Ocenite etot tekst:


                      Antologiya sovremennyh perevodov

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     Perevod s anglijskogo I. Asterman, V. Vasil'eva,  A.  Vasil'chikova,  R.
Vinonena, L. Gavrilovoj, O. Dudoladovoj, S. Epifanovoj, Ign. Ivanovskogo, A.
Kazakovoj, G. Kruzhkova, A. Kuznecova, D. Kuz'mina, B. Kushnera,  YU.  Lifshica,
V. Nikolaeva, V. Orla, V. Rozova, V. Savina, V. Skvorcova, S. Stepanova,  V.
Tarzaevoj, I.  Fradkina,  T.  SHabaevoj,  A.  SHarakshane,  A.  SHvedchikova,  S.
SHestakova, D. SHCHedrovickogo
     SHekspir U. Sonety: Antologiya sovremennyh perevodov /  Per.  s  angl.  -
SPb.: Azbuka-klassika, 2004.
     OCR Bychkov M.N.
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                        Ne skaredny my, i serdca razbivayutsya nashi.
                        Lish' tak spravedlivo. Ved' esli ne nashi - to ch'i zhe?

                                                            Bella Ahmadulina

                      Svyashchennye shekspirovskie napevy

     Lyubov'  v  raznyh  ee  proyavleniyah,  polety  duha  i  nizkie   strasti,
filosofskie razmyshleniya i besposhchadnyj samoanaliz - vse eto,  a  takzhe  yarkie
obrazy, kaskady blestyashchih metafor i prosto prekrasnye  stihi  my  nahodim  v
sonetah SHekspira. Neudivitel'no, chto i teper', pochti  chetyresta  let  spustya
posle ih pervogo izdaniya, oni ostayutsya lyubimym chteniem dlya millionov lyudej.
     Nastoyashchee izdanie predstavlyaet soboj  antologiyu  sovremennyh  perevodov
sonetov  Uil'yama  SHekspira,  kotoraya  znakomit  chitatelya  s  rabotami   Ign.
Ivanovskogo,  I.  Fradkina  i  mnogih  drugih  poetov-perevodchikov.  Vpervye
publikuetsya  polnyj   podstrochnyj   perevod   vseh   sonetov.   V   obshirnoj
vstupitel'noj stat'e osveshcheny  istoriya  shekspirovskih  sonetov,  ih  temy  i
obrazy, a takzhe ih sud'ba v russkoj literature.
     SHekspir v Rossii - strannyj syuzhet. Inogda voobshche kazhetsya, chto SHekspir -
russkij pisatel'. Russkij dramaturg, russkij poet, avtor absolyutno  russkogo
geroya - Gamleta. I voobshche, po vsem stat'yam, - nash chelovek. Blizkij, ponyatnyj
- odnovremenno nerazgadannyj i etoj svoej  nerazgadannost'yu  neizmenno,  vot
uzhe  skol'ko  pokolenij,  budorazhashchij  umy  i  dushi   i   vse   ravno   etoj
neponyatnost'yu, kak ni paradoksal'no, eshche bolee blizkij, ibo,  bud'  chuzhoj  i
chuzhdyj,  chego,  sprashivaetsya,  stali  by  razgadyvat'?   SHekspir   neizmenno
interesen, i prichina v odnom - on dlya nas absolyutno zhivoj.  Potomu,  kak  so
starym priyatelem, s  nim  prosto,  on,  dazhe  i  na  p'edestale,  vse  ravno
priyatel', a stalo byt', manit otkrytoj  dostupnost'yu:  dlya  interpretacij  -
scenicheskih, akterskih i rezhisserskih, nakonec, perevodcheskih. Ottogo kazhdyj
sezon - stol'ko Gamletov, v poslednie gody ne tol'ko chisto teatral'nyh, no i
novyh popytok zanovo rasskazat' po-russki etot velikij, edinstvennyj v svoem
rode syuzhet, etu istoriyu, kak  kazhetsya,  davno,  v  detalyah  i  podrobnostyah,
znakomuyu, vse ravno vsyakij raz novuyu, neozhidannuyu, nevedomuyu. Za  bolee  chem
chetyre stoletiya SHekspir tak i ne stal muzejnym klassikom, i teper' mozhno uzhe
s polnoj uverennost'yu utverzhdat', chto. i ne stanet.
     Privedu odin lish' primer etomu, ibo na samom dele primeram takim  nest'
chisla, ottogo, povtoryayu, privedu odin, navernoe ne slishkom  vsem  i  kazhdomu
izvestnyj, no, kak mne predstavlyaetsya, so vseh tochek zreniya pokazatel'nyj  i
dokazatel'nyj. Nepodaleku ot Moskvy  est'  gorodok  Dolgoprudnyj.  A  v  nem
uchebnoe zavedenie, nazyvaemoe Licej | 11 "Fizteh". Iz nazvaniya ponyatno,  chto
obuchayutsya v nem mal'chiki i  devochki,  imeyushchie  sklonnosti  i  sposobnosti  k
tochnym naukam. Oni i postupayut v samye trudnye, a takzhe  samye  "prestizhnye"
vuzy, razumeetsya nikak ne gumanitarnye, uzh tem bolee ne teatral'nye. Tem  ne
menee s nedavnih por v licee etom uchredilsya teatr.  To  est'  ponachalu  byla
prosto shkol'naya studiya, kuda prihodili sperva starshie, potom obrazovalas'  i
gruppa sovsem malen'kih. Sovsem uzhe nedavno studiya pererosla v teatr. Tak on
i nazyvaetsya  -  "Liceumteatr".  Odin  iz  spektaklej,  kotoryj  sejchas  uzhe
igraetsya vpolne repertuarno, nazyvaetsya "SHekspir. Sonety. Son eto".
     Tri yunye pary, mal'chiki i devochki, odetye v to,  vo  chto  segodnya  yunye
mal'chiki i devochki odevayutsya: dzhinsy, svitera i tak dalee.  Kuda-to  prishli,
uvideli lezhashchie na stole knigi. SHekspir, "Sonety"...  Nezametno,  slovno  by
pochti sluchajno, ih kostyumy menyayutsya: na mal'chikah chernye bryuki i  rubashki  -
chernaya, krasnaya,  belaya,  na  devochkah  plat'ya  -  chernoe,  krasnoe,  beloe.
Zadumchivo, tiho, vovse ne akterstvuya, slovno by  prosto  tak,  oni  nachinayut
govorit': sonetami. Okazyvaetsya, tam - vse napisano. Pro ih zhizn' i  pro  ih
lyubov', pro ih vstrechi i pro  rasstavaniya,  pro  vernost'  i  pro  izmeny...
Okazyvaetsya, etimi, iz XVI veka, stihami mozhno prosto  razgovarivat',  mozhno
obshchat'sya, mozhno vyyasnyat' sobstvennye, iz veka vpolne  XXI,  otnosheniya.  Pary
shodyatsya,  rashodyatsya,  peretekayut,  menyayutsya   mestami...   Skol'   mnogoe,
okazyvaetsya, mozhno sygrat' - ili,  chto  tochnee,  perezhit'  -  shekspirovskimi
sonetami. Po suti, vsyu zhizn'. Tam - vse est'. I teatr lyubitel'skij na  nashih
glazah prevrashchaetsya, preobrazhaetsya - v Teatr Lyubvi. CHerez SHekspira. Vsego, i
tol'ko, nado lish' vnimatel'no vchitat'sya: v etih strokah, v etih sozvuchiyah, v
etih  "pravil'nyh"   po   forme   -   odnovremenno   beskonechno   strastnyh,
impul'sivnyh, to beshenyh, to  umirotvorennyh,  po  ih  suti,  stihah  -  vse
napisano. I voistinu "serdca razbivayutsya nashi". Ottogo, chto "esli ne nashi  -
to ch'i zhe?" Potom, uzhe za predelami sceny  i  za  predelami  spektaklya,  eti
vzroslye deti v uzhe  vpolne  real'noj,  sobstvennoj,  vzroslo-detskoj  svoej
zhizni, sonetnoe obshchenie prodolzhayut. Oni chitayut eti v samom dele bozhestvennye
stroki, slovno prosto  razgovarivayut.  Kazhetsya,  im  tak  dazhe  chut'  li  ne
udobnee, chut' li ne proshche, ibo v sonetah okazyvaetsya zalozhennym  nekij  kod,
ob®edinyayushchij k nim prichastnyh v nekuyu tajnuyu lozhu posvyashchennyh i priobshchennyh:
proiznes kakuyu-to frazu, drugim nichego reshitel'no ne govoryashchuyu - a  dlya  nih
srazu, slovno  magicheskim  klyuchikom,  otkryvayushchuyu  bezbrezhnost'  chuvstv,  ih
odnovremenno vysotu i prostotu, - i srazu vse absolyutno ponyatno, i nichego ne
nado dolgo i nudno, glavnoe beznadezhno, pedagogicheski ob®yasnyat'. Vse  i  tak
yasno: geroi  SHekspira  -  eto  ne  pyl'naya  zamshelaya  klassika  iz  shkol'noj
programmy, kotoruyu sleduet segodnya  zazubrit',  a  zavtra  navsegda  zabyt';
sovsem naoborot; eto my, i eto segodnya,  i  eto  vsegda.  Potomu  chto  zachem
pytat'sya vyrazit' to, o chem uzhe skazano: "... ya  do  smerti  ustal  -  /  Ot
gordosti, idushchej v prizhivalki...". Ili: "V ego stihah tvoe  lico  vstaet.  /
Mne tvoego lica nedostaet".
     Predlagaemyj chitatelyu sbornik novyh, chast'yu uzhe publikovavshihsya, chast'yu
publikuyushchihsya  vpervye,  perevodov  shekspirovskih  sonetov  chem-to   s   tem
spektaklem shozh. Tem, navernoe, chto eto tozhe sbornik lyubvi. Ego avtory - av-
tory-perevodchiki, no vse zhe v polnom smysle  avtory  -  lyudi  ochen'  raznye,
kto-to davno na etom poprishche professionalen, a kto-to v  svoej  "normal'noj"
zhizni zanimaetsya chem-to sovsem  inym,  chasto  na  etom  "nastoyashchem"  poprishche
dostignuv nemalyh vershin. I tem ne menee vozmozhnost'  slovami  shekspirovskih
stihov i shekspirovskih geroev vyrazit' sebya tak zamanchiva, i tak  prekrasna,
i tak vysoka... |ta vysota pervoistochnika nevidimo i nezametno,  byt'  mozhet
dazhe neosoznanno, voznosit v takie gornye vysi, v  kakih  inache  nikogda  ne
pobyvat'.
     Vse ostal'noe - rassudit vremya.. Ibo "Ot vremeni s kosoyu net zashchity,  -
/ V potomstve lish' spaseniya ishchi ty". I mne ne hotelos' by raz®yasnyat', otchego
imenno  etim  shekspirovskim  sonetnym  dvustishiem  ya  zavershayu  svoi  vpolne
sumburno-neobyazatel'nye zametki. V raschete na  to,  chto  ty,  otkryvshij  etu
knigu chitatel',  tem  samym  takzhe  vstupil  v  tajnuyu  lozhu  posvyashchennyh  i
priobshchennyh, chlenam kotoroj ochen' mnogoe i bez lishnih slov ponyatno.

                     Net, ne poveryu ya, chto est' pomehi
                     Soyuzu vernyh dush...

                                                              YUrij Fridshtejn

                                    SHekspir vsegda budet lyubimcem pokolenij,
                                    istoricheski zrelyh i mnogo perezhivshih.

