskoyu,
Kak traur nosyat chernuyu vual'.
Lyublyu ih: dazhe solnce ne vsegda
Soboyu ukrashaet tak voshod,
I zapadu vechernemu zvezda
Nichut' ne bol'she bleska pridaet,
CHem lik tvoj svetel temnymi ochami.
O! kto b tvoej dushe mog peredat'
Takuyu nezhnost' traurnoj pechali,
CHtob tozhe istochala blagodat'!
I ya otreksya by ot svetloj krasoty,
CHernya vseh teh, kto tak ne smugl, kak ty.
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 engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd.
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 rigor in my gaol:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.
Kovarnaya, chto serdce mne plenila,
Moj drug tvoej streloyu uyazvlen!
Uzhel' moih muchenij malo bylo,
Zachem stradat', neschastnyj, dolzhen on?
Mne druga serdce uzh ne vozvratish' ty;
YA - sam ne svoj, tvoj vlastnyj vzglyad lyubya,
Grushchu vtrojne, tak kak obkraden trizhdy,
Lishivshis' vas dvoih i sam sebya.
Zapri menya v svoej dushi temnice,
CHtob drug byl serdcem vykuplen moim.
S takoj sud'boj ya smog by primirit'sya,
Ego lyubov'yu ot tebya hranim.
No snishozhden'e ne zhivet v tyur'me.
YA - uznik vmeste s tem, chto est' vo mne.
So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
And I myself 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 learn'd 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.
Sdayus' - on tvoj. Vsego zhaleyu bole,
CHto sam sebya tebe otdal v zalog;
YA ot sebya by otkazat'sya mog,
CHtob tol'ko druga prekratit' nevolyu.
Koryst' i strast' reshat ishod torgov:
Ty merkantil'na, on bezhit svobody;
Iz-za menya moj drug v shelkah dolgov,
Zakabalen raspiskami na gody.
Samu sebya gotova vsem ssudit'
Ty, kak nosatyj rostovshchik, besslavno;
Drug platit druzhboyu procent ispravno;
Mne zhrebij - v odinochestve grustit'.
My oba plenniki. Moj drug ne smog
Spasti menya, nabiv tvoj koshelek.
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will',
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex 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 fairbeseechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will'.
Imeesh' vseh, kogo zhelaesh' pylko:
Dvuh _Uillov_ prizvala tvoya zvezda.
Ne _svil li_ b tvoj porok i mne gnezda
V kudryavom mhe na rokovoj raz_vil_ke?
Holmov _il' yam_ razmer - pod stat' zhelan'yu
Snaruzhi l', iznutri l' vladet' toboj;
Il' chto? Knyaz'yam - i glaz, i gub siyan'e,
A _vil_ druz'yam - nadezhdy nikakoj?
Ty vidish': okean, nesushchij cheln,
Priemlet vlagu, chto dozhdi prolili;
Tak v tvoj zaliv pri_byli_ vody _Uilli_ -
Slej k nim ruchej, chto _Billom_ narechen.
Raspredeli na vseh lyubovnyj pyl,
CHtob v kazhdom _byl_ zhelanen ya - tvoj _Bill_.
If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will',
And wiD, 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 reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' 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'.
Kol' V_i_l'yam serdcu tvoemu ne mil,
Skazhi, chto ya ZHel'_ya_m - tvoe zhelan'e:
Slepomu strazhu vedomo nazvan'e
Toj sily, chto glavnee prochih sil.
YA - V_o_l'yam, vol'no reyushchaya ptica,
CHto v stae nachirikaetsya vvolyu;
Uvy, v lyubvi odin nolya ne bole,
Hot' do kolen svisaet edinica.
Odin - zabyt, zabroshen, unichtozhen;
Mne b golym kolom byt', a ne odnim
Iz chastokola, chtob ya byl cen_i_m
Nolem pushistym, na gnezdo pohozhim.
