j 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. LXXXIII 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. 83 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. LXXXIV 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. 84 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. LXXXV 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. 85 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. LXXXVI 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. 86 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. LXXXVII 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. 87 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'. LXXXVIII 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. 88 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. LXXXIX 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. 89 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. XC 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. 90 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! XCI 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. 91 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. HSII 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. 92 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'. XCIII 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! 93 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. XCIV 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. 94 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. XCV 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. 95 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. XCVI 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. 96 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. XCVII 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. 97 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. XCVIII 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. 98 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. XCIX 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. 99 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. S 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. 100 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. CI 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. 101 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! CII 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. 102 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. CIII 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. 103 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. CIV 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. 104 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. CV 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. 105 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. CVI 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. 106 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'. CVII 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. 107 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 -