                                            B. Pasternak. Zametki o perevode

              Sonety SHekspira i ih sud'ba v russkih perevodah



     Pervoe upominanie sonetov SHekspira otnositsya k 1598 godu,  kogda  nekij
kembridzhskij magistr Frensis Merez  opublikoval  kriticheskoe  sochinenie  pod
nazvaniem "Sokrovishchnica  umov".  Davaya  tvorchestvu  SHekspira  ochen'  vysokuyu
ocenku, Merez upominaet naryadu s p'esami i poemami "ego  sladostnye  sonety,
rasprostranennye sredi ego blizkih druzej".
     V sleduyushchem godu izdatel' Uil'yam Dzhaggard vypustil pod imenem  SHekspira
nebol'shoj poeticheskij  sbornik  "Strastnyj  piligrim".  Odnako  iz  dvadcati
stihotvorenij  sbornika  schitat'  bessporno  prinadlezhashchimi  SHekspiru  mozhno
tol'ko pyat' - tri otryvka iz komedii "Besplodnye usiliya  lyubvi"  i  varianty
dvuh ego sonetov, za kotorymi vposledstvii zakrepilis' nomera 138 i  144.  O
nekotoryh stihotvoreniyah  dostoverno  izvestno,  chto  oni  prinadlezhat  peru
drugih  poetov  (Barnfildu,  Griffinu  i,  vozmozhno,  Deloni);  otnositel'no
avtorstva poloviny proizvedenij mneniya issledovatelej  rashodyatsya.  V  lyubom
sluchae  nalico  zloupotreblenie  imenem  SHekspira   i   odnovremenno   yarkoe
.svidetel'stvo togo, chto ego imya bylo horosho  izvestno  lyubitelyam  poezii  i
moglo obespechit' knige uspeh.
     "Strastnyj piligrim" dejstvitel'no imel uspeh; v 1612  godu  vyshlo  uzhe
tret'e ego izdanie, kuda Dzhaggard vklyuchil dva soneta izvestnogo v  to  vremya
dramaturga   i   poeta   Tomasa   Hejvuda.   Hejvud   publichno    razoblachil
izdatelya-pirata v svoej knige "Zashchita akterov",  gde  pisal:  "YA  znayu,  chto
avtor byl ves'ma sil'no razdrazhen tem, chto mister  Dzhaggard  (s  kotorym  on
sovershenno  neznakom)  pozvolil  sebe  tak  besceremonno  obrashchat'sya  s  ego
imenem".  Vozmozhno,  kakie-to  dejstviya  posledovali  i  so  storony  samogo
SHekspira; tak ili inache,  Dzhaggardu  prishlos'  ubrat'  proslavlennoe  imya  s
titul'nogo lista.
     K tomu vremeni sonety SHekspira uzhe byli opublikovany v  tom  sostave  i
toj posledovatel'nosti, v kotoryh oni izvestny nam teper'. |to sdelal v 1609
godu londonskij izdatel' Tomas Torp.  Est'  osnovaniya  schitat',  chto  i  eto
izdanie bylo piratskim. Uzhe v XX veke issledovatelyami torpovskogo  originala
bylo dokazano, chto tekst nabirali dva raznyh  naborshchika,  imevshie  razlichnye
predpochteniya v oblasti anglijskoj orfografii, kotoraya v to ' vremya  byla  ne
ochen'  strogoj  i  dopuskala  mnogochislennye  kolebaniya   normy.   To,   chto
znachitel'nye  kolebaniya  orfografii  ostalis'  v  okonchatel'nom  tekste,  po
krajnej mere dokazyvaet, chto avtor ne vychityval nabrannogo teksta i ne daval
soglasiya na ego napechatanie v takom vide.
     Iz teksta opublikovannyh  sonetov  yavstvovalo,  chto  bol'shaya  ih  chast'
adresovana bezymyannomu molodomu cheloveku, kotorogo vposledstvii v literature
o shekspirovskih sonetah stali nazyvat' "Drugom". Drugaya, men'shaya chast'  byla
adresovana zhenshchine, takzhe neizvestnoj,  za  kotoroj  zakrepilos'  imenovanie
"Smuglaya (Temnaya) Ledi".
     Izdanie otkryvalos' zagadochnym posvyashcheniem, spory  vokrug  kotorogo  ne
utihayut do sih por:  "Edinstvennomu  vdohnovitelyu  (begetter)  nizhesleduyushchih
sonetov, misteru W. N.,  vsyacheskogo  schast'ya  i  vechnosti,  obeshchannoj  nashim
bessmertnym poetom, zhelaet dobrozhelatel', risknuvshij vypustit' ih v svet. T.
T.".
     Kem zhe byl etot tainstvennyj W. N.? Bol'shinstvo issledovatelej uvereny,
chto rech' idet ob adresate bol'shej chasti sonetov, to est' o Druge. CHashche vsego
on otozhdestvlyaetsya s Genri  Rizli,  grafom  Sautgemptonom.  (Inipialy  imeni
Henry Wriothesley pri perestanovke obrazuyut nuzhnuyu kombinaciyu  W.  N.)  Hotya
dokumental'nyh svidetel'stv lichnogo znakomstva Sautgemptona  i  SHekspira  ne
sohranilos', net somnenij, chto  oni  byli  znakomy:  obe  poemy  SHekspira  -
"Venera i Adonis" i "Nasilie nad Lukreciej" - byli  posvyashcheny  Sautgemptonu;
krome togo, izvestno, chto Sautgempton byl bol'shim poklonnikom obshchedostupnogo
teatra, dlya kotorogo pisal SHekspir.
     Drugoj kandidat - Uil'yam Gerbert, graf Pembruk,  plemyannik  znamenitogo
poeta-aristokrata Filipa Sidni, stavshij  vposledstvii  lordom-kanclerom  pri
dvore  YAkova  I.  (Imya  William  Herbert  obrazuet   nuzhnye   inicialy   bez
perestanovki.)  Pembruk  takzhe  imel  kakoe-to  otnoshenie  k  SHekspiru:  tak
nazyvaemoe Pervoe (Velikoe) folio - posmertnoe izdanie v 1623 godu  tridcati
shesti shekspirovskih p'es - soderzhalo posvyashchenie emu i ego bratu Filipu,  gde
govorilos', chto oni vykazyvali "blagosklonnost' Avtoru".
     Sushchestvuet i tret'ya, menee izvestnaya  versiya,  soglasno  kotoroj  slovo
"begetter" nuzhno ponimat' ne kak "vdohnovitel'", a kak  "tot,  komu  obyazany
svoim poyavleniem" sonety. Raznica vrode by nevelika, no v takom sluchae  rech'
mozhet idti ne ob adresate sonetov, a o cheloveke, peredavshem Torpu  rukopis'.
Im, po mneniyu nekotoryh shekspirovedov, byl Uil'yam  Harvi  (William  Harvey),
tretij muzh materi Sautgemptona, ne namnogo  prevoshodivshij  po  vozrastu  ee
syna. Soglasno etoj versii, sonety, posvyashchennye Sautgemptonu,  posle  smerti
ego materi okazalis' v rukah Harvi i byli peredany im Torpu (vozmozhno,  radi
voznagrazhdeniya). Kandidatura Harvi pozvolyaet ob®yasnit' tot fakt,  chto  chast'
sonetov posvyashchena ne Drugu (kotoryj, takim obrazom, ne mog,  strogo  govorya,
byt' "edinstvennym vdohnovitelem"), a Smugloj Ledi. No kak  togda  ob®yasnit'
upominanie o "vechnosti,  obeshchannoj  nashim  bessmertnym  poetom"?  I  na  eto
nahoditsya otvet: v 1609 godu Harvi byl uzhe snova  zhenat  i  ego  zhena  zhdala
rebenka; rech', takim obrazom, idet o vechnosti, voploshchennoj v detyah (skvoznaya
tema pervyh semnadcati sonetov). Storonniki etoj versii ukazyvayut na to, chto
pri obrashchenii k Sautgemptonu ili Pembruku, nosivshim titul lorda, Torp ne mog
upotrebit' slovo "mister"; po otnosheniyu k Harvi, imevshemu zvanie  sera,  eto
bylo vozmozhno. Na eto storonniki bolee rasprostranennyh  versij  utverzhdayut,
chto neumestnoe "mister" bylo upotrebleno Torpom radi mistifikacii.
     Nel'zya  ne  upomyanut'  gipotezu,  vydvinutuyu  Oskarom  Uajl'dom  v  ego
rasskaze-esse "Portret mistera W. N.". Po mneniyu Uajl'da (vprochem, iz samogo
proizvedeniya mozhno zaklyuchit',  chto  vpervye  eto  mnenie  bylo  vyskazano  v
razgovorah  s  Uajl'dom  kritikom  Dzhonom  Reskinom),  adresatom  sonetov  i
tainstvennym Drugom byl mal'chik-akter, ispolnyavshij zhenskie  roli,  -  Uil'yam
H'yuz (William Hues). Predpolozhenie o tom, chto mistera  W.  N.  zvali  imenno
tak, vydvigalos' eshche  v  XVIII  veke  (bez  vyvodov  o  tom,  chto  Drug  byl
mal'chikom-akterom). Issleduya te sonety, gde obygryvaetsya umen'shitel'noe  imya
avtora (Uill), mnogie kommentatory delayut vyvod,  chto  druga  SHekspira  tozhe
zvali Uil'yamom. Familiya H'yuz takzhe poyavilas' ne sluchajno: v sonete 20  slovo
"hues" (chto mozhno ponyat' kak "cveta, kraski"  ili  zhe  "formy")  upotrebleno
narochito, vydeleno kursivom i napechatano s  bol'shoj  bukvy,  chto  pohozhe  na
skrytuyu ot chitatelya igru slov. Nikakih  dokumentov,  podtverzhdayushchih,  chto  v
kakoj-libo iz londonskih teatral'nyh  trupp  byl  akter  s  takim  imenem  i
familiej, net, odnako Uajl'du udalos' obnaruzhit' bolee rannee  upominanie  o
muzykante Uil'yame H'yuze, kotoryj po vozrastu mog byt' otcom  mal'chika-aktera
(a izvestno, chto mnogie mal'chiki, ispolnyavshie  zhenskie  roli,  horosho  umeli
pet' i igrat' na muzykal'nyh instrumentah). Upominaet Uajl'd i Tomasa H'yuza,
kotoryj v 1587 godu postavil  v  Grejs-Inn  p'esu  "Zloklyucheniya  Artura"  (v
postanovke nemyh scen emu  pomogal  obuchavshijsya  togda  v  etoj  yuridicheskoj
korporacii Frensis Bekon), a takzhe Margaret H'yuz, kotoraya mnogo pozzhe  stala
odnoj iz pervyh zhenshchin-aktris v istorii anglijskogo teatra.
     Samye dramatichnye  stranicy  otnoshenij  poeta  i  ego  Druga,  kak  oni
predstavleny v sonetah, svyazany s poyavleniem nekoego poeta-sopernika. Versiya
Uajl'da daet ob®yasnenie i etim sobytiyam: on schital, chto takim  sopernik  kom
dlya SHekspira byl Kristofer Marlo, a drama razygralas' iz-za perehoda H'yuza v
druguyu truppu, s kotoroj sotrudnichal Marlo.
     Slovo "begetter" proishodit ot slova "beget" (zachinat', byt'  otcom)  i
mozhet oznachat' takzhe "avtor". |to dalo osnovaniya  dlya  ostroumnoj  versii  o
tom, chto pod inicialami W.  N.  imeetsya  v  vidu  sam  avtor,  "sam  Uil'yam"
(William Himself). Pravda, s etim ne  vyazhutsya  slova  o  "nashem  bessmertnom
poete" iz togo zhe posvyashcheniya, da i v celom iz teksta yasno, chto rech'  idet  o
raznyh lyudyah.
     Glavnoj kandidaturoj na rol' Smugloj Ledi dolgoe vremya  schitalas'  Meri
Fitton, frejlina korolevy Elizavety, o lyubovnoj svyazi  kotoroj  s  Pembrukom
(tema lyubovnogo treugol'nika) sohranilis' dostovernye  svedeniya.  Mogla  ona
byt' i lyubovnicej Sautgemptona.  |ta  versiya  okazalas'  podorvannoj,  kogda
obnaruzhilsya portret Meri Fitton, na kotorom u nee svetlye volosy, togda  kak
v tekste sonetov  neodnokratno  upominaetsya,  chto  vozlyublennaya  poeta  byla
temnovolosa. Vprochem,  nekotorye  issledovateli  po-prezhnemu  priderzhivayutsya
etoj versii, schitaya, chto na portrete izobrazhena ne Fitton, a drugaya zhenshchina.
     Bolee veroyatnaya kandidatura - muzykantsha |miliya Bassano,  v  zamuzhestve
Len'er, ital'yanka po proishozhdeniyu (v sonete 128 upominaetsya,  chto  Smuglaya,
Ledi igrala na kakom-to  klavishnom  instrumente,  veroyatno  klavikorde.  ili
spinete).  Do  braka  ona   byla   soderzhankoj   lorda-kamergera   Hensdona,
pokrovitelya teatral'noj truppy, stavivshej  p'esy  SHekspira.  Takaya  zhenshchina,
dazhe vyzyvaya lyubov' (a vernee, strast'), vryad li mogla vyzyvat' uvazhenie,  i
eto vpolne soglasuetsya s tonom sonetov, posvyashchennyh Smugloj Ledi.
     V 1611 godu |miliya Len'er, ni do, ni posle etogo nikak ne  svyazannaya  s
literaturoj (a prozhila ona s teh por  eshche  34  goda),  neozhidanno  vypustila
knigu sobstvennyh stihov. Sovremennyj issledovatel'  Il'ya  Gililov  vyskazal
predpolozhenie, chto ee imya posluzhilo shirmoj dlya docheri Filipa  Sidni  grafini
Elizavety  Ratlend,  kotoraya  pozhelala  ostat'sya  neizvestnoj.  SHekspir  mog
prinimat' uchastie v etoj  mistifikacii.  Esli  zhe  voshedshie  v  knigu  stihi
dejstvitel'no napisany |miliej Len'er, to stoit otmetit', chto ee kniga  byla
zaregistrirovana v 1610 godu, cherez god posle vyhoda shekspirovskih  sonetov,
i mogla byt' otvetom na nih.
     V 1617 godu (cherez god posle smerti SHekspira) uzhe ovdovevshaya i vrode by
ne raspolagavshaya dostatochnymi sredstvami |miliya arendovala v Londone  dom  i
otkryla shkolu  dlya  detej  iz  blagorodnyh  semejstv.  Predpriyatie  v  itoge
progorelo, no otkuda vzyalsya pervonachal'nyj kapital? Byt' mozhet, SHekspir,  ne
upomyanuvshij |miliyu Len'er v svoem zaveshchanii, ostavil  ej  neglasno  kakie-to
sredstva?
     Takim obrazom, so Smugloj Ledi delo obstoit gorazdo opredelennee, chem s
misterom W. N. (esli tol'ko eta opredelennost' ne obmanchiva).
     Odnako glavnaya zagadka dlya nas svyazana  s  lichnost'yu  samogo  avtora  -
Uil'yama SHekspira. Syn zazhitochnogo remeslennika iz Stratforda, rano  zavedshij
sem'yu, zatem pereehavshij v  London,  gde  on  stal  dramaturgom,  akterom  i
pajshchikom teatral'noj truppy, - vot prakticheski vse, chto izvestno o SHekspire,
ostal'noe po bol'shej chasti legendy i domysly.
     Otsutstvie podrobnyh svedenij o zhizni SHekspira - ego obrazovanii, kruge
obshcheniya  i   literaturnyh   zanyatiyah,   -   a   takzhe   nesootvetstvie   teh
nemnogochislennyh dokumentov,  kotorymi  raspolagayut  biografy,  obshcheprinyatym
predstavleniyam o genial'noj lichnosti  (eti  dokumenty  svidetel'stvuyut,  chto
pomimo teatral'noj deyatel'nosti SHekspir zanimalsya kommerciej, a vozmozhno,  i
rostovshchichestvom) porodili tak nazyvaemyj "shekspirovskij vopros". Uzhe  bol'she
polutora  vekov  ne  prekrashchaetsya  diskussiya   o   tom,   dejstvitel'no   li
stratfordskij SHekspir byl avtorom izvestnyh vsemu miru p'es, ili,  vozmozhno,
pod ego imenem skryvalsya nekij obrazovannyj aristokrat elizavetinskoj  epohi
(na etu rol' v raznoe vremya  vydvigalis'  takie  kandidaty,  kak  filosof  i
pridvornyj Frensis Bekon,  grafy  Oksford,  Derbi  i  Ratlend  i  dazhe  sama
Elizaveta  I,  dejstvitel'no  pisavshaya  stihi).  Sushchestvuet  takzhe   teoriya,
soglasno kotoroj rovesnik  SHekspira,  upomyanutyj  vyshe  dramaturg  Kristofer
Mardo (1564-1593), ubityj pri neyasnyh obstoyatel'stvah  v  vozraste  dvadcati
devyati let, na samom dele ostalsya zhiv i, - skryvayas' ot  vragov,  publikoval
svoi  proizvedeniya  pod  imenem  SHekspira.  Vydvigalis'  predpolozheniya  i  o
kollektivnom avtorstve (odna iz knig na etu temu nosila neskol'ko  kur'eznoe
nazvanie "Sem' SHekspirov").
     Original'nuyu  versiyu  vydvinula  izvestnaya   sovremennaya   perevodchica,
professor  Moskovskogo  gosudarstvennogo  lingvisticheskogo  universiteta   i
issledovatel'nica tvorchestva SHekspira M. D. Litvinova.  Po  ee  mneniyu,  pod
imenem SHekspira skryvalis' dva avtora - Ratlend i Bekon. Sonety  zhe,  kak  i
drugie  poeticheskie  proizvedeniya,  po  mneniyu  Litvinovoj,  napisany  odnim
chelovekom (Ratlendom). Poskol'ku v anglijskom yazyke net glagolov muzhskogo  i
zhenskogo roda i  v  bol'shinstve  sonetov  nevozmozhno  po  tekstu  odnoznachno
opredelit' pol adresata, Litvinova utverzhdaet,  chto  podavlyayushchaya  chast'  teh
sonetov, kotorye prinyato  schitat'  posvyashchennymi  Drugu,  v  dejstvitel'nosti
posvyashcheny zhene Ratlenda, grafine Elizavete, kotoruyu ona otozhdestvlyaet  takzhe
so Smugloj Ledi,  a  poetom-sopernikom  nazyvaet  Dzhona  Donna  (1572-1631).
Dramatichnost' sonetov, posvyashchennyh etoj teme,  ob®yasnyaetsya,  takim  obrazom,
tem, chto sopernichestvo bylo ne tol'ko  v  poezii,  no  i  v  lyubvi.  Izdanie
"Sonetov", kak polagaet Litvinova, ne bylo piratskim,  i  bol'shaya  ih  chast'
byla napisana nezadolgo do poyavleniya knigi.
     Na  Zapade  glavnym  al'ternativnym  "pretendentom"  na  rol'  SHekspira
schitaetsya  graf   Oksford;   v   nashej   strane   protivniki   tradicionnoj,
"stratfordianskoj", versii otdayut predpochtenie Ratlendu.  Eshche  v  1924  godu
literaturoved F. SHipulinskij opublikoval knigu na etu temu; "retlendianskuyu"
teoriyu  razdelyal  i  takoj  vliyatel'nyj  v  te  gody  chelovek,  kak   narkom
prosveshcheniya A. Lunacharskij. Zatem na "shekspirovskij vopros" v  nashej  strane
bylo nalozheno mnogoletnee tabu - edinstvenno vernoj  schitalas'  tradicionnaya
tochka zreniya. O probleme avtorstva upominalos'  lish'  vskol'z'.  Kogda  tabu
bylo snyato, I. Gililov  opublikoval  posvyashchennuyu  predpolagaemomu  avtorstvu
Ratlenda monografiyu "Igra ob Uil'yame SHekspire, ili Tajna Velikogo  Feniksa",
imevshuyu - uspeh i  vyderzhavshuyu  uzhe  dva  izdaniya  {M.:  "Artist.  Rezhisser.
Teatr", 1997; M.: "Mezhdunarodnye otnosheniya", 2000.}. Gililov  polagaet,  chto
pozdnie  p'esy  Ratlend  pisal  sovmestno  s  zhenoj,  docher'yu  Filipa  Sidni
(vprochem, takaya versiya sushchestvovala i prezhde), i sklonen dazhe pripisyvat' ej
avtorstvo nekotoryh sonetov. Sestru Filipa Sidni grafinyu Meri Pembruk  (mat'
Uil'yama i Filipa Pembrukov) Gililov nazyvaet soavtorom komedii "Kak vam  eto
ponravitsya" i utverzhdaet,  chto  ona  zanimalas'  okonchatel'noj  literaturnoj
obrabotkoj p'es dlya ih publikacii v Pervom folio.
     Vse zhe  sleduet  podchernut',  chto  v  sonetah,  kak  upominalos'  vyshe,
neskol'ko raz  obygryvaetsya  umen'shitel'noe  imya  avtora  (Will,  chto  takzhe
oznachaet  "volya,  zhelanie");  stalo   byt',   esli   eto   ne   soznatel'naya
mistifikaciya, na rol' avtora sonetov mogut pretendovat' tol'ko  dvoe  -  sam
SHekspir ili zhe Uil'yam Stenli, graf  Derbi  (ego  inicialy,  W.  S.,  kstati,
polnost'yu sovpadayut s inicialami SHekspira, a imenno takimi  inicialami  byli
podpisany nekotorye rannie izdaniya shekspirovskih p'es).
     "Problema SHekspira" eshche bolee povyshaet dlya nas  cennost'  shekspirovskih
sonetov.  Esli  k  nekotorym  p'esam,   izvestnym   pod   imenem   SHekspira,
dejstvitel'no  mogli  prilozhit'  ruku  raznye  lyudi,  to  podavlyayushchaya  chast'
sonetov, imeyushchih gluboko lichnyj harakter, yavno napisana odnoj rukoj, i,  bez
somneniya, eto imenno  ta  ruka,  kotoraya  sozdala  glavnoe  v  shekspirovskom
dramaturgicheskom nasledii. Poetomu "Sonety" -  bescennyj  material,  kotoryj
pozvolyaet poluchit' predstavlenie o  nastoyashchem  SHekspire-cheloveke,  kakuyu  by
familiyu on ni nosil.