Pust' budu vseh zhelannej i lyubimej,
Tak kak tvoe zhelan'e - moe imya.
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 anchor'd 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 transferr'd.
CHem slepish' ty menya, lyubov' slepaya,
CHto uzh ne vidit to, chto vidit vzglyad?
Krasu v lico glaza kak budto znayut,
No ot urodstva vryad li otlichat.
I kol' oni uzhe na yakor' vstali
V toj buhte, gde lyubomu dan priyut,
K chemu Lyubovi gnut' kryuki iz stali,
CHto serdce k skalam cep'yu prikuyut?
Kak mozhno bylo pastbishche obshchiny
Prinyat' za klumbu, gde rastet rozan?
Il' prosto lgut lukavye glaza,
Obman ukrasiv pravdoyu nevinnoj?
Ni kapli pravdy vzor ne vidit moj,
Boleya chernoj lozh'yu, kak chumoj.
Then my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd 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 suppress'd.
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 flatter'd be.
Klyanetsya v chestnosti lyubimaya kogda,
YA veryu, hot' ona i lzhet besstydno,
Menya schitaya yunoshej, kak vidno,
Ne iskushennym v igrah zrelyh dam.
Mne, pravo, l'stit, chto ya eshche mogu
Komu-to pokazat'sya molodym;
Priyatno verit' v eto samomu -
Tak oba protiv pravdy my greshim.
K chemu lyubimoj priznavat'sya v lzhi
Il' mne - vyschityvat' svoj vozrast vnov'?
Skryvaet gody zrelaya lyubov',
Ona - vsego lish' vera v mirazhi.
Obman smakuem, lezha na lugu:
Ona mne l'stit, i ya ej sladko lgu.
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 lovest 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'er-press'd defense 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 I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
Svoj norov mnoj opravdyvat' ne nado,
Ty zlom sumela dushu mne issech':
To byl kinzhal dvusmyslennogo vzglyada,
Uzh luchshe b slovo, chestnoe, kak mech.
Lyubi lyubogo v etoj zhizni kratkoj,
Pri mne zhe na drugih smotret' ne smej;
K chemu tebe menya kolot' ukradkoj:
V boyu otkrytom ya tebya slabej.
I vse zh ya izvinyu tebya, pozhaluj,
Poskol'ku vzglyad svoj, chto moj pervyj vrag,
Ty ot menya narochno otvrashchala,
CHtob mne on povredit' ne smog nikak.
Ne nado! YA srazhen, mne zhizn' ne zhal',
Izbav' ot muk i vzglyadom glaz uzhal'!
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.
O zlaya, stan' zhe mudroj: ne pytaj
Prezreniem stradaniya nemogo,
Ne to pechal' emu podyshchet slovo
I bol' obid prol'etsya cherez kraj.
Ah, esli b nauchit' tebya ya mog,
Net, ne lyubvi, a lish' poddelke nezhnoj!
I paralitiki, kogda prihodit srok,
ZHdut ot vrachej ne pravdy, a nadezhdy.
Ne to tebe v bezumstve ranyu dushu
Otchayannymi derzkimi rechami;
Skandaly lyubyat lyudi chrezvychajno:
Totchas hulu vpitayut zlye ushi.
CHtob nam ne lgat' i ne terpet' obidy,
Smiri gordynyu - polyubi dlya vida.
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 unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
Uvy! Tvoj oblik vzglyadu ne otrada,
On tysyachu iz®yanov v nem nashel;
A vot dusha tebe naprotiv rada:
CHto zren'yu durno - serdcu horosho.
I golos tvoj - dlya sluha ne iskus,
CHuvstv ne razbudit gub prikosnoven'e;
Otvergli obonyanie i vkus
Na pir, gde ty hozyajka, priglashen'e.
