Uil'yam SHekspir. Sonety (Per.Igorya Fradkina) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- V perevodah Igorya Fradkina SPb.: Dean, 2003. OCR Bychkov M.N. mailto:bmn@lib.ru ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- William Shakespeare Sonnets Translated by Igor Fradkin Uil'yam SHekspir Sonety V perevodah Igorya Fradkina Perevodchik vyrazhaet osobuyu blagodarnost' za neocenimuyu pomoshch' pri rabote v raznye gody nad predstavlennymi v nastoyashchem izdanii perevodami - I.M. Kulakovskoj, M.K. Pavlovoj, A.V. Florya i A.A. CHameevu. Peterburgskij poet-perevodchik Igor' Fradkin vpervye opublikoval svoj variant _Sonetov_ U. SHekspira v 1990 godu. On stal, takim obrazom, pyatym russkim perevodchikom, predstavivshim chitatelyu polnost'yu etot znamenityj cikl - posle N. Gerbelya (1880), M. CHajkovskogo (1914), S. Marshaka (1948) i A. Finkelya (1977). Podviglo ego na eto vyskazyvanie Andreya Zorina v 1984 godu, kotoryj, analiziruya sushchestvuyushchie perevody _Sonetov_, zametil, chto hotya "Marshak prevratil ih v vydayushcheesya yavlenie otechestvennoj kul'tury... segodnya vse ostree chuvstvuetsya potrebnost' v perevode, kotoryj pereselyal by ne SHekspira k nam, a nas k SHekspiru". Poznakomivshij russkogo chitatelya s zolotymi stranicami anglijskoj i amerikanskoj literatury - Dzhon Donn, Dzhordzh Gordon Bajron, Persi Bishi SHelli, Dzhon Kits, Oskar Uajl'd, Genri Longfello, Robert Frost - Igor' Fradkin predstavlyaet sonety SHekspira v novoj redakcii, kotoraya sushchestvenno otlichaetsya ot predydushchego izdaniya 1990 goda. Tonkoe oshchushchenie poeticheskogo teksta, ego mnogoobraznyh intonacij, uvazhitel'noe otnoshenie ne tol'ko k duhu, no i k bukve podlinnika, umenie operet'sya na opyt predshestvennikov, uchest' ih oshibki i dostizheniya i vmeste s tem sohranit' svoj sobstvennyj perevodcheskij pocherk - vse eto pozvolilo Igoryu Fradkinu predlozhit' novuyu poeticheski ubeditel'nuyu interpretaciyu _Sonetov_ SHekspira, otkryvayushchuyu v nih novye grani i izmereniya. Ot izdatel'stva To the onlie begetter of these insuling sonnets Mr. W.H. all happinesse and that eternitie promised by our ever-living poet wisheth the well-wishing adventurer in setting forth. T.T.* * Thomas Torp Tomu edinstvennomu, komu obyazany eti sonety svoim poyavleniem: Misteru W. N. vsyakogo schast'ya i vechnoj zhizni, obeshchannoj emu nashim bessmertnym poetom, zhelaet dobrozhelatel', risknuvshij vypustit' ih v svet. T.T.* * Tomas Torp 1 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, Thyself 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, makest waste in niggarding. Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. 1 Ot divnogo zhdem divnyh vshodov my, Ved' roza krasoty v chas neizbezhnyj Pogibnet, i spasti ot vechnoj t'my Ee sposoben tol'ko otprysk nezhnyj. No, s yasnym svoim likom obruchen, Svoim bogatstvom ty prenebregaesh' I na piru, na golod obrechen, Ot sobstvennogo plameni sgoraesh'. Vesny prekrasnyj vestnik! - ot ognya Ty skryagoj gibnesh': slovno by vo zlobe Svet krasoty lishaesh', horonya Zarodysh divnyj v sobstvennoj utrobe. Mir otoshchaet - mshchen'ya chas pridet: Pozhret v mogile Mir tebya i plod. 2 When 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 tatter'd weed, of small worth held: Then being ask'd 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! 