     Kogda mogli byt' napisany sonety? Upominanie o nih  v  knige  Mereza  i
posleduyushchaya  publikaciya  dvuh  sonetov  v  sbornike   "Strastnyj   piligrim"
svidetel'stvuyut, chto po krajnej mere chast' ih v  1598-1599  godah  byla  uzhe
sozdana. Bol'shinstvo zhe specialistov sklonyayutsya  k  tomu,  chto  sonety  byli
napisany ran'she, eshche v pervoj polovine 1590-h godov. Delo v tom, chto v  1591
godu, posle posmertnoj publikacii knigi Sidni "Astrofil i Stella", v  Anglii
nachalsya nastoyashchij "sonetnyj bum".
     Istoriya soneta v Anglii byla k tomu  vremeni  gorazdo  koroche,  chem  na
rodine soneta, v Italii. Sonet (stihotvorenie iz 14 strok s osoboj  sistemoj
postroeniya i rifmovki) byl, kak schitaetsya, izobreten ital'yanskim poetom XIII
veka Dzhakomo  da  Lentini,  kotoryj  sluzhil  glavnym  notariusom  pri  dvore
germanskogo imperatora Fridriha II (sushchestvuet; takzhe versiya,  chto  sonetnaya
forma byla izobretena provansal'skimi trubadurami i iz Provansa uzhe popala v
Italiyu). Pisal sonety i Dante Alig'eri (1265-1321); vershinoj zhe  v  razvitii
ital'yanskogo soneta, bezuslovno, stali posvyashchennye  Laure  sonety  Franchesko
Petrarki (1304-1374), voshedshie v ego knigu "Kancon'ere".
     Strogoj forme  klassicheskogo  ital'yanskogo  soneta  sootvetstvovali  ne
menee strogie trebovaniya k smyslovoj strukture.  Sonet  otkryvalsya  oktavoj,
postroennoj na dvuh rifmah i sostoyashchej  iz  dvuh  chetverostishij  (katrenov).
Pervyj katren soobshchal chitatelyu  glavnuyu  ideyu  proizvedeniya;  vtoroj  katren
razvival  etu  ideyu  posredstvom  dopolnitel'nyh  detalej,   illyustracij   i
obosnovanij. Takim obrazom, oktava predstavlyala soboj ne tol'ko strukturnoe,
no i smyslovoe edinstvo: vse vosem' strok vyrazhali odnu ideyu - tezis.  Zatem
shel sekstet, sostoyashchij iz dvuh trehstishij (tercetov). Pervyj tercet seksteta
vyrazhal ideyu, v nekotorom smysle protivopolozhnuyu toj, kotoraya byla  vyrazhena
v oktave (antitezis), a  v  poslednem  tercete  osushchestvlyalsya  sintez  idej,
vyrazhennyh v oktave i v pervom tercete. CHasto etot sintez vyrazhalsya  v  dvuh
poslednih  strokah,  kotorye  po  etoj  prichine   poluchali   samostoyatel'noe
smyslovoe zvuchanie i nazyvalis' epigrammaticheskimi strokami (yarkij primer  -
stroki iz soneta Mikelandzhelo Buonarroti: "Kak nebo na moi dela  plevalo,  /
Tak  ya  plyuyu  na  milosti  nebes").  Odnako  poslednie  stroki  nikogda   ne
rifmovalis' mezhdu soboj, kak eto vposledstvii stalo delat'sya  "v  anglijskom
sonete.
     Anglijsiaya literatura, srazu zhe otkliknuvshayasya na "Dekameron"  Bokkachcho
"Kenterberijskimi rasskazami" Dzheffri  CHosera  (1340-1400),  sonetnuyu  formu
proignorirovala. Pravda, CHoser byl znakom s tvorchestvom Petrarki  i  vklyuchil
vol'noe perelozhenie odnogo iz ego sonetov v svoyu poemu "Troil  i  Kressida".
No eto perelozhenie bylo napisano toj zhe "korolevskoj strofoj" iz semi strok,
chto i vsya poema, i rastvorilos' v ee tekste.
     CHas anglijskogo soneta probil lish' poltora stoletiya  spustya,  a  pervym
anglijskim sonetistom stal Tomas Uajet (1503-1542).  Ispol'zuya  tradicionnuyu
"ital'yanskuyu" shemu, on nachal uzhe vidoizmenyat' ee. Othodya ot slozhnoj sistemy
rifmovki tercetov, stol' lyubimoj ital'yanskimi sonetistami, Uajet rifmoval  v
kazhdom tercete dve poslednie stroki. Tak v sonetah poyavilos'  zaklyuchitel'noe
dvustishie, a shema 8-3-3 nezametno prevratilas' v 8-4-2.
     Eshche  dal'she  poshel  mladshij  sovremennik  Uajeta  Genri  Govard  Serrej
(1517-1547). Virtuoznosti emu bylo ne zanimat': odin  iz  svoih  sonetov  on
postroil vsego lish' na dvuh rifmah.  Odnako  Serrej  otkazalsya  ot  oktav  i
skvoznoj rifmovki; krome togo, esli  Uajet  vsled  za  ital'yanskimi  poetami
rifmoval pervuyu stroku s chetvertoj,  a  vtoruyu  -  s  tret'ej  (opoyasyvayushchaya
rifmovka), to Serrej nachal rifmovat' pervuyu s tret'ej i vtoruyu  s  chetvertoj
(perekrestnaya rifmovka). Imenno on sozdal tu shemu, kotoraya  horosho  znakoma
nam  po  sonetam  SHekspira:  tri  ne  svyazannyh  obshchimi  rifmami  katrena  s
perekrestnoj rifmovkoj i dvustishie v konce (4-4-4-2).
     Sonety  Uajeta  i  Serreya  chasto  byli  vol'nymi  podrazhaniyami  sonetam
Petrarki, a Uajet, krome togo, i perevodil Petrarku.
     Istoriya rasporyadilas' tak,  chtoby  tvorchestvo  etih  poetov  sovpalo  s
krovavym pravleniem Genriha  VIII.  Kazn'  Serreya  i  opala  Uajeta  nadolgo
zaderzhali put' ih stihov  k  chitatelyu.  Proizvedeniya  ih  byli  opublikovany
(naryadu so stihami drugih poetov) tol'ko v 1557 godu,  v  sbornike,  kotoryj
stal pervym obrazcom po-nastoyashchemu renessansnoj poezii v Anglii. No  interes
k sonetu ugas nadolgo.
     Naibolee interesnyj sonetist serediny veka Dzhordzh  Gaskojn  (1539-1577)
proslavilsya v pervuyu ochered' kak dramaturg. Sonety byli daleko ne glavnym  v
ego tvorchestve; on napisal vsego 30 sonetov.
     Modu na sonet vozrodil svoej knigoj  Filip  Sidni.  V  pervoj  polovine
1590-h  godov  poyavilos'  nesmetnoe  kolichestvo   sbornikov,   ozaglavlennyh
kakim-libo ekzoticheskim zhenskim imenem i soderzhavshih sonety v petrarkistskom
duhe, vospevavshie damu serdca. S 1592 po 1597 god v Anglii bylo opublikovano
okolo dvuh s polovinoj tysyach sonetov, a skol'ko ih bylo napisano -  ostaetsya
tol'ko gadat'. Ves'ma veroyatno, v eti zhe gody k sonetnomu zhanru obratilsya  i
SHekspir (ego komediya "Besplodnye usiliya lyubvi",  geroi  kotoroj  -  Biron  i
Longvil' - pishut sonety, privodimye v  tekste  p'esy,  po  mneniyu  nekotoryh
shekspirovedov, napisana v 1591 godu, to est' v god vyhoda  knigi  Sidni).  V
sonete 104 upominaetsya o trehletnej godovshchine  znakomstva  poeta  s  Drugom;
otsyuda mozhno sdelat' vyvod, chto sonety pisalis' na protyazhenii treh s  lishnim
let. Bol'shinstvo issledovatelej sklonyayutsya k tomu, chto  eto  byli  1592-1595
gody. Stoit otmetit' i tot fakt, chto v 1592 i osobenno  v  1593  godu  iz-za
epidemii chumy teatral'nye predstavleniya prakticheski ne davalis'  (v  Londone
oni voobshche byli zapreshcheny), a znachit, u  SHekspira  bylo  mnogo  vremeni  dlya
chisto poeticheskogo tvorchestva. Imenno togda, veroyatno, byli napisany obe ego
poemy, opublikovannye v 1593-1594 godah; togda zhe,  vozmozhno,  on  sozdal  i
bol'shuyu chast' sonetov.
     Sonety SHekspira rezko  vydelyalis'  na  obshchem  fone  i  stali  nastoyashchim
otkrytiem dlya svoego vremeni. Vmesto dekorativnyh Stell i Delij,  naselyavshih
sonety ego sovremennikov (kotorye soznatel'no  vytravlyali  iz  etih  zhenskih
obrazov cherty ih real'nyh  prototipov  -  znatnyh  dam),  my  vidim  hot'  i
bezymyannyh,  no  vpolne  zhivyh  lyudej  -  samogo  poeta,  ego  Druga  i  ego
vozlyublennuyu. Sonety SHekspira - eto nebyvaloe po svoej neposredstvennosti  i
otkrovennosti  otrazhenie  lichnosti   v   intimnoj   lirike;   oni   napisany
bezyskusnym, ochishchennym ot ritoricheskih  uslovnostej  yazykom  i  mestami  tak
pryamy v peredache neprostyh otnoshenij geroev, chto,  nesomnenno,  dolzhny  byli
privodit'   v   zameshatel'stvo   chitatelej   togo   vremeni,   privykshih   k
izoshchrenno-uslovnomu stilyu. Otsyuda - dolgo  bytovavshee  mnenie  o  "grubosti"
shekspirovskogo yazyka (prezhde vsego v otnoshenii ego p'es, no i sonetov tozhe).
     Otrazilos' eto i na formal'noj strukture sonetov. V otlichie  ot  Sidni,
proignorirovavshego v svoej glavnoj knige otkrytiya Serreya i vozvrativshegosya k
ital'yanskoj sheme, SHekspir ne zhelal skovyvat' sebya uslovnymi i  uslozhnennymi
formami i vnov' vzyal na  vooruzhenie  shemu,  izobretennuyu  Serreem,  kotoraya
vposledstvii  zasluzhenno  poluchila  nazvanie  "shekspirovskoj".   Sovremennik
SHekspira |dmund Spenser (1552-1599), ch'ya kniga "Amoretti" vyshla v 1595  godu
(to est', vozmozhno, v tot zhe god, kogda i SHekspir zakonchil  pisat'  sonety),
pridumal dlya svoih  sonetov  slozhnuyu  sistemu  rifmovki,  iskusno  sozdayushchuyu
vpechatlenie edinogo dyhaniya, na kotorom postroen kazhdyj  sonet.  SHekspir  ne
nuzhdalsya v podobnyh uhishchreniyah:  ego  sonety  i  bez  togo  vyglyadyat  vpolne
estestvenno (est' u nego  i  yarkij  primer  soneta,  napisannogo  na  edinom
dyhanii, - sonet 66, no v ego  osnove  ne  formal'nyj  priem  radi  sozdaniya
effekta, a podlinnoe, ohvativshee poeta chuvstvo). K tomu zhe,  v  sootvetstvii
so svoimi ideyami o sohranenii chistoty anglijskogo yazyka, Spenser ispol'zoval
dalekie ot razgovornoj rechi intonacii i napolnyal sonety arhaichnymi  slovami.
SHekspir predstavlyal soboj polnuyu protivopolozhnost' Spenseru:  yazyk  byl  dlya
nego ne samocel'yu,  a  sredstvom,  prichem  takim  sredstvom,  kotoroe  nuzhno
obogashchat' i rasshiryat'. Poetomu, stremyas' ujti ot shtampov,  on  upotreblyal  v
sonetah kak prostye, "sermyazhnye", slova, tak i bolee knizhnye, no  vzyatye  iz
oblastej dalekih ot poezii. (V tom chisle - na udivlenie chasto -  iz  oblasti
kommercii, otnoshenij sobstvennosti i  sudoproizvodstva,  chto  mozhet  sluzhit'
argumentom v pol'zu tradicionnogo, "stratfordskogo", vzglyada na avtorstvo).
     SHekspir inogda sledoval smyslovoj  strukture  ital'yanskogo  soneta,  no
chashche   ispol'zoval   sobstvennuyu   strukturu,    kotoruyu    mozhno    nazvat'
"dramaturgicheskoj".  Tretij  katren   yavlyalsya   u   nego   kul'minaciej,   a
zaklyuchitel'noe dvustishie - razvyazkoj, neredko neozhidannoj  i,  kazalos'  by,
nikak ne vytekayushchej iz predydushchego soderzhaniya (yarkie primery  -  sonety  30,
34, 66 i drugie).
     Kak pravilo, sonety pisalis' ciklami, obrashchennymi k  odnomu  licu.  Pri
etom, hotya kazhdyj sonet predstavlyal soboj zakonchennoe proizvedenie, v  cikle
oni byli podchineny opredelennoj logike - logike variacij i razvitiya  tesnogo
kruga tem: vospevaniya  vozlyublennoj,  perezhivanij  lyubvi,  revnosti  i  t.p.
Doshedshij do nas svod sonetov SHekspira, obshchim chislom 154, raspadaetsya na  dva
neravnyh po velichine cikla: odin cikl obrazuyut sonety  1-126,  obrashchennye  k
Drugu,  drugoj  -  sonety  127-154,  obrashchennye  k   Smugloj   Ledi   (krome
neskol'kih). |ti cikly  ne  proizvodyat  vpechatleniya  celostnyh  literaturnyh
proizvedenij, sozdannyh po zaranee obdumannomu planu; skoree oni  pohozhi  na
liricheskij dnevnik, otrazivshij podlinnye sobytiya serdechnoj zhizni  avtora,  s
mnogochislennymi  temnymi  mestami  i  kazhushchimisya  protivorechiyami,   kotorye,
odnako, tol'ko eshche bol'she ubezhdayut v "dokumental'nosti" teksta.
     Zapechatlennaya v sonetah istoriya lyubvi SHekspira,  ego  Druga  i  Smugloj
Ledi slozhna i dramatichna. Samymi  prostymi  po  soderzhaniyu  yavlyayutsya  pervye
semnadcat' sonetov, posvyashchennye odnoj teme: v nih avtor v poeticheskoj  forme
ubezhdaet  svoego  znakomogo,  molodogo  cheloveka   isklyuchitel'noj   krasoty,
zhenit'sya i proizvesti na svet potomstvo. Vidno, chto avtor i ego adresat  eshche
ne ochen' blizko  znakomy;  vozmozhno,  poet  vypolnyal  pros'bu  rodstvennikov
yunoshi, zhelavshih ustroit' ego brak, o chem tot ne pomyshlyal.  (V  sluchae  grafa
Pembruka takaya versiya kosvenno podtverzhdaetsya  tem,  chto,  kak  yavstvuet  iz
sohranivshejsya  perepiski,  rodnye  neskol'ko  raz  prinimalis'  hlopotat'  o
vygodnoj zhenit'be dlya nego, no delo rasstraivalos' iz-za  ego  ravnodushiya  k
kandidaturam nevest.) Vozmozhno,  po  pervonachal'nomu  zamyslu  cikl  sonetov
dolzhen byl ogranichit'sya etoj  edinstvennoj  temoj  -  "agitaciej"  v  pol'zu
braka. Odnako, slovno dlya togo, chtoby soblyusti zakony dramy, vse  poluchilos'
ne tak, kak rasschityvali dejstvuyushchie lica.
     Glavnyj motiv pervoj gruppy sonetov - velikaya cennost' krasoty, kotoroj
ugrozhaet razrushitel'noe Vremya. Izbrannik prirody,  nadelennyj  krasotoj,  ne
dolzhen rastrachivat' ee bezdumno, on obyazan  sohranit'  i  priumnozhit'  ee  v
detyah.   Ton   etih   poeticheskih   uveshchevanij   -   pochtitel'nyj,   no   ne
podobostrastnyj, kakogo mozhno bylo by ozhidat' ot aktera i  sochinitelya  p'es,
obrashchayushchegosya k nasledniku  odnogo  iz  samyh  znatnyh  rodov  Anglii.  Poet
po-otecheski nastavlyaet molodogo cheloveka; pri etom  mozhno  zametit',  chto  v
dejstvitel'nosti  ego  zabotit  ne  stol'ko  uspeh  matrimonial'nyh  planov,
skol'ko fenomen krasoty i prodlenie ee nedolgogo zemnogo sushchestvovaniya.
     V dal'nejshem tema braka i otcovstva shodit na  net.  Soderzhanie  i  ton
sonetov  rezko  menyayutsya.  Na  smenu  prostomu  priznaniyu  krasoty  molodogo
cheloveka prihodit voshishchenie, preklonenie pered ego sovershenstvom. Nachinaya s
soneta 20 poet pryamo  govorit  o  svoej  lyubvi  k  yunomu  drugu  i  molit  o
vzaimnosti. Podobno mificheskomu Pigmalionu, SHekspir vlyubilsya v sozdannyj  im
obraz.
     Esli ponachalu Drug predstaet kak obrazec fizicheskoj i duhovnoj krasoty,
a chuvstvo, kotoroe  ispytyvaet  k  nemu  avtor,  -  kak  oblagorazhivayushchee  i
svetloe, to v dal'nejshem vse uslozhnyaetsya. V sonetah 27-28 eto chuvstvo uzhe ne
stol'ko radost', skol'ko neotvyaznoe navazhdenie.  Iz  soneta  33  my  vpervye
uznaem, chto otnosheniya poeta s Drugom ne tak uzh bezoblachny. Sravnivaya Druga s
solncem, poet setuet: "Ego ot menya skryla tucha". Kakaya imenno tucha, avtor ne
utochnyaet, no obida sil'na, i v sleduyushchem sonete on  daet  volyu  etoj  obide.
Zakanchivaetsya vse iskupitel'nymi slezami Druga, no v dal'nejshih  otnosheniyah,
uvy, "tuch" budet vse bol'she, a iskupitel'nyh slez raskayaniya vse men'she.
     Voznikayut novye dramaticheskie obstoyatel'stva, poet vse chashche  govorit  o
protivorechii  mezhdu  prekrasnoj  vneshnost'yu  i  dushevnymi  iz®yanami   Druga,
odnovremenno i sam yavstvenno  teryaya  dushevnuyu  garmoniyu.  Iz  sonetov  97-98
vytekaet, chto u poeta s Drugom byla dlitel'naya razmolvka, i hotya  potom  oni
vstretilis' vnov',  ih  otnosheniya  uzhe  byli  podorvany,  vo  vsyakom  sluchae
perestali byt' takim sil'nym istochnikom vdohnoveniya,  kak  ran'she.  Poet  to
penyaet svoej Muze na molchanie, to pytaetsya eto molchanie opravdat' (v  sonete
102, gde on, yavno vydavaya zhelaemoe za dejstvitel'noe,  utverzhdaet,  chto  ego
lyubov' stala sil'nee, hotya kazhetsya bolee slaboj). Kogda on vse zhe prinuzhdaet
Muzu k "rabote", iz-pod ego pera vyhodyat to  variacii  prezhnih  tem,  nichego
sushchestvenno novogo k  nim  ne  dobavlyayushchie  (sonet  106),  to  preuvelichenno
komplimentarnye stihi, kotorye on prezhde tak osuzhdal u drugih avtorov (sonet
99). V sonete 108 poet priznaetsya v samopovtorah. V sonete 104, napisannom k
trehletiyu znakomstva,  SHekspir,  vozvrashchayas'  k  svoej  izlyublennoj  teme  -
lejtmotivom prohodyashchej  cherez  ves'  cikl  idee  "uskol'zayushchej  krasoty",  -
vpervye ne obeshchaet Drugu bessmertiya v svoih stihah.  S  bol'shoj  poeticheskoj
siloj opisyvaetsya smena vremen goda, voznikaet yarkoe  sravnenie  krasoty  so
strelkoj solnechnyh chasov, pro samogo zhe Druga pochti ne govoritsya.  Iskrennee
chuvstvo, po-vidimomu, ushlo.
     Osobnyakom zdes' stoit sonet 107, napisannyj v pripodnyatom nastroenii  i
soderzhashchij neyasnye dlya nas nameki. Mnogie issledovateli schitayut, chto, govorya
o  zatmenii,  kotoroe  perezhila  "smertnaya  luna",  SHekspir  otklikaetsya  na
kakoe-to vazhnoe politicheskoe sobytie. Nazyvalos' vyzdorovlenie  Elizavety  I
(kotoruyu chasto izobrazhali v vide Cintii - bogini Luny) posle tyazheloj bolezni
v 1594  godu;  s  "ratlendianskoj"  teoriej,  naprotiv,  soglasuetsya  smert'
Elizavety v 1603 godu i vosshestvie na prestol YAkova  I,  kotoroe  stalo  dlya
Ratlenda okonchaniem opaly (obraz "smertnoj luny", takim obrazom, priobretaet
simvolicheskij harakter, - vprochem, vyskazyvalos' i  utverzhdenie,  chto  zdes'
rech' prosto idet o vozobnovlenii otnoshenij  s  Drugom).  Upominanie  o  mire
mozhet byt' svyazano kak so sluhami o podpisanii mirnogo dogovora s  Ispaniej,
hodivshimi v Anglii v 1594 godu, tak i s  dejstvitel'nym  podpisaniem  takogo
dogovora desyat' let spustya.
     Sonety 109-119 sostavlyayut celuyu gruppu,  posvyashchennuyu  teme  vozrozhdeniya
lyubvi. Poet  vozvrashchaetsya  k  svoej  lyubvi,  kak  vozvrashchayutsya  domoj.  Hotya
nesomnenno, chto prichinoj razryva byl imenno Drug, SHekspiru samomu prihoditsya
prosit' proshcheniya za to, kak on zhil i chto pozvolyal sebe vo vremya razluki.
     Zatem v otnosheniyah poeta i Druga yavno voznikaet novyj  razlad,  no  eto
uzhe ne vyzyvaet takih perezhivanij, kak prezhde. SHekspir  priznaetsya  v  svoej
sobstvennoj (i yavno  nedavnej)  izmene,  ne  zabyvaya,  odnako,  napomnit'  o
prezhnej izmene i Drugu. V sonete 122 govoritsya o tom, chto on  otdal  komu-to
ili poteryal sdelannyj Drugom podarok.  Vse  chashche  iz-pod  ego  pera  vyhodyat
sonety, pryamo ne svyazannye s obrazom Druga. Takov sonet 116 - nastoyashchij gimn
"braku vernyh dush". O Druge zdes' net  ni  slova,  eto  prosto  simvol  very
avtora, kotoryj ne mogli pokolebat' nikakie oproverzheniya so storony real'noj
zhizni. To zhe mozhno skazat' i o sonete 123, gde avtor v ocherednoj raz brosaet
vyzov Vremeni, smeetsya nad  ego  zapylennymi  novshestvami  i  klyanetsya  byt'
vernym vopreki ego kose (no opyat' ni edinym slovom ne upominaet o Druge).  V
sonete 124, upotreblyaya privychnoe vyrazhenie "my love", SHekspir govorit  ne  o
Druge, a o sobstvennoj lyubvi, kotoraya sluzhit  ukorom  "shutam  Vremeni"  (sr.
slova o tom, chto "lyubov' -  ne  shut  Vremeni"  iz  soneta  116).  Nel'zya  ne
upomyanut' i sonet 121 - strastnuyu otpoved' SHekspira  tem,  kto  osuzhdal  ego
postupki  (po-vidimomu,  otnosheniya  poeta  s  Drugom  vyzyvali  opredelennye
tolki).
     Iz soneta 125 mnogie kommentatory zaklyuchayut, chto Drug uprekal poeta  za
poverhnostnyj harakter ego chuvstva (kotoroe  dejstvitel'no  posle  vremennoj
vspyshki, vidimo, snova nachalo shodit' na net). V etom  sonete,  v  poslednij
raz ob®yasnyas' Drugu v lyubvi (no trebuya teper' "ravnogo,  obmena"),  SHekspir,
odnako, vyrazhaet nezhelanie "zakladyvat' osnovaniya dlya vechnosti", uzhe  schitaya
eto naprasnym trudom. Iz  poslednego  dvustishiya  mozhno  sdelat'  vyvod,  chto
kto-to stremilsya oporochit' poeta pered ego Drugom.
     Izvestnaya nam istoriya lyubvi poeta k Drugu  zakanchivaetsya  v  obstanovke
ohlazhdeniya i razocharovaniya. Poslednij sonet iz  chisla  obrashchennyh  k  Drugu,
sonet 126, napisan dovol'no otstranenie i vnov' zavershaetsya  napominaniem  o
prehodyashchej  sushchnosti  zhizni  i  krasoty  bez  kakih-libo  obeshchanij  gryadushchej
vechnosti. A ved' etot sonet, napisannyj dvustishiyami i  soderzhashchij  vsego  12
strok (tak  nazyvaemyj  "usechennyj"  sonet),  zavershaet  cikl  i  dolzhen  by
podvodit' ego itog.
     V cikle, posvyashchennom Drugu, pomimo sobstvenno  istorii  vzaimootnoshenij
proslezhivayutsya tri vazhnye temy. Odna  uzhe  upominalas':  eto  razmyshleniya  o
bystrotechnosti vremeni, neizbezhnosti uvyadaniya i  smerti.  SHekspir  pishet  ob
etom prochuvstvovanno i s bol'shoj poeticheskoj siloj, yavno vyrazhaya sobstvennye
mrachnye razmyshleniya, a ne prosto otdavaya dan' tradicii.
     Drugaya  tema  -  Krasota,  ee   velikaya   cennost'.   Buduchi   glubokim
pessimistom,  ostro  vosprinimavshim   nesovershenstvo   etogo   mira,   avtor
"Sonetov", kak  nikto,  nuzhdaetsya  v  Krasote.  Rech'  idet  ne  o  banal'noj
krasivosti ili priyatnosti, a o  Krasote  kak  kosmicheskom  yavlenii  ogromnoj
sozidatel'noj sily. Tol'ko Krasota  sposobna  primirit'  s  mirom,  ona  ego
glavnyj, esli ne edinstvennyj, smysl, no  ona,  uvy,  ne  vechna.  Prizyvy  k
sohraneniyu Krasoty putem peredachi ee detyam smenyayutsya vzglyadom na  Druga  kak
na unikal'nuyu, nepovtorimuyu lichnost' i yavlenie prirody.
     V celom ryade sonetov nashla  otrazhenie  filosofiya  neoplatonizma,  s  ee
predstavleniyami o tom, chto dostupnyj lyudyam mir - eto vsego lish'  mir  plohih
kopij, ili "tenej",  porozhdennyh  nedostupnymi  ideal'nymi  sushchnostyami,  ili
"substanciyami". No dlya poeta v etom nizkom mire est' isklyuchenie - ego  Drug.
On sovershenen, on - ne  kopiya  i  ne  ten',  a  original,  sama  voploshchennaya
Krasota. No i etogo malo. Poet verit v zaveshchannyj drevnimi grekami  tezis  o
tom, chto v ideale krasota, dobro i istina obrazuyut  nerastorzhimoe  edinstvo,
yavlyayas' raznymi  storonami  odnoj  sushchnosti;  poetomu  pomimo  krasoty  poet
nastojchivo ishchet v Druge  nravstvennye  sovershenstva  i  otkazyvaetsya  verit'
svoim glazam i rassudku, kogda poluchaet oproverzheniya so storony real'nosti.
     Tret'ya tema obeshchaet vyhod iz, kazalos' by, nerazreshimogo  protivorechiya:
poet zayavlyaet, chto mozhet i dolzhen sohranit' krasotu Druga v svoih  stihah  i
tem samym pobedit' Vremya. (Odnovremenno - hotya ob etom ne govoritsya pryamo  -
poeziya dolzhna pobedit' i nesovershenstvo konkretnogo  voploshcheniya  Krasoty:  v
stihah yunosha prebudet ne tol'ko prekrasnym, no takzhe vernym i dobrym.)
     SHekspir  nastojchivo  tverdit  o  svoej  missii  -  uvekovechit'  krasotu
vozlyublennogo Druga, no mozhno zametit', chto, kak tol'ko on zavodit  .rech'  o
svoej poezii, lyubovnaya tema zametno othodit na vtoroj plan. Ponachalu SHekspir
prinizhaet svoj talant, nazyvaet  sobstvennyj  stih  "bessoderzhatel'nym"',  a
pero - "uchenicheskim", no  chem  dal'she,  tem  bol'she  na  bumagu  proryvaetsya
gordost' geniya, prekrasno soznayushchego cennost' svoego tvorchestva.  Uvlechennyj
mysl'yu o bessmertii svoih stihov, poet poroj chut' li ne zabyvaet  o  tom,  v
ch'yu chest' eti stihi pishutsya i ch'yu krasotu prizvany vospet'.
     Iz-za etogo smysl nekotoryh sonetov kak by dvoitsya. Tak, sonet 55, yavno
naveyannyj znamenitoj odoj Goraciya "Exegi monumentum",  pozdnee  vdohnovivshej
Pushkina na ego "Pamyatnik", napisan, kazalos' by, radi  slavosloviya  v  adres
Druga  (tvoya  krasota  dostojna  bessmertiya  i  budet  uvekovechena).  Odnako
naibolee yarkie obrazy, poeticheskij "centr tyazhesti" stihotvoreniya, prihodyatsya
na  ego  pervuyu   polovinu,   gde   govoritsya   o   nesokrushimoj   prochnosti
"nerukotvornogo pamyatnika". V sonete 107 poet  pryamo  zayavlyaet  o  tom,  chto
bessmertie obretet ne tol'ko Drug, no i on  sam.  Pohozhe,  chto  SHekspir  sam
osoznaval etu dvojstvennost'. Ne otsyuda li neozhidannyj  uprek  v  sebyalyubii,
kotoryj on adresuet sebe v sonete 62?