Ne smogut chuvstva, hot' ih celyh pyat',
Spasti mne serdce, chto popalo v plen;
Ono - vassal, ty - groznyj syuzeren:
Emu - sluzhit', tebe - povelevat'.
Mne v sej chume smushchen'e chuvstv - nagrada;
A ty, kem greshen, darish' muki ada.
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 seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest 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!
Klejmitsya dobrodetel'yu tvoeyu
Lyubov' moya kak tyazhkij greh, i vse zh
Tvoya lyubov' niskol'ko ne svyatee,
A greh - na moj, kak brat rodnoj, pohozh.
Menya korit' i oblichat' tebe li,
Ustam tvoim li, lzhivyj ottisk chej
Skreplyaet klyatvy vysprennih rechej,
Pyatnaya chest' i belyj shelk postelej?
Pozvol' tebya lyubit' zakonno mne,
Kak tem, komu lyubov' tvoya dostalas';
Ty zhalost' v serdce u sebya vzlelej,
CHtob ta k tebe potom rodila zhalost'.
Sluchis', ty u drugih zajmesh' edva l'
To, chem tebe sejchas delit'sya zhal'.
Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes an 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.
Sluchis' hozyajke prismotret' k obedu
Odnu iz kur, chto topchutsya vokrug,
Ona dite svoe spuskaet s ruk
I - nu, begom vosled za pticej bednoj.
Malysh - za nej v nadezhde, chto dogonit,
Nogami semenya, bosoj, v slezah,
A toj beglyanka vse pylit v glaza,
I uzh ne do nego v pylu pogoni.
Vot tak ty v nebe lovish' zhuravlej,
Menya sovsem ostaviv sirotoj;
Pojmaj mechtu, vernis' i pozhalej,
Stan' snova mamoj dobroj i prostoj.
YA pomolyus', chtob ty pojmala Uilla
I k sirote vernut'sya ne zabyla.
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 colour'd 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 tura'd fiend
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Let this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
So mnoj navechno dve lyubvi iz dvuh,
CHto mne dany na gore i na schast'e:
Poslanec neba - drug moj svetloj masti
I smuglaya podruga - ada duh.
CHtob vniz menya nizvergnut', zhenskij genij
V soblazn vvergaet druga moego,
Hitrejshej cep'yu lzhivyh obol'shchenij
Lishit' pytayas' svyatosti ego.
Padet li angel - tochno neizvestno;
Gotov ya podozren'ya vzyat' nazad:
S podrugoj on obshchalsya slishkom tesno
I zhdet ego v konce lyubovnyj ad.
No pravdu ya uznayu, veroyatno,
Kogda istorgnut budet on obratno.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languish'd 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 alter'd with an end,
That follow'd 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'.
Usta, chto ruki izvayali
Lyubvi, "YA nenavizhu", - vdrug
Mne prosheptali v zlom zapale,
No tut, zametiv moj ispug,
Ona vdrug zhalost'yu vspylala,
Stydlivo prikusiv yazyk,
CHto lish' k slovam lyubvi privyk,
I vnutr' svoe ubrala zhalo.
"YA nenavizhu", - myagche, tishe,
Skazala, - uzh obidy net,
I ya proshchen, i utra svet
Noch' zamenil. I tut ya slyshu
"YA nenavizhu", - v tretij raz,
I voskresayu: "No ne Vas".
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 shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.
Moj bednyj duh, centr merzostej vselennoj,
Kak tela skorlupa tebya gnetet!
Zachem, hranitel' istiny, nadmenno
V svoj hram tshcheslav'em ukrashaesh' vhod?
K chemu rashody? Srok arendy kratok,
A hram stoyat' stolet'ya ne gotov;
CHervyam mogil'nym skoplennyj dostatok
Na uzhin popadet v konce koncov.
Ty sily te, chto zrya tranzhirit telo,
Kopi v dushe svoej iz miga v mig,
Tlen suety menyaj na vechnost' smelo,
I ne hvalis' bogatstvom, chto dostig;
Otrin' zemnoe, smertnyj chelovek,
I, smert' poprav, prebudet duh vovek.