2 Primchatsya Zimy, v plen voz'mut chelo, Na tele - pole brani - rvov naroyut, Bylogo ne ostavyat nichego, Sorvut odezhdy i rvan'em prikroyut; Tvoej krasy prob'et poslednij chas, I gde togda iskat' ee primety? V bezdonnoj glubine zapavshih glaz? Tebe obzhora-styd otmstit za eto! O, esli b ssudu - krasotu - ty mog Prirode vozvratit', skazav prostoe: "Da vot moj syn! CHto zh - podvodi itog: YA ne rastratil vremya zolotoe!" Tvoj syn nachnet pylat' tvoim ognem, Krov' starcheskuyu ty sogreesh' v nem. 3 This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold 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 unear'd 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, remember'd not to be, Die single, and thine image dies with thee. 3 Glyan' v Zerkalo - pora svoi cherty Potomstvu peredat': mir obednyaesh' I zhenskij rod obmanyvaesh' ty - Blazhenstva materinskogo lishaesh'. Gde est' nevspahannoe chrevo, chtob Iskusnyj plug prinyat' ne zahotelo? Lish' samogo sebya lyubya, ty v grob Bezdetnym lyazhesh' - razve eto delo?! Znaj, starost' vidit v synov'yah svoih Umchavshijsya Aprel' v odezhde novoj, Ved' nashi deti slovno okna - v nih Mel'kaet Leto v dni Zimy surovoj. No ty ne hochesh' svoj prodolzhit' rod: S toboyu obraz tvoj navek ujdet. 4 Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thyself 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 thyself alone, Thou of thyself 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 tomb'd with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be. 4 Zachem tranzhirish' ty, prelestnyj mot, To, chto Priroda detyam zaveshchala?! Ona shchedra k tebe, no platy zhdet, Kak rostovshchik, berya procent nemalyj. A ty, ocharovatel'nyj skupec, Vzyal ssudu i ne hochesh' rasschitat'sya, Ty slovno nezadachlivyj kupec, Kotoromu s tovarom ne rasstat'sya. Kommerciyu vedya s samim soboj, Ty rezhesh' glavnuyu stat'yu dohoda; Kak rasschitaesh'sya, bankrot skupoj, Kogda tebe pred®yavit schet Priroda? Krasa, ne pushchennaya v oborot, Ne dast procentov i - v grobu sgniet. 5 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 check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'ersnow'd 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 distill'd, though they with winter meet, Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet. 5 SHCHedry minuty, yasnyj lik rozhdaya; Uvy, potoki etih zhe minut Bezzhalostny - prekrasnoe smetaya, Lik bezobrazyat, smert' krase nesut. Neutomimo Vremya - vypivaet U rozy sok, kogda ona v cvetu; Zima kovarno Leto obnimaet, Zanosit mertvym snegom Krasotu. Kogda b ne aromat vesennej rozy (V sosude zapert uznikom nastoj), Sgubili by vse luchshee morozy, Mir razluchiv naveki s Krasotoj. No zhiv, kogda zimoyu bleknet sad, Iz rozy izvlechennyj aromat. 6 Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. That use is not forbidden usury Which happies those that pay the willing loan; That's for thyself to breed another thee, Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; Ten times thyself 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-will'd, for thou art much too fair To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir. 6 Ne daj Zime surovoyu rukoyu Sok svezhij vyzhat' - napolnyaj sosud I sladost'yu tvoeyu i krasoyu, Ne to oni besslavno propadut. Ssuzhayut nam krasu ne bezvozvratno: Dayut vzajmy, procent ogovoriv, I ty prodolzhish' zhizn' desyatikratno, V synah sebya dostojno povtoriv; Syn kazhdyj povtorit tebya raz desyat', I desyat' raz umnozhit kazhdyj vnuk - Tysyachekratno zhit' tebe na svete: U Smerti dlya tebya ne hvatit ruk. Odumajsya, krasu gubit' ne smej, Naslednikami delaya chervej. 7 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 climb'd 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, thyself out-going in thy noon, Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son. 7 Smotrite - Feb prosnulsya na vostoke: CHelo pylaet, nebosvod gorit, I rukopleshchet mir emu v vostorge - Bog svetonosnyj nad zemlej parit. Vzbirayas' vverh po krucham nebosklona, On, zrelyj muzh, na yunoshu pohozh, I lyudi vosklicayut voshishchenno: "Kak zolotoj naryad ego horosh!" Kogda zh, podobno starcu, na zakate On, v kolesnice zavershaya put', Za mrachnyj gorizont ustalo katit - Nikto ne hochet na nego vzglyanut'. Tak stanesh' ty nichem, projdya zenit. Daj synu zhizn' - on Vremya pobedit! 