     Kakie by "tuchi" ni omrachali otnosheniya poeta s ego Drugom, eto  chuvstvo,
dazhe v samyh boleznennyh svoih peripetiyah, predstaet svetlym po sravneniyu  s
"temnoj strast'yu" k Smugloj Ledi, kotoroj posvyashchena bol'shaya chast'  ostal'nyh
sonetov. Pervye sonety o Smugloj Ledi - kak i v sluchae s Drugom - govoryat  o
vpolne garmonichnyh otnosheniyah, no uzhe  nachinaya  s  soneta  131  zvuchit,  vse
narastaya, tema "zloj lyubvi", dostigayushchaya v sonete 147 svoej  kul'minacii.  U
nekotoryh iz predshestvennikov i  sovremennikov  SHekspira  -  Uajeta,  Sidni,
Spensera - vstrechayutsya upreki v adres vozlyublennyh, nemyslimye dlya  Petrarki
i ego kontinental'nyh posledovatelej, no eti upreki dazhe otdalenno ne  mogut
sravnit'sya s toj kartinoj lyubvi-nenavisti, kotoruyu risuet  SHekspir  v  svoih
sonetah  (ne  govorya  uzhe  o  tom,  chto  upomyanutye  poety  uprekali   svoih
vozlyublennyh  tol'ko  v  holodnosti,  togda  kak  SHekspir  pryamo  govorit  o
nevernosti). Nichego podobnogo mirovaya poeziya ne  znala  -  podobnye  chuvstva
byli detal'no i s takoj zhe hudozhestvennoj siloj izobrazheny tol'ko v XIX veke
(i skoree ne v poezii, a v proze, naprimer, Dostoevskim).
     Prinyatoe  v  shekspirovedenii   imenovanie   "Smuglaya   (Temnaya)   Ledi"
obuslovleno tem, chto u vozlyublennoj  SHekspira,  kak  uzhe  upominalos',  byli
temnye volosy i smuglaya kozha. |to  obstoyatel'stvo  vazhno  potomu,  chto,  kak
ob®yasnyaet sam  SHekspir,  sovremennyj  emu  ideal  krasoty  priznaval  tol'ko
blondinok, a chernyj cvet schitali nekrasivym  i,  bolee  togo,  ego  polagali
atributom zla (chto pozvolilo SHekspiru nazvat' svoyu vozlyublennuyu  "okrashennoj
zlom" i "temnoj, kak ad"). Odnako ona predstaet v ego  sonetah  ne  kakim-to
ischadiem ada, a vpolne  zemnoj  zhenshchinoj,  kotoroj  poet  daet  bezzhalostnye
harakteristiki bez teni delikatnosti i, dazhe priznavayas' v lyubvi,  sohranyaet
dovol'no famil'yarnyj ton, kakogo on ni pri kakih obstoyatel'stvah ne pozvolyal
sebe po otnosheniyu k Drugu.  Osobenno  interesen  v  etoj  svyazi  sonet  130,
osnovannyj na toj zhe idee, chto i posvyashchennyj Drugu sonet 21, - na  otricanii
pyshnyh metafor (metaforami, prichem dovol'no  slozhnymi,  izobiluyut  i  sonety
SHekspira, no pochti vsegda oni nosyat yarkij i original'nyj harakter, togda kak
banal'noe  ukrashatel'stvo  poet  otvergaet).  Esli  sonet  21  niskol'ko  ne
podryvaet romanticheskij" obraz Druga, to v  sonete  130  daetsya  podcherknuto
prizemlennoe izobrazhenie Smugloj  Ledi,  vprochem  v  konechnom  itoge  skoree
vozvyshayushchee ee nad knizhnymi Stellami i Deliyami.
     Stoit otmetit', chto v sravnitel'no korotkom  cikle  sonetov  o  Smugloj
Ledi SHekspir dal ves'ma yarkie ee opisaniya, togda kak  na  protyazhenii  pervyh
126 sonetov on  po  sushchestvu  ne  sozdal  nikakogo  vneshnego  obraza  Druga.
(Paradoks: mnogokratno zayavlyaya o svoem namerenii uvekovechit' krasotu Druga v
stihah, poet na samom dele ne daet nikakogo ego  portreta,  -  vozmozhno,  on
skryval konkretnye cherty, kotorye  pozvolili  by  chitatelyam  opoznat'  nekuyu
znatnuyu osobu. Fakticheski SHekspir uvekovechil  v  stihah  ne  nevedomogo  nam
yunogo krasavca, a svoyu lyubov' k nemu i tosku po krasote i garmonii.)
     V sonetah 40-42 poet govorit o tom, chto ego vozlyublennaya izmenila emu s
Drugom. O tom zhe (no uzhe obrashchayas' k vozlyublennoj i vinya vo vsem ee) SHekspir
pishet i v sonetah 133-134. Nakonec, v sonete 144 (napomnim, odnom iz pervyh,
poyavivshihsya v pechati) poet pishet pro dve svoih lyubvi,  upominaya  prekrasnogo
muzhchinu  (epitet  "fair",   kotoryj   mozhet   oznachat'   takzhe   "belokuryj,
svetlovolosyj",  neodnokratno  upotreblyalsya  im  po  otnosheniyu  k  Drugu)  i
okrashennuyu zlom zhenshchinu, zhenshchinu "cveta zla". Vse eto ne ostavlyaet  somnenij
v  tom,  chto  sam  poet,  ego  Drug  i  Smuglaya  Ledi  obrazovali   lyubovnyj
treugol'nik, tema kotorogo svyazyvaet stol'  neshozhie,  kazalos'  by,  cikly.
Ved' iz togo, chto sonety, posvyashchennye Smugloj Ledi, pomeshcheny v  knige  posle
sonetov, posvyashchennyh Drugu, vovse ne sleduet, chto odni byli  napisany  pozzhe
drugih  (hotya   vnutri   oboih   ciklov   yavno   vyderzhana   hronologicheskaya
posledovatel'nost', - vozmozhno, lish' s nebol'shimi  isklyucheniyami).  Veroyatnee
vsego, Torpu oni dostalis' v vide  otdel'nyh  spiskov,  i  on  pomestil  eti
spiski drug za drugom, ne delaya popytki vosstanovit'  hronologiyu.  Vozmozhno,
pervonachal'no Torp hotel napechatat'  tol'ko  sonety,  posvyashchennye  Drugu  (i
poetomu napisal posvyashchenie misteru W. N.), no zatem  v  ego  ruki  popali  i
drugie sonety SHekspira.
     Itak, Smuglaya  Ledi  izmenila  poetu,  i  ne  s  kem-nibud',  a  s  ego
vozlyublennym Drugom. SHekspir proklinaet ee, no dlya svoego bogoravnogo  Druga
nahodit  fantasticheskie  opravdaniya:   deskat',   Drug   tak   postupil   iz
blagorodstva, starayas' izbavit' poeta ot etoj zavisimosti,  i  sam  popal  v
nevolyu. Voobshche, zametno, chto predatel'stvo  Druga  zadelo  SHekspira  gorazdo
bol'she, chem izmena vozlyublennoj (vozmozhno,  eto  otrazilos'  v  ego  komedii
"Dvenadcataya noch'", gde pokazana shozhaya situaciya, -  vprochem,  v  p'ese  vse
svoditsya  k  nedorazumeniyu).  Iz  togo,  chto  teme  lyubovnogo   treugol'nika
posvyashcheno vsego pyat' sonetov (nekotorye issledovateli, pravda, vidyat  nameki
na etu temu takzhe v sonetah 135 i 143), mozhno zaklyuchit',  chto  kolliziya  eta
byla nedolgoj i zavershilas', veroyatno, prekrashcheniem otnoshenij smugloj Ledi i
Druga.
     Gorazdo bolee  dramatichnym  dlya  SHekspira  stalo  poyavlenie  sopernika,
podobno emu pishushchego stihi. Odnoj iz vedushchih tem sonetov k  Drugu,  kak  uzhe
govorilos', byli torzhestvennye obeshchaniya sluzhit' Krasote, uvekovechit' Druga v
poezii. V etih obeshchaniyah slyshitsya gordost' poeta, ego  uverennost'  v  svoih
silah i isklyuchitel'nom prave na takuyu missiyu. No imenno s etogo  napravleniya
sud'ba nanesla emu strashnyj udar: u nego  poyavilsya  ne  prosto  sopernik,  a
sopernik-poet.
     Eshche v sonete 75 SHekspir pishet o  svoem  opasenii,  chto  "vorovatyj  vek
ukradet ego sokrovishche". V sonete 77 on  neozhidanno  nachinaet  zashchishchat'  svoj
gluboko individual'nyj stil', otkazyvayas' usvaivat' vmeste s vremenem  novye
poeticheskie priemy. Zatem, v sonete 78, my uznaem, chto nekie  "chuzhie  per'ya"
tozhe stali vospevat' Druga. V sleduyushchem sonete i  dalee  rech'  idet  uzhe  ob
odnom pere (pravda, v sonete 83 upominayutsya "oba  tvoih  poeta",  no  vtoroj
yavno igral gorazdo men'shuyu rol').  SHekspir  staraetsya  dokazat'  Drugu,  chto
zaslugi novogo poklonnika nichtozhny. Odnako v sonete 80 on  vpervye  priznaet
sebya  pobezhdennym.  V  dal'nejshem  poet  snova  pytaetsya   oporochit'   chuzhie
stihotvornye podnosheniya, obvinyaya ih v nenavistnom emu ukrashatel'stve (i  tem
samym fakticheski obvinyaya  v  durnom  vkuse  Druga,  kotoryj  eti  podnosheniya
prinimaet). Zashchishchaya sobstvennye stihi,  on  podcherkivaet  ih  iskrennost'  i
pravdivost'. V sonete 85 SHekspir smiryaetsya, a  v  sleduyushchem  opyat'  priznaet
prevoshodstvo drugogo, no tut zhe zayavlyaet: menya zastavlyaet molchat'  to,  chto
"tvoya vneshnost' napolnila ego stroki".
     Lichnost'  poeta-sopernika  ostaetsya  neizvestnoj  literaturovedam,   i,
vozmozhno, my nikogda ne uznaem, ch'i stihi (to li ironicheski, to li ser'ezno)
SHekspir nazyval velikimi, a duh - vdohnovlennym  sverhchelovecheskimi  duhami.
Odni issledovateli nazyvayut  Kristofera  Marlo,  drugie  -  Dzhordzha  CHapmena
(1559-1634). Vpolne vozmozhno, chto v vospevanii Druga prinimali uchastie  oba,
no kto iz nih byl iskomym sopernikom? Za kandidaturu Marlo govorit  to,  chto
svoim literaturnym talantom on yavno prevoshodil CHapmena; k tomu  zhe  glavnye
tvorcheskie udachi poslednego (tragedii, perevody Gomera) byli eshche vperedi,  a
Marlo  schitalsya  pervym  sredi   tak   nazyvaemyh   "universitetskih   umov"
(dramaturgov, okonchivshih Kembridzh ili Oksford).
     "Poeticheskaya" izmena Druga yavno stala dlya SHekspira bol'shim potryaseniem.
To on, teryaya dostoinstvo, staraetsya ogovorit' chuzhoe tvorchestvo, to  narochito
blagorodno proshchaetsya s vozlyublennym (sonet 87) i  razreshaet  Drugu  publichno
porochit' ego, chtoby na nego, a ne na  Druga  legla  vina  za  razryv,  to  v
krajnem lyubovnom unizhenii soglashaetsya na pozornuyu rol'  slepogo  "obmanutogo
muzha" (sonet 93).
     V etot zhe period SHekspir pishet odin iz samyh luchshih i dramatichnyh svoih
sonetov - horosho izvestnyj v perevode Samuila Marshaka sonet 90 ("Uzh esli  ty
razlyubish', tak teper'...").
     Vozmozhno, ne men'she,  chem  sama  izmena,  poeta  udruchaet  obnazhivsheesya
protivorechie mezhdu prekrasnoj vneshnost'yu i dushevnymi iz®yanami Druga. Vera  v
to,  chto  takoj  isklyuchitel'noj  krasote  obyazatel'no  dolzhny  soputstvovat'
dobrota i vernost', podverglas' tyazhkim ispytaniyam. SHekspir  obrushivaetsya  na
Druga s neslyhannymi prezhde obvineniyami. On sokrushaetsya, chto porok poselilsya
v stol' prekrasnom obitalishche, kak porcha v butone  rozy,  i  dazhe  sravnivaet
Druga s volkom v ovech'ej shkure (sonet 96).
     Vse  eto,  po-vidimomu,  i  posluzhilo  prichinoj  dlya   toj   dlitel'noj
razmolvki, o kotoroj govorilos' vyshe i posle kotoroj prezhnie  otnosheniya  uzhe
ne smogli vosstanovit'sya, nesmotrya na usiliya so storony poeta, a vozmozhno, i
so storony Druga.

