ogda 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. LVIII That god forbid that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! O, let me suffer, being at your beck, The imprison'd absence of your liberty; And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each 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. 58 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 LIX 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. 59 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. LX Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being 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. 60 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. LXI Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So far from home into my deeds to pry, To find out shames and idle hours in me, The scope and tenor of thy jealousy? O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great: It is my love 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. 61 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. LXII 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. 62 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. LXIII 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. 63 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. LXIV 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. 64 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'. LXV 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. 65 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. LXVI 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. 66 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. LXVII 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. 67 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. LXVIII 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. 68 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. LXIX 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. 69 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. LXX 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. 70 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. LXXI 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. 71 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. LXXII 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. 72 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. LXXIII 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. 73 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. LXXIV 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. 74 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. LXXV 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. 75 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. LXXVI 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. 76 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. LXXVII 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. 77 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. LXXVIII 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. 78 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. LXXIX 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. 79 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. LXXX 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. 80 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. LXXXI 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. 81 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. LXXXII 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. 82 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 viti