8 Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly, Or else receivest 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." 8 Ty Muzyka, chto navevaet grust'. Prekrasnoe ne ssoritsya s prekrasnym, Zachem ne radost'yu ty polnish' grud', A grust'yu - ogorcheniem naprasnym? Tebe obiden zvukov strojnyj lad? Ediny struny v laskovom upreke, Oni za to tebya, moj drug, koryat, CHto ne priemlyut golos odinokij. Prislushajsya ty k strunam, nakonec: Odna zvuchit v soglasii s drugoyu, Tak pesnyu obshchuyu poyut - otec, Mat' i dite, edinoyu sem'eyu. Strun mnogo - druzhen stroj, tebe v uprek: Ty men'she, chem nichto, raz odinok. 9 Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye That thou consumest thyself in single life? Ah! if thou issueless shall 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 murderous shame commits. 9 Boyas' ostavit' miluyu vdovoj, CHuraesh'sya uporno ty lyubovi? No otojdesh' bezdetnym v mir inoj, Ves' mir zaplachet nad toboj po-vdov'i. Supruga poteryav, najdet vdova V lyubimom syne krasotu i silu - Najdet li mir dostojnye slova Toj krasote, chto unesesh' v mogilu?! Bogatstvo razbazarivaya, mot Vse bez ostatka v mire ostavlyaet, No rod lyudskoj obkradyvaet tot, Kto detyam krasotu ne zaveshchaet. I ty iz teh, kto blizhnih ne lyubya, ZHivet, namerenno sebya gubya. 10 For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lovest is most evident; For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Which to repair should be thy chief desire. 0, 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 thyself at least kind-hearted prove: Make thee another self, for love of me, That beauty still may live in thine or thee. 10 Kakoj pozor! - Provodish' dni bespechno, Bespovorotno krasotu gubya. Lyubov' k tebe u mnogih beskonechna, No ni k komu lyubvi net u tebya: ZHivesh', vredit' sebe ne prekrashchaya. Ty s krasotoj svoej voyuesh' sam, V razvaliny pozorno prevrashchaya Samoj Prirodoj vozvedennyj hram. Peremenis'! I o tebe suzhden'e I ya peremenyu. Uzhel' vrazhda K sebe - tebe daruet naslazhden'e? Dobree stan' k sebe ty navsegda, - Lyubya menya, svoj rod ne prekrashchaj: Krasu i yunost' synu peredaj. 11 As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest 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 endow'd she gave the 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. 11 Tvoj otprysk, prelest'yu tvoej cvetya, Tebe napomnit molodye gody: Krov' yunuyu, chto vlil v svoe ditya, Priznaesh' ty - takov zakon Prirody. I v etom - mudrost', sila, krasota, Vojna - bezum'yu, nemoshchi, raspadu: Bez etogo zhdala b nas temnota, Prishel by krah vsemu zemnomu sadu. Let cherez shest'desyat tot, kto rozhden Urodom grubym - pust' zhivet v bezbrach'e, A ty Prirodoj shchedro nagrazhden: Ne dlya sebya - dlya shchedroj peredachi. Graver - Priroda, ty - ee pechat', CHtob ottiski vekam peredavat'. 12 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 silver'd 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. 12 Kogda ya vizhu, slysha boj chasov, Naryadnyj den' v ob®yat'yah nochi mglistoj, Fialku bez vesennih lepestkov I chernyj lokon v kraske serebristoj, I roshchicu s opavsheyu listvoj Tam, gde v teni stada gulyali vvolyu, I snop na drogah s borodoj sedoj (Ego v poslednij put' vezut po polyu), - Togda ya strahom za tebya ob®yat: Tak Krasota tvoya navek umchitsya - Vsled za voshodom sleduet zakat, V kostre vremen zhizn' novaya roditsya. Nad kazhdym Vremya zaneset kosu - Ostav' potomstvo i spasi krasu. 13 O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself 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 Yourself again after yourself 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. 