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 express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Sil'na dusha zhelan'ya lihoradkoj
I yadovitogo lekarstva zhdet
V nadezhde, chto lyubvi zapretnyj plod
Prodlit bolezn' spasitel'noj oblatkoj.
Rassudok moj, lyubovnyj zhar lecha,
Kak lekar' ne byl dolzhno ocenen;
Obidevshis', menya pokinul on:
YA obrechen bez pomoshchi vracha.
Gde net rassudka, tam nadezhdy net,
CHto snova stanu tem, kem byl kogda-to;
Slova i mysli - sumasshedshij bred,
A slepota - za yad lekarstv rasplata.
Ty belokuroj mnilas' mne, odnako
Byla na dele sotkana iz mraka.
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 vex'd 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.
O, kak Lyubov' mne izmenila zren'e:
CHto vizhu - ne pojmu s nedavnih por;
Il' prosto na menya nashlo zatmen'e
I vinovat moj razum, a ne vzor?
Kol' vse, chto nravitsya glazam, - prekrasno,
Zachem so vseh storon tverdyat mne: "Net"?
A esli - net, mne zastit belyj svet
Lyubvi pushistyj glaz - mne eto yasno.
O, vzor Lyubvi, v tvoej li vlasti
Pravdivym byt', kogda slepit sleza?
CHto udivlyat'sya, chto podvodyat nas glaza:
I solnce tozhe slepo v dni nenast'ya.
Lyubov' hitra: nas slezy oslepit,
CHtob ne uzrel sramnyh sekretov vzglyad.
Sanst 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 myself, 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 lovest, and I am blind.
Zachem ty govorish', chto ne lyublyu ya?
Toboyu poln, ya sam sebya zabyl:
V tvoih vojskah s samim soboj voyuya,
Tebya, tirana, slavlyu chto est' sil.
Ne vrag li mne, kogo ty nevzlyubila?
Ne mne l' postyl, tot, kto tebe ne mil?
Sluchis', s zhestokoj sam ya derzok byl,
Sebe otmstit' uzh mne dostanet sily.
YA stol'ko sovershenstv vmeshchu navryad,
CHtob ne gordit'sya dolzhnost'yu slugi,
Molyas' userdno na tvoi grehi,
Ispolniv vse, chto tvoj prikazhet vzglyad.
Lyubimaya, mne gnev ponyaten tvoj:
Ty lyubish' teh, kto zryach, a ya slepoj.
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 warrantize 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.
Otkuda u tebya berutsya sily,
CHto, slabaya, ty vlastna nado mnoj?
Zachem glaza moi ty s tolku sbila?
YA lgu, klyanyas', chto cheren den' zemnoj.
Skazhi, kto priukrasil tvoj porok
I zlu zachem soputstvuet uspeh?
Kto tak mne razum zatumanit' smog,
CHto ya za dobrodetel' prinyal greh?
Kto v seti vverg menya lyubovnyh put,
Gde milo to, chto nenavidet' vporu?
Moyu lyubov' pust' horom vse klyanut,
Lish' golos tvoj ne podpeval by horu.
No chem tvoi poroki mne milej,
Tvoej lyubvi dob'yus' ya tem vernej.
Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
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 father 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.
CHto nam gotovyat zhenskoj ploti skladki,
Ne znaet maloletnij Kupidon
I obvinyat' menya ne smeet on.
Kakoj hitrec! Sam vinovat, moj sladkij!
Ty izmenila mne i ya v posteli
V ugodu ploti predal ideal;
Dusha sdalas' - i vot na brennom tele
Triumfa gordyj obelisk vosstal.
Sej zhezl mne ukazal lyubimoj grot,
Kak gnomon - dnya zenit na ciferblate;
On to kak strazh nadutyj u vorot,
To kak pomoshchnik vyalyj na podhvate.