     Pochti nesomnenno piratskij harakter  izdaniya  zastavlyal  issledovatelej
somnevat'sya v avtorstve nekotoryh sonetov (to, chto  podavlyayushchee  bol'shinstvo
ih prinadlezhit odnomu avtoru, somnenij ne  vyzyvaet).  Voprosy  voznikali  v
svyazi s sonetami 145, 153 i 154. Sonet 145 -  edinstvennyj  vo  vsej  knige,
napisannyj drugim razmerom (chetyrehstopnym yambom vmesto pyatistopnogo), da  i
po stilyu on sushchestvenno otlichaetsya ot drugih. Vse zhe  tretij  katren  s  ego
slozhnoj obraznost'yu napisan vpolne po-shekspirovski, a igra slov, na  kotoroj
postroen  sonet,  -  izlyublennyj  priem  SHekspira-dramaturga   (osobenno   v
komediyah); vstrechaetsya etot priem i v sonetah, kak, naprimer, v  privedennom
vyshe primere s obygryvaniem imeni. Vydvigalos' predpolozhenie, chto sonet  145
- eto obrazec rannego tvorchestva SHekspira.
     Sonety 153 i 154, perepevayushchie bezadresnuyu  i  bolee  chem  tradicionnuyu
temu Kupidona, zazhigayushchego lyubov', hot' i  napisany  tem  zhe  razmerom,  chto
ostal'nye sonety, po soderzhaniyu i stilyu otlichayutsya ot nih, pozhaluj, sil'nee,
chem sonet 145. Vpolne vozmozhno, chto Torp,  zhelaya  postavit'  v  konce  kniga
nekuyu smyslovuyu "tochku" (a sonety, posvyashchennye Smugloj Ledi, ne imeyut takogo
yarko vyrazhennogo epiloga, kak sonety, posvyashchennye Drugu),  ispol'zoval  -  v
duhe Dzhaggarda - dlya etoj celi sonety drugogo avtora.
     Osobogo upominaniya  zasluzhivaet  sonet  146.  Esli  sonet  129,  gnevno
oblichayushchij pohot', prinyato schitat' posvyashchennym Smugloj Ledi (o nej v  sonete
ne govoritsya ni slova, no nahoditsya on sredi drugih adresovannyh ej i sogla-
suetsya s ih obshchim tonom), to sonet 146,  takzhe  pomeshchennyj  vnutri  cikla  o
Smugloj Ledi, ne  imeet  pryamogo  otnosheniya  ni  k  nej,  ni  k  Drugu.  |to
filosofskie razmyshleniya avtora, vyrazhayushchie  ego  zabotu  o  svoej  dushe;  vo
mnogom sonet blizok k napisannym pozdnee  "Svyashchennym  sonetam"  Dzhona  Donna
(cikl byl nachat Donnom v 1609 godu, to est' kak raz v to vremya, kogda  vyshli
"Sonety" SHekspira). Takogo roda chisto duhovnoe proizvedenie  yavlyaetsya  sredi
sonetov SHekspira edinichnym, odnako v ego avtorstve usomnit'sya trudno; pomimo
obshchego  vpechatleniya  o  nem  govoryat  i  takie   detali,   kak   harakternoe
shekspirovskoe sravnenie tela so  sdannym  vnaem  osobnyakom,  a  takzhe  obraz
"naslednikovchervej", do etogo vstrechavshijsya v sonete 6.
     V etoj svyazi umestno budet skazat' neskol'ko slov ob  otnoshenii  avtora
"Sonetov" k religii. SHekspir, kakim on predstaet v svoem tvorchestve, ne  byl
religioznym chelovekom. V ego p'esah, konechno, vstrechayutsya biblejskie (obychno
evangel'skie) allyuzii, no oni ne nesut sobstvenno  religioznoj  nagruzki,  a
ispol'zuyutsya potomu, chto v te  vremena  Bibliya  byla  horosho  izvestna  vsem
gramotnym (i dazhe bezgramotnym) lyudyam  i  SHekspir,  razumeetsya,  ponimal  ee
hudozhestvennuyu cennost'. K tomu zhe  antichnyh  allyuzij  v  ego  proizvedeniyah
gorazdo  bol'she.  V  sonetah  iz  hristianstva  zaimstvovany  tol'ko  obrazy
Strashnogo suda i yabloka Evy; ni razu ne upomyanuty ni Hristos, ni Bogomater',
zato vstrechayutsya antichnye bozhestva i Priroda (v to vremya kak  Spenser  chasto
upominal Tvorca); ne vyazhetsya s hristianskim ucheniem i personifikaciya Vremeni
i Smerti.
     V sonete 108 SHekspir ves'ma vol'no, na grani koshchunstva, sravnivaet svoi
stihi,  obrashchennye  k  Drugu,  s  "bozhestvennymi  molitvami".  I  uzhe  yavnym
koshchunstvom zvuchit sonet  105,  gde  poet  otvergaet  vozmozhnye  obvineniya  v
idolopoklonstve v svyazi s ego neumerennym voshvaleniem  Druga,  privodya  tot
sofisticheskij argument, chto ego "pesni" poyutsya  "odnomu,  ob  odnom,  vsegda
neizmenny" (to est' raz tut net mnogobozhiya, znachit, net i  idolopoklonstva).
Razvivaya etu temu, on provozglashaet soedinenie v ego predmete treh ideal'nyh
kachestv - "prekrasnyj, dobryj i vernyj", - chto, vvidu nachala  etogo  soneta,
oborachivaetsya parodiej na  Troicu.  V  sonete  121  on  idet  eshche  dal'she  i
proiznosit ot svoego imeni slova Boga Otca, skazannye Moiseyu: "YA - to, chto YA
est'" (v kanonicheskom russkom perevode: "YA esm' Sushchij", Ishod, 3, 14).
     Esli dodumyvat' do konca eti koshchunstvennye analogii,  to  vyhodit,  chto
pervye 126 sonetov  sostavlyayut  svoego  roda  evangelie  -  blaguyu  vest'  o
prishestvii v mir bozhestvennoj Krasoty. Sam avtor pri etom  vystupaet  to  li
apostolom etogo novogo  bozhestva,  to  li  figuroj,  ravnoj  samomu  Tvorcu,
kotoromu  po  silam  darovat'  Krasote  bessmertie.  |to   obobshchenie   mozhet
pokazat'sya proizvol'nym, no edva li SHekspir - virtuoznyj master igry smyslov
- mog ne otdavat' sebe otchet  v  vozmozhnosti  takogo  istolkovaniya;  skoree,
naprotiv, on soznatel'no zakladyval ego v smyslovuyu palitru svoih sonetov.
     Razumeetsya, SHekspir ne byl borcom s hristianstvom. Ego nasledie  -  eto
obrazec renessansnogo iskusstva,  svobodnogo  ot  religioznyh  dogmatov,  no
razdelyayushchego s hristianstvom ego eticheskie osnovy, v ih zhivom,  chelovecheskom
vyrazhenii. Hristianstvo uchit, chto greh ubivaet  dushu,  a  vryad  li  vo  vsej
mirovoj literature najdetsya Proizvedenie, kotoroe demonstrirovalo by  eto  s
bol'shej hudozhestvennoj siloj, chem  "Makbet".  V  osnove  hristianskoj  etiki
lezhat lyubov' i proshchenie. Iskupitel'naya i sozidatel'naya sila lyubvi, spasayushchej
mir ot bezumiya, genial'no pokazana v "Korole Lire". (No sozidatel'noj lyubov'
yavlyaetsya tol'ko togda, kogda ona svobodna ot strasti i egoizma. Inache lyubov'
mozhet pogubit' lyubyashchih, privesti k moral'nomu padeniyu i prestupleniyu, kak  v
"Otello", ili stat' unizitel'nym, protivnym razumu i  chesti  navazhdeliem,  -
kak v sonetah, posvyashchennyh Smugloj Ledi.)
     Vozvrashchayas' k  sonetu  146,  privedem  eshche  slova  perevodchika  sonetov
SHekspira Igorya Fradkina, schitayushchego etot sonet klyuchevym. Fradkin pishet,  chto
"odin iz putej pobedy nad Vremenem - neustannaya tvorcheskaya rabota Duha...  v
146-m sonete vospevaetsya  volshebnaya  vozmozhnost'  tvorchestva  morit'  Smert'
golodom i szhivat' ee so sveta, obretaya takim obrazom sobstvennoe  bessmertie
i ostavayas' v pamyati  chelovechestva"  {SHekspir  U.  Sonety  /  Per.  s  angl.
I.Fradkina. SPb.: DEAN, 2003.  S.  201-202.}.  Prodolzhaya  etu  mysl',  mozhno
skazat', chto vysshaya i dejstvitel'no  bessmertnaya  Krasota  obitaet  v  samom
iskusstve, i ne tol'ko sonet 146  -  vse  tvorchestvo  SHekspira  sluzhit  tomu
podtverzhdeniem.