13 Ty v etot mir yavilsya ne navechno, Tebe ne dolgo krasovat'sya v nem. I pomni - krasota ne beskonechna, Ona tebe dana sud'boj vnaem. Potomku peredaj svoj oblik nezhnyj: Syn dolzhen krasotu arendovat', CHtob, izbezhav konchiny neizbezhnoj, Put' zhiznennyj pobedno prodolzhat'. Odumajsya! Kakoj zhe rastochitel' Ne zashchitit svoj dom ot zimnih v'yug I holodom Zimy svoyu obitel' V ruiny smerti prevratit, moj drug?! Ty znal otca, i pust' roditsya tot, Komu otcom ty stanesh' v svoj chered. 14 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 season's 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 thyself to store thou wouldst convert; Or else of thee this I prognosticate: Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date. 14 Svoj vzor ya ne na zvezdy obrashchayu: Hot' zvezdochet ya, zvezdy ni k chemu, YA grozy, smuty, golod ne veshchayu I ne prorochu zasuhu, chumu; Ne znayu ya, kakoj poduet veter I vossedat' na trone zhrebij chej. Odnu ya znayu istinu na svete, CHto cherpayu ya iz tvoih ochej: Ty dolzhen obespechit' prodolzhen'e I Vernosti svoej, i Krasoty, CHtob vechno zhit' vekam na udivlen'e, Kogda nash mir navek pokinesh' ty. A inache, kogda tvoj chas prob'et, On Krasotu i Vernost' uneset. 15 When 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 check'd even by the self-same sky, Vaunt 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. 15 Mir - eto scena: sud'by na mgnoven'e Vyhodyat cheredoyu na pomost, I - promel'knet prekrasnoe viden'e Pod strogim okom vsemogushchih zvezd. My, kak cvety, rastem i uvyadaem Pod tem zhe nebom i, otzhiv svoe, Bespovorotno krasotu teryaem, I pamyat' let ne sohranit ee. YA eto vizhu: molodoj, prekrasnyj, Ty na mgnoven'e yunost'yu bogat: CHtob mrachnoj noch'yu sdelat' den' tvoj yasnyj, Idut vojnoyu Vremya i Raspad. Sam Vremeni vojnu ya ob®yavlyu: YA krov' tvoyu strokoyu obnovlyu. 16 But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify yourself 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 your 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 yourself in eyes of men. To give away yourself keeps yourself still, And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. 16 No stih besploden moj. Navernyaka Est' put' blagoslovennej i vernee, CHtob Vremeni krovavaya ruka Ne tronula tebya - tak v boj smelee! Sejchas ty na vershine krasoty - Speshi sberech' svoj oblik ot Raspada: ZHelan'e ot tebya vzrastit' cvety Est' u lyubogo devstvennogo sada. Pred etim divom nishch lyuboj portret, Nichto - moi bespomoshchnye stroki: Pust' sovershenstv tvoih ne gasnet svet, - Ego hranit potomok tvoj dalekij. Ty vossozdaj svoj obraz nakonec: YAvi iskusstva svoego venec. 17 Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd 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 yellow'd with their age Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be term'd 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. 17 Kak v sovershenstvah ubedit' tvoih Gryadushchij vek? Odno lish' nebo znaet O tom, chto moj mertvorozhdennyj stih Dostoinstv polovinu upuskaet. Potomok ne pojmet moej stroki I skazhet, chto ya lgal neuderzhimo, I nazovet fantaziej stihi, V kotoryh ya vosslavil heruvima; Im kazhdaya pravdivaya stroka S giperboloyu lzhivoyu sravnitsya: Napomnit pustobreha-starika Dnej drevnih pozheltevshaya stranica. Daj synu zhizn' - zatihnut spory eti: Vdvojne zhit' budesh' - v syne i v sonete. 