V grehe ya ne priemlyu obvinenij:
Lyubov' - nichto bez vzletov i padenij.
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 I,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!
Menya v izmene ne tebe vinit',
Ty dvazhdy v sem grehe sama vinovna:
Pyatno supruga tvoego chernit,
Obmanut ya, a ty klyanesh'sya snova.
No v klyatvoprestuplen'yah dvuh kak mozhno
Tebya vinit', kol' ih za mnoj - poleta:
YA lzhesvidetel'stvoval, klyalsya lozhno
Pyatnaya chest' svoyu, i sovest', i usta.
Bozhilsya ya, chto ty pochti Madonna,
Nastaival, chto lyubish' i verna,
I otrical, lyubov'yu osleplennyj,
Tu istinu, chto vsem byla vidna.
YA mrakom lzhi unizil pravdy svet,
Za etot greh mne opravdan'ya net.
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 borrow'd 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 distemper'd guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire - my mistress' eyes.
Spal Kupidon, zabyv ogon' zazhzhennyj,
A tut podruga devstvennoj bogini
Tot fakel, chto szhigal serdca vlyublennyh,
V ruchej moknula, tekshij po doline.
Potok vskipel i stal goryach, kolyuch,
Lyubvi bezumnym zharom potrevozhen,
I prevratilsya v blagodatnyj klyuch,
CHto izlechit' lyubye hvori mozhet.
No, vospylav ot sveta milyh glaz,
Mne fakel serdce vnov' zazheg na probu.
I ya potom v ruchej nyryal ne raz,
CHtob izlechit' lyubovnuyu hvorobu,
Votshche: lish' tot istochnik iscelit,
Ogon' byl iz kotorogo dobyt.
The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd 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 warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
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.
Bozhok Amur, smorennyj zharom leta,
Zabyl svoj fakel, greyushchij serdca;
Tut nimfy, chtya nevinnosti obety,
Reshili druzhno nakazat' yunca
I samoj smeloj byl ogon' ukraden,
CHto teplil dushi legionam zhen;
Tak general lyubvi, usnuv v prohlade,
Byl devstvennoj rukoj razoruzhen.
V ruchej byl broshen fakel bespoleznyj
Tot zakipel ot zharkogo ognya;
Teper' on lechit raznye bolezni,
No ot lyubvi ne vylechil menya:
Ogon' lyubvi sogreet vodu v mig,
No zhar lyubvi ne ohladit rodnik. -
Prilozhenie
Vy tol'ko chto oznakomilis' s novymi perevodami sonetov Uil'yama
SHekspira. Dlya togo, chtoby vam legche bylo sravnit' original s perevodom ili,
mozhet byt', popytat'sya samim perevesti naibolee ponravivshiesya vam sonety
privodim nekotorye osobennosti anglijskih poeticheskih tekstov, a takzhe
drugie izvestnye perevody {*}
{Perevody S.YA. Marshaka byli vpervye opublikovany v 1947 g. (sonety 54,
65, 77, 130) i v 1949 g. (sonety 21, 90, 116).
Perevody B.L. Pasternaka (sonety 66, 73) byli vpervye opublikovany v
1938 g.