     Sonety SHekspira ne porodili napravleniya ili shkoly - otchasti iz-za svoej
genial'noj otkrovennosti, kotoroj trudno bylo podrazhat', otchasti potomu, chto
sam zhanr sonetnoj lyubovnoj liriki byl k nachalu XVII veka ischerpan anglijskoj
poeziej. Sonety v duhe  Petrarki  prodolzhali  pisat'  tol'ko  vtororazryadnye
avtory - vydelit' zdes' mozhno lish' Uil'yama Drammonda (1585-1649). Uzhe  Dzhona
Donna, nachinavshego kogda-to s sonetov o lyubvi, privlekali sovsem drugie temy
(preimushchestvenno duhovnye). V seredine XVII veka poeziya Donna i blizkih  emu
poetov tak nazyvaemoj "metafizicheskoj" shkoly pol'zovalas'  bol'shim  uspehom,
chem shekspirovskaya. Poety-metafiziki (za redkimi isklyucheniyami) pisali o lyubvi
ne v sonetnoj forme; da i, obrashchayas' k  etoj  teme,  oni  bol'she  uvlekalis'
igroj metafor, chem neposredstvennym vyrazheniem chuvstva.  Dazhe  shekspirovskaya
sonetnaya shema, vosprinyataya  mnogimi  ego  sovremennikami,  ne  prizhilas'  v
poezii posleduyushchej epohi.
     K seredine veka poety-metafiziki prakticheski perestali  pisat'  sonety.
Krupnejshij poet togo vremeni Dzhon Mil'ton  (1608-1674),  avtor  "Poteryannogo
raya", napisal vsego 24 soneta, kotorye, vprochem, ostavili  zametnyj  sled  v
istorii  anglijskoj  poezii  (v  pervuyu  ochered'  te,  chto  byli   posvyashcheny
grazhdanskoj tematike). Est' v ego tvorcheskom nasledii i  sonet,  posvyashchennyj
SHekspiru, napisannyj eshche v molodosti dlya vtorogo izdaniya shekspirovskih  p'es
(1632),- eto, kstati, bylo pervoe napechatannoe stihotvorenie Mil'tona.
     K koncu XVII veka v anglijskoj literature utverdilsya klassicizm  s  ego
strogo racionalisticheskim ponimaniem poezii. Togda ne tol'ko SHekspir,  no  i
metafiziki vyshli iz mody. Obrazcom dlya anglijskoj poezii  stali  francuzskie
klassicisty.
     P'esy SHekspira prodolzhali stavit', no tol'ko v peredelannom  vide,  tak
kak oni  ne  sootvetstvovali  kanonam  klassicizma.  O  sonetah  zhe  zabyli,
poskol'ku i sama istoriya anglijskogo soneta na  kakoe-to  vremya  prervalas'.
Vedushchie poety etoj epohi sonetov ne pisali vovse.
     Vo vtoroj polovine XVIII veka vozrodilsya interes k dramaturgii SHekspira
i k podlinnym tekstam ego p'es. Na volne etogo interesa v 1780  godu  |dvard
Meloun osushchestvil nauchnoe izdanie "Sonetov" - cherez 140 let posle togo,  kak
sonety byli  izdany  vo  vtoroj  i  poslednij  raz  v  sbornike  poeticheskih
proizvedenij SHekspira. Odnako entuziazma u chitatelej shekspirovskie sonety ne
vyzyvali, chto neudivitel'no: hotya  krupnejshie  poety-sentimentalisty  (Grej,
Kauper), a takzhe Robert Berns (1759-1796) i obrashchalis' k etomu zhanru, delali
oni eto redko, i sonet prozyabal na zadvorkah anglijskoj poezii. V 1793  godu
izdatel' SHekspira Dzhordzh Stivens pisal v predislovii  k  ocherednomu  izdaniyu
shekspirovskih p'es:  "My  ne  perepechatali  "Sonetov"  i  drugih  liricheskih
proizvedenij  SHekspira  potomu,  chto  dazhe   samoe   strogoe   postanovlenie
parlamenta ne raspolozhit chitatelej v ih pol'zu. Esli by SHekspir  ne  napisal
nichego, krome etih proizvedenij, ego imya bylo by... malo izvestno teper'".
     Vskore v anglijskoj literature utverdilsya romantizm. Poety-romantiki, v
pervuyu  ochered'  Uil'yam  Vordsvort  (1770-1850)  i  Semyuel  Tejlor   Kolridzh
(1772-1834),   polozhili   nachalo   nastoyashchemu   kul'tu   SHekspira,    vskore
rasprostranivshemusya na vsyu Evropu, a zatem i na ves' mir. S  ih  tvorchestvom
svyazano i novoe vozrozhdenie anglijskogo soneta (glavnym obrazom eto kasaetsya
Vordsvorta, napisavshego bolee 500 sonetov), no bylo by oshibkoj  dumat',  chto
vozrozhdenie eto proizoshlo  pod  vliyaniem  SHekspira  (hotya  Vordsvort  i  dal
shekspirovskim sonetam vysokuyu ocenku). Vordsvort priznavalsya,  chto  sonetnaya
forma dolgo kazalas' emu "vopiyushchej bessmyslicej", i izmenil on svoe  mnenie,
uvlekshis' sonetami Mil'tona. Ego sobstvennye sonety (kak i  prakticheski  vse
mil'tonovskie) byli napisany po ital'yanskoj sheme.
     Esli zhe govorit' o vtorom pokolenii romantikov, to Dzhordzh Gordon Bajron
(1788-1824), napisavshij vsego tri soneta (po  ital'yanskoj  sheme),  v  svoih
pis'mah i dnevnikah mnogokratno citiruet SHekspira, no pri etom  ni  razu  ne
kasaetsya ego sonetov.
     Persi Bishi  SHelli  (1792-1822)  eksperimentiroval  v  svoih  sonetah  s
raznymi shemami i sistemami rifmovki, no ni razu ni pribeg  k  shekspirovskoj
sheme. Zato k shekspirovskim  sonetam  proyavlyal  bol'shoj  interes  Dzhon  Kite
(1795-1821). V 1817 godu on pisal drugu: "YA vzyal s soboj tri knigi, odna  iz
nih - lirika  SHekspira.  Nikogda  prezhde  ya  ne  nahodil  stol'ko  krasot  v
"Sonetah", oni polny prekrasnyh veshchej, skazannyh kak by  neprednamerenno,  i
otlichayutsya glubinoj poeticheskih obrazov". Vskore posle  etogo  Kite,  rannie
sonety kotorogo byli napisany  po  ital'yanskoj  sheme,  obrashchaetsya  k  sheme
shekspirovskoj.
     Odnako proshlo eshche dostatochno mnogo vremeni, prezhde chem sonety  SHekspira
stali,  podobno  ego  p'esam,  povsemestno  priznannymi  shedevrami   mirovoj
literatury. Otnoshenie k nim - kak v Anglii, tak i v drugih stranah  -  dolgo
ostavalos' protivorechivym.