18 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 dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometimes declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 18 Mogu l' tebya ravnyat' ya s letnim dnem? Ty i zhelannej i milej rassveta: Rvet pochki Maj, vovsyu grohochet grom, Neprodolzhitel'no, kaprizno Leto: Segodnya yarko solnyshko gorit, A zavtra - skryto bezobraznoj tuchej: Prohodit srok, i vse teryaet vid: Krasoyu pravit Vremya ili Sluchaj. No ty, pohitiv prelest' letnih dnej, Netlenen - vek tvoj budet beskonechen: Smert' ne voz'met tebya v stranu Tenej, Ty ne umresh', v stihah uvekovechen, ZHit' budesh' v nih, svoj prodolzhaya vek, Dokole zrit i dyshit chelovek. 19 Devouring Time, blunt them 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 fleets, 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. 19 Prozhorlivoe Vremya! Vozvrashchaj Zemle ee detej, pechali mnozha, Klyki u tigra s kornem vyryvaj I feniksa szhigaj v krovi ego zhe! Ni radosti, ni gorya ne zhalej, Menyaj na osen' leto, Vremya, smelo I - legkonogoe - begi zhivej, No prestuplen'ya odnogo ne delaj: Ne zanosi gubitel'nyj rezec, Poberegi prekrasnoe tvoren'e - Pust' druga krasota, kak obrazec, Sverkaet vsem vekam na udivlen'e! Zrya ne starajsya, Starina: v vekah Drug budet vechno yun v moih stihah. 20 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 prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. 20 Tebe darovan nezhnyj oblik zhenshchin, Vladyka i vladychica strastej; Po-zhenski dobr, ty s lozh'yu ne obvenchan: Iz slov fal'shivyh ne pletesh' setej; Tvoj ne fal'shivit vzor: darya blazhenstvo, Vse zolotit - vostorgom okruzhen, YAvlyaesh' ty soboyu sovershenstvo I voshishchaesh' i muzhej i zhen. Tebya Priroda zhenshchinoj lepila, No strastno uvleklas': perereshiv, Nezhenskuyu veshchicu prikrepila Tebe, menya vozlyublennoj lishiv. Ty zhen veshchicej toyu ublazhi, A mne daruj sokrovishcha dushi. 21 So is it not with me as with that Muse Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself 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 fix'd in heaven's air: Let them say more that like of hearsay well; I will not praise that purpose not to sell. 21 Pust' namalevannuyu krasotu Poety sravnivayut s nebesami I, voznesya prevyshe, chem mechtu, Napyshchenno privetstvuyut stihami; Pust' nazyvayut solncem i lunoj, Podvodnym carstvom i aprel'skim sadom, ZHemchuzhinoyu redkoj, nezemnoj I vsem, chto my zhelaem videt' ryadom, - YA znayu: ty - ne solnce, ne zvezda, A sushchestvo obychnoe, zemnoe, I potomu zhelannoe vsegda, Kak materi dite ee rodnoe. YA ne kupec, chto hvalit svoj tovar: Lyubov' ne otpravlyayu na bazar. 22 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 myself, but for thee will; Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain; Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again. 22 Lgut zerkala - mne Vremya ne grozit, Poka ty polon krasoty i molod, Kogda zh ono tvoj lik izborozdit, To i menya ohvatit smertnyj holod. Ved' serdce v serdce dorogom vsegda, Moe - v tvoej dushe, moej svyatyne, I v nem - tvoi cvetushchie goda: Rovesniki s toboyu my otnyne. Ty - moemu ne prichini nevzgod, A ya s tvoim tak budu ostorozhen, Kak nyan'ka, u kotoroj t'ma zabot, No neposedlivyj malysh uhozhen. Moe zamret - ty svoego ne zhdi: Tvoj dar ostanetsya v moej grudi. 23 As an imperfect actor on the stage Who with his fear is put besides 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 burden of mine own love's might. O, let my books 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 express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. 23 Kak zhalkij licedej, zabyvshij rol', Ot bespredel'noj robosti drozhashchij, Kak v yarosti sebya vognavshij v bol' Bezumec, osleplennyj i propashchij, - Tak ya robeyu, putaya slova, Bespomoshchnyj v lyubovnom rituale, Pod bremenem strastej derzhus' edva I na ustah - ni gneva, ni pechali. Pust' vzory govoryat, molchat usta, I serdce b'etsya s kazhdym migom chashche - Krasnorechivej eta nemota I gromoglasnee, chem rot krichashchij! Lyubvi sposobnost' vysshaya dana -