Perevod soneta 66, sdelannyj V.G. Benediktovym, byl opublikovan
posmertno v 1884 g.}
Anglijskim poeticheskim tekstam s poslednej treti XV veka i do vtoroj
poloviny proshlogo stoletiya svojstvenny nekotorye proiznositel'nye i
orfograficheskie osobennosti, kotorye v osnovnom svodyatsya k sleduyushchemu:
{Mnogie iz perechislennyh nizhe osobennostej v rannij novoanglijskij period, a
podchas i pozdnee (po XVIII vek vklyuchitel'no), otrazhali real'nye
grammaticheskie i foneticheskie svojstva yazyka svoej epohi, odnako postepenno
oni stanovilis' kanonizirovannymi priemami poeticheskogo yazyka (sr. punkty 2,
3).}
1. Propusk sloga radi soblyudeniya razmera ili iz stilisticheskih
soobrazhenij (sokrashchaemaya chast' sloga chasto zamenyaetsya apostrofom):
(a) propusk konechnogo glasnogo: th' = the;
(b) propusk nachal'nogo glasnogo: 'mongst = amongst; 'tis = it is, 't =
it;
(v) propusk glasnogo v seredine slova: heav'n = heaven;
(g) propusk soglasnogo so styazheniem glasnyh: se'en = seven, ne'er =
never.
2. |penteza v okonchanii pravil'nyh glagolov v Past Indefinite (pri
napisanii nad e stavitsya diakriticheskij znak: unapproach_e_d, devis_e_d).
3. Ispol'zovanie arhaicheskoj glagol'noj paradigmy 2 l. ed. ch. (art,
wert, dost, canst, hast, goest), 3 l. ed. ch. (fadeth, loveth) i mestoimennoj
paradigmy 2 l. ed. ch. (thou - three - thy - thine - thyself).
4. Napisanie glagolov v Past Indefinite s konechnym t vmesto ed
(finisht, mixt).
5. Upotreblenie pristavki a pered glagol'nymi formami i v nekotoryh
narechiyah (a-flying, a-getting, adown), voshodyashchej dlya glagolov k staroj
gerundial'noj forme s predlogom on.
6. Izmeneniya poryadka slov (inversiya): And true plain hearts do in the
faces rest = And true plain hearts do rest in the faces.
7. Upotreblenie "glaznoj" ili "zritel'noj" rifmy (eye rhyme), kogda
rifmuyutsya slova, shodnye po napisaniyu, no razlichnye po zvuchaniyu (love -
remove).
Nizhe privodyatsya varianty napisaniya, otrazhayushchie proiznositel'nye normy
raznyh epoh i razlichnyh orfograficheskih tradicij: napisanie e v konce slova
(sweete = sweet); u = i (chylde = child, ayre = air); a = ea (hart = heart);
ou = o (controul = control); au = a (chaunt = chant); ie = u (angrie =
angry); ea = e (spheare = sphere); er = ir (vertue = virtue); ee = ea (neer
= near); ie = ee (frieze = freeze); ff = f (yff = if); nn = n (ynne = in);
tt = t (butt = but); s = ss (firmness = firmness); th = d (murther =
murder); ck = s (musick = music); u = w (loue = lowe); w = u (howre = hour).
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
Zovu ya Smert'. Mne videt' nevterpezh
Dostoinstvo, chto prosit podayan'ya,
Nad prostotoj glumyashchuyusya lozh',
Nichtozhestvo v roskoshnom odeyan'e,
I sovershenstvu lozhnyj prigovor,
I devstvennost', porugannuyu grubo,
i neumestnoj pochesti pozor,
I moshch' v plenu u nemoshchi bezzuboj,
I pryamotu, chto glupost'yu slyvet,
I glupost' v maske mudreca, proroka,
I vdohnoveniya zazhatyj rot,
I pravednost' na sluzhbe u proroka.
Vse merzostno, chto vizhu ya vokrug,
No kak tebya pokinut', milyj drug!
Perevod S.YA. Marshaka
Izmuchas' vsem, ya umeret' hochu,
Toska smotret', kak maetsya bednyak,
I kak shutya zhivetsya bogachu,
I doveryat', i popadat' vprosak,
I nablyudat', kak naglost' lezet v svet,
I chest' devich'ya katitsya ko dnu,
I znat', chto hodu sovershenstvam net,
I videt' moshch' u nemoshchi v plenu,
I vspominat', chto mysli zatknut rot,
I razum snosit gluposti hulu,
I pryamodush'e prostotoj slyvet,
I dobrota prisluzhivaet zlu.