                                   2 {*}

     {* Dlya osveshcheniya istorii  russkoyazychnyh  perevodov  "Sonetov"  SHekspira
ispol'zovana stat'ya A. Zorina iz izdaniya: SHekspir  V.  Sonety.  M.:  Raduga,
1984.}

     V Rossii interes k SHekspiru voznik eshche v seredine XVIII  veka.  V  1748
godu A. P. Sumarokov publikuet tragediyu "Gamlet", osnovannuyu na  francuzskom
prozaicheskom  perevode  znamenitoj   p'esy   SHekspira.   Vprochem,   tragediya
Sumarokova ne byla perevodom; sam avtor pisal: "Gamlet moj... na  SHekspirovu
tragediyu  edva-edva  pohodit".  No  i  perevodit'   anglijskuyu   literaturu,
pol'zuyas' francuzskimi, a pozdnee takzhe i nemeckimi  perevodami,  eshche  dolgo
schitalos' vpolne normal'nym.
     Pervym perevodchikom SHekspira, obrativshimsya k  tekstu  podlinnika,  stal
pechatavshijsya pod psevdonimom "Angloman" M. I. Pleshcheev - on  perevel  monolog
"Byt' ili ne byt'". N. M.  Karamzin  sdelal  prozaicheskij  perevod  tragedii
SHekspira "YUlij Cezar'" - takzhe obrativshis' k tekstu podlinnika.
     Bol'shoj  interes  vyzyval  SHekspir  u  A.  S.  Pushkina.   Dramaticheskie
proizvedeniya Pushkina ("Boris  Godunov",  "Malen'kie  tragedii",  "Rusalka"),
nesomnenno, ispytali sil'noe vozdejstvie p'es SHekspira;  napisannye,  kak  i
te, belym pyatistopnym yambom, oni v  svoyu  ochered'  povliyali  na  posleduyushchie
perevody shekspirovskih p'es. Pytalsya Pushkin i sam  perevodit'  SHekspira;  no
stol' kropotlivaya rabota yavno ne sootvetstvovala ego kipuchemu  temperamentu,
i on oborval svoj perevod komedii  "Mera  za  meru"  posle  dvadcat'  vtoroj
stroki, napisav vposledstvii na syuzhet etoj  zhivo  interesovavshej  ego  p'esy
poemu "Andzhelo".
     U Pushkina zhe my nahodim odno iz pervyh v russkoj literature  upominanij
o SHekspire kak avtore sonetov.  Ono  soderzhitsya  v  izvestnom  stihotvorenii
"Sonet" (1830), naveyannom sonetom Vordsvorta:

                      Surovyj Dant ne preziral soneta;
                      V nem zhar lyubvi Petrarka izlival;
                      Igru ego lyubil tvorec Makbeta;
                      Im skorbnu mysl' Kamoens oblekal.

     To,  chto  Pushkin  vmesto  "SHekspir"  napisal   "tvorec   Makbeta",   ne
somnevayas', chto ego pojmut, pokazyvaet, naskol'ko horosho uzhe  byli  izvestny
togdashnemu chitatelyu dramaticheskie proizvedeniya SHekspira - v  pervuyu  ochered'
tragedii (chego nikak nel'zya  skazat'  o  sonetah).  Sam  Pushkin  s  sonetami
SHekspira, vidimo,  byl  znakom  (a  ne  prosto  slyshal  o  nih)  -  ob  etom
svidetel'stvuet ego izvestnyj nabrosok "O skol'ko nam  otkrytij  chudnyh...",
gde, kak  i  v  sonete  66  SHekspira,  posle  pervyh  dvuh  strok  sleduyushchie
nachinayutsya s soyuza "i".  Vpolne  vozmozhno,  chto  neokonchennoe  stihotvorenie
zadumyvalos' kak sonet. Pokazatel'no, odnako, chto procitirovannyj vyshe sonet
Pushkina, kak i drugie ego opyty v etom zhanre,  byl  napisan  po  ital'yanskoj
sheme.
     V 1841 godu V. G. Belinskij (1811-1848) v stat'e "Razdelenie poezii  na
rody i vidy", perechislyaya proizvedeniya, sostavlyayushchie "bogatejshuyu sokrovishchnicu
liricheskoj poezii", upomyanul sonety i poemy SHekspira, odnako  ne  soprovodil
eto upominanie nikakim kriticheskim analizom.
     Na sleduyushchij god v zhurnale  "Otechestvennye  zapiski"  poyavilas'  stat'ya
vhodivshego v okruzhenie Belinskogo V.  P.  Botkina  "SHekspir  kak  chelovek  i
lirik" - pervyj  v  russkoj  kritike  razbor  sonetov  SHekspira.  Voshishchayas'
sonetami k Drugu  (kak  schital  Botkin,  posvyashchennymi  grafu  Sautgemptonu),
kritik vyrazhal nedoumenie po povodu sonetov, adresovannyh  Smugloj  Ledi,  -
ego smushchala "vnutrennyaya disgarmoniya, dohodyashchaya do mrachnogo  pafosa".  Botkin
zavershil svoj razbor prozaicheskim perevodom soneta 71, ogovarivayas', chto  ne
v  sostoyanii  "peredat'  i  samogo  blednogo   otrazheniya   vsej   serdechnoj,
melanholicheskoj krasoty podlinnika".
     Nado skazat', chto v Rossii (vsled za drugimi stranami, nachinaya s  samoj
Anglii) bytovali razlichnye  suzhdeniya  otnositel'no  hudozhestvennoj  cennosti
sonetov SHekspira  i  ih  mesta  v  ego  tvorcheskom  nasledii.  Dolgoe  vremya
preobladalo  mnenie,  chto   sonety   ne   obladayut   bol'shimi   poeticheskimi
dostoinstvami i interesny glavnym obrazom v biograficheskom i psihologicheskom
otnosheniyah. Vo vtoroj polovine XIX veka eta  tochka  zreniya  poluchila  moshchnoe
podkreplenie v lice nemeckogo istorika i  literaturoveda  Georga  Gervinusa,
chej mnogotomnyj trud, posvyashchennyj  tvorchestvu  SHekspira,  byl  pereveden  na
russkij yazyk i pol'zovalsya  bol'shim  vliyaniem.  Gervinus  pisal:  "...sonety
SHekspira,  vzyatye  s  esteticheskoj  tochki  zreniya,  byli  oceneny  vyshe   ih
dostoinstva. No  so  storony  ih  psihologicheskogo  soderzhaniya,  pri  polnom
otsutstvii drugih istochnikov dlya izucheniya vnutrennej zhizni SHekspira, oni nam
kazhutsya reshitel'no neocenennymi".
     Odnako  po  mere  togo,  kak  poety,  kritiki  i  prosto   obrazovannye
rossijskie  chitateli  znakomilis'  s  podlinnymi  tekstami   sonetov   i   s
perevodami,  kotorye  postepenno   sovershenstvovalis'   i   priblizhalis'   k
podlinniku, otnoshenie k sonetam menyalos'. Utverzhdalos' predstavlenie  o  nih
kak ob odnoj iz vershin mirovoj poezii, unikal'nom proizvedenii,  bogatom  po
soderzhaniyu  i  sovershennom  po  forme,  dostojnom  izucheniya   i   dal'nejshih
perevodcheskih opytov.
     V 40-h godah XIX veka v Rossii populyarnost' SHekspira  sil'no  vozrosla.
Slava SHekspira porozhdala interes ko vsemu,  chto  podpisano  etim  imenem,  i
russkie zhurnaly, starayas' polnee predstavit' tvorchestvo i lichnost'  velikogo
dramaturga, nachali obrashchat'sya k ego lirike. Eshche v 1839 godu poet i kritik V.
S. Mezhevich opublikoval vol'noe perelozhenie soneta 71; ne  pytayas'  sohranit'
sonetnuyu formu, on poproboval v dvadcati  strokah  peredat'  psihologicheskoe
soderzhanie podlinnika.
     V 1852 godu M.N.Ostrovskij (brat dramaturga) sdelal vol'nyj perevod vse
togo zhe soneta 71. Kak i  Mezhevich,  Ostrovskij  ne  stremilsya  vosproizvesti
formu  podlinnika;  etih  perevodchikov-podrazhatelej  voshishchala  ne   stol'ko
poeticheskaya virtuoznost' soneta, skol'ko glubina i blagorodstvo  vyrazhennogo
v nem chuvstva, poetomu soblyudenie formal'nyh osobennostej kazalos' im  delom
vtorostepennym. Takoe otnoshenie bylo harakterno dlya mnogih perevodchikov togo
vremeni.
     Pervyj po-nastoyashchemu hudozhestvennyj perevod na russkij yazyk  odnogo  iz
sonetov SHekspira  prinadlezhit  peru  grafa  Ivana  Mamuny  (figura  dovol'no
zagadochnaya - neizvestny ne tol'ko ego biograficheskie dannye, no dazhe i  gody
zhizni). Vsego on perevel shest' sonetov; perevody publikovalis' s  1850-h  po
1890-e gody, na protyazhenii soroka s lishnim let.
     Pervyj perevod vsego svoda sonetov SHekspira byl vypolnen N. V. Gerbelem
(1827-1883)  -  izdatelem  i  perevodchikom,  vypustivshim   polnoe   sobranie
sochinenij  SHekspira  na  russkom  yazyke.  Tretij  tom  sobraniya,  vklyuchavshij
perevody sonetov, vyshel v 1880 godu; togda  zhe  sonety  poyavilis'  otdel'nym
izdaniem.
     V svoem otnoshenii k sonetam Gerbel' stoyal  na  poziciyah  Gervinusa,  to
est' schital, chto oni predstavlyayut  cennost'  glavnym  obrazom  kak  istochnik
svedenij o SHekspire. Kritika ocenila  perevody  Gerbelya  sootvetstvenno:  im
bylo  otkazano  v  hudozhestvennyh  dostoinstvah,  i  obshchij  ton  ocenok  byl
negativnym. Izvestnyj znatok SHekspira  professor  N.  I.  Storozhenko,  ranee
vysoko ocenivshij opyt I. Mamuny, pisal o nih: "Smeshno i  zhalko  smotret'  na
etu neravnuyu bor'bu karlika s gigantom, lyagushki s volom".
     Besspornaya  zasluga  Gerbelya  (naryadu  s  drugimi  ego  zaslugami   kak
perevodchika i izdatelya SHekspira) sostoit  v  tom,  chto  on  pervym  vypolnil
perevod vsego svoda sonetov i poznakomil russkogo  chitatelya  s  nimi  kak  s
celostnym proizvedeniem. No, po-vidimomu, kritikam  uzhe  togda  brosalos'  v
glaza nesootvetstvie mezhdu velichiem p'es  SHekspira  i  sonetami,  kotorye  v
peredache  Gerbelya  zvuchali  kak  banal'nye  i  posredstvennye  stihi  vtoroj
poloviny XIX veka.
     Kak i bol'shinstvo perevodov  shekspirovskih  sonetov,  sdelannyh  v  XIX
veke,  perevody  Gerbelya  byli  ispolneny  shestistopnym  yambom,  togda   kak
podlinnik napisan pyatistopnym. Net nikakih  prichin  predpochest'  v  perevode
shestistopnyj yamb, krome odnoj: perevodchik  ne  ukladyvaetsya  v  original'nyj
razmer i  samovol'no  udlinyaet  ego,  chtoby  sdelat'  perevod  bolee  legkoj
zadachej. Svojstvennaya originalu sistema rifmovki takzhe ne byla soblyudena  i,
po-vidimomu,  ne  yavlyalas'  dlya  Gerbelya  principial'noj:  v  ego  perevodah
vstrechayutsya samye raznye varianty. Rifmy po bol'shej chasti libo ochen' bednye,
nesovershennye, libo banal'nye i istertye.
     Predel'no uprostiv tehnicheskuyu zadachu perevoda, Gerbel' tem ne menee ne
reshil i zadachi tochnogo vosproizvedeniya obrazov. Vprochem, podobnye nedostatki
byli svojstvenny ne tol'ko perevodam Gerbelya, no i perevodam pochti vseh  ego
sovremennikov (za redkimi isklyucheniyami). Ne vina, a beda Gerbelya v tom,  chto
on ne smog podnyat'sya nad obshchim urovnem, kotoryj uzhe togda vosprinimalsya  kak
neudovletvoritel'nyj, no eshche prodolzhal dolgoe vremya gospodstvovat'.
     V  1884  godu  byli   posmertno   opublikovany   dvenadcat'   perevodov
chrezvychajno populyarnogo v svoe vremya poeta V.  G.  Benediktova  (1807-1883),
kotoryj stal pervym znachitel'nym russkim  poetom,  obrativshimsya  k  perevodu
sonetov SHekspira. |kspressivnyj, mestami grubyj stil' perevodov  Benediktova
ne sootvetstvoval vkusam toj epohi, i eti perevody proshli nezamechennymi,  ne
okazav prakticheski nikakogo  vliyaniya  na  dal'nejshij  process  postizheniya  i
osvoeniya sonetov SHekspira (hotya, veroyatno, imenno Benediktov "otvetstven" za
poyavlenie v sdelannom  S.  Marshakom  perevode  soneta  27  arhaichnogo  slova
"zrima": u Marshaka - "slepomu zrima", u Benediktova - "slepcami zrimo").
     V tom zhe 1884 godu nachali  publikovat'sya  perevody  F.  A.  CHervinskogo
(1864-1917),  poyavlyavshiesya  zatem  na  protyazhenii  dvadcati  let.   Perevody
CHervinskogo poluchili dovol'no shirokuyu izvestnost' blagodarya bolee dostupnomu
yazyku i estestvennomu zvuchaniyu, kotoryh on dobivalsya, poroj  oblegchaya  smysl
originala.
     V 1902 godu byli opublikovany devyatnadcat' sonetov v perevode S. Il'ina
(kak i v sluchae s I. Mamunoj, dannye  o  perevodchike  otsutstvuyut).  Glavnaya
zasluga Il'ina sostoyala v  tom,  chto  on  vypolnil  svoi  perevody  razmerom
podlinnika - pyatistopnym yambom (do etogo, kak  uzhe  govorilos',  perevodchiki
chashche vsego ispol'zovali dlya perevoda sonetov shestistopnyj yamb).
     Itogom russkogo osvoeniya SHekspira v XIX veke stalo pyatitomnoe  sobranie
ego sochinenij pod redakciej S A. Vengerova; sonety soderzhalis'  pyatom  tome,
vyshedshem  v  1904  godu.  Dlya  etogo  izdaniya  byli  ispol'zovany   17   uzhe
publikovavshihsya perevodov (I. Mamuny, N. Gerbelya, S. Il'ina, F. CHervinskogo)
i 137 novyh, dlya raboty nad kotorymi Vengerov privlek kak izvestnyh poetov -
K.  Sluchevskogo   (1837-1904),   K.   Fofanova   (1862-1911),   V.   Bryusova
(1873-1924),- tak i  vedushchih  perevodchikov  svoego  vremeni  -  V.  Lihacheva
(1849-1910), N.  Holodkovskogo  (1858-1921),  A.  Fedorova  (1868-1949),  V.
Mazurkevicha (1871-posle 1927),  T.  SHCHepkinu-Kupernik  (1874-1952).  Vsego  v
rabote nad perevodami sonetov uchastvovalo shestnadcat' chelovek.  Nesmotrya  na
raznoboj (tak, perevodchiki pol'zovalis' raznymi  razmerami  -  shestistopnym,
pyatistopnym i dazhe "vol'nym", kak  v  "Gore  ot  uma"  ili  basnyah  Krylova,
yambom),  vengerovskoe  izdanie  sonetov  stalo  znachitel'nym  sobytiem;  ono
soprovozhdalos' kvalificirovannym kommentariem i stat'ej, a  glavnoe,  v  nem
byl vyderzhan obshchij, dostatochno vysokij  dlya  togo  vremeni  professional'nyj
uroven' perevodov.
     V 1914 godu byli opublikovany vse (za isklyucheniem dvuh) sonety SHekspira
v perevode  Modesta  CHajkovskogo  (1850-1916).  Brat  velikogo  kompozitora,
napisavshij libretto "Pikovoj damy" i "Iolanty", yavno delal svoi  perevody  v
tvorcheskom spore s izdaniem Vengerova; veroyatno, on schital, chto ego perevody
tochnee, i pomestil v svoej knige  ryadom  s  perevodami  original'nye  teksty
sonetov, kak by priglashaya chitatelej sravnit' odno s drugim (po tem  vremenam
eto bylo novshestvom). Zaslugoj M. I. CHajkovskogo bylo, v chastnosti, to,  chto
on pervyj perevel prakticheski ves' svod sonetov razmerom podlinnika. K chesti
CHajkovskogo, nuzhno skazat', chto v svoih pyatistopnyh yambah on  umestil  nikak
ne men'she soderzhaniya, chem tot zhe Gerbel' v shestistopnyh.
     Sravnim dlya primera pervyj katren  soneta  73  v  perevodah  Gerbelya  i
CHajkovskogo.

     U Gerbelya:

                 Ty vidish' - ya dostig pory toj pozdnej goda,
                 Kogda na derevah po neskol'ku listkov
                 Lish' b'etsya, no i te uzh shchiplet nepogoda,
                 Togda kak prezhde ten' manila solov'ev.

     U CHajkovskogo:

                 Vo mne ty mozhesh' videt' vremya goda,
                 Kogda sletel il' redok zheltyj list
                 Na teh vetvyah, chto treplet nepogoda,
                 Tam, gde vesnoj zvuchal veselyj svist.

     Blagodarya  soblyudeniyu  shekspirovskogo   razmera   perevod   CHajkovskogo
plotnee, nasyshchennee, chto priblizhaet ego k originalu, dlya kotorogo harakterno
detal'noe raskrytie  metafory  ili  kaskad  metafor  na  malom  prostranstve
soneta. Rifmy u CHajkovskogo v celom  tochnee  i  interesnee,  chem  u  Gerbelya
(nedarom rifmu "list - svist" vposledstvii pozaimstvoval dlya svoego perevoda
Marshak).
     V knige CHajkovskogo nemalo udach - kak tehnicheskih, tak i poeticheskih, -
i,  razumeetsya,  etot  samostoyatel'nyj,  original'nyj  trud,  prodiktovannyj
zhelaniem priblizit'sya k SHekspiru, zasluzhivaet uvazheniya; odnako prakticheski v
kazhdom sonete vstrechayutsya ser'eznye nedostatki, i v celom etot  perevod  eshche
vo mnogom prinadlezhit XIX veku.
     Osobuyu stranicu v russkoj istorii sonetov SHekspira sostavlyayut  perevody
Valeriya Bryusova. V. YA. Bryusov byl ne tol'ko vydayushchimsya poetom,  prozaikom  i
perevodchikom, no  takzhe  teoretikom  stihoslozheniya.  Dlya  izdaniya  Vengerova
Bryusov perevel chetyre soneta: 57-60. Pervym variantom perevodov  on  ostalsya
nedovolen (oceniv svoi perevody tak: "Oni mne ne sovsem udalis'.  |to  vovse
ne SHekspir, a pereskaz ego tem svoimi slovami") i vposledstvii sozdal