Izmuchas' vsem, ne stal by zhit' i dnya,
Da drugu trudno budet bez menya.
Perevod B.L. Pasternaka
YA zhizn'yu utomlen, i smert' - moya mechta.
CHto vizhu ya krugom? Nasmeshkami pokryta,
Progolodalas' chest', v izgnan'i pravota,
Koryst' - proslavlena, nepravda - znamenita.
Gde dobrodeteli svyataya krasota?
Poshla v rasputnyj dom: ej net inogo sbyta!..
A sila gde byla poslednyaya - i ta
Sredi slepoj grozy paralichom razbita.
Iskusstvo smeteno so sceny pomelom;
Bezum'e kafedroj vladeet. Prazdnik adskij!
Dobro ogrableno razbojnicheski zlom;
Na istinu davno nadet kolpak durackij. -
Hotel by umeret'; no druga moego
Mne v etom mire zhal' ostavit' odnogo.
Perevod V.G. Benediktova
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
To vremya goda vidish' ty vo mne,
Kogda odin-drugoj bagryanyj list
Ot holoda trepeshchet v vyshine -
Na horah, gde umolk veselyj svist.
Vo mne ty vidish' tot vechernij chas,
Kogda poblek na zapade zakat
I kupol neba, otnyatyj u nas,
Podob'em smerti - sumrakom ob®yat.
Vo mne ty vidish' blesk togo ognya,
Kotoryj gasnet v peple proshlyh dnej,
I to, chto zhizn'yu bylo dlya menya,
Mogiloyu stanovitsya moej.
Ty vidish' vse. No blizost'yu konca
Tesnee nashi svyazany serdca!
Perevod S.YA. Marshaka
To vremya goda vidish' ty vo mne,
Kogda iz list'ev redko gde kakoj,
Drozha, zhelteet v vetok golizne,
A ptichij svist vezde smenil pokoj...
Vo mne ty vidish' blednyj kraj nebes,
Gde ot zakata pamyatka odna,
I, postepenno vzyavshi pereves,
Ih opechatyvaet temnota.
Vo mne ty vidish' to sgoran'e pnya,
Kogda zola, chto plamenem byla,
Stanovitsya mogiloyu ognya,
A to, chto grelo, izoshlo dotla,
I eto vidya, pomni: net ceny
Svidan'yam, dni kotoryh sochteny.
Perevod B.L. Pasternaka
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou the master mistress of my passion,
A woman's gentle heart but not acquainted
With shifting change as is false women's fashion,
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling:
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth,
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created,
Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she pricked thee out forwomen's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
Lik zhenshchiny, no strozhe, sovershennej
Prirody izvayalo masterstvo,
Po-zhenski ty krasiv, no chuzhd izmene,
Car' i carica serdca moego.
Tvoj nezhnyj vzor lishen igry lukavoj,
No zolotit siyan'em vse vokrug.
On muzhestven i vlast'yu velichavoj
Druzej plenyaet i razit podrug.
Tebya priroda zhenshchinoyu miloj
Zadumala, no, strast'yu plenena,
Ona menya s toboyu razluchila,
A zhenshchin oschastlivila ona.
Pust' budet tak. No vot moe uslov'e:
Lyubi menya, a ih dari lyubov'yu.
Perevod S.YA. Marshaka
SPISOK ISPOLXZOVANNOJ LITERATURY
Anglijskaya poeziya v russkih perevodah (XIV-XIX vv.) / sost. M.A.
Alekseev, V.V. Zaharov, B.B. Tomashevskij. - M., 1981.
Urnov M.V., Urnov D.M. SHekspir. Ego geroj i ego vremya. - M., 1964.
Sudlenkova O.A, Kortes L.P. 100 pisatelej Velikobritanii. - M., 1997.
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Last-modified: Tue, 19 Dec 2006 20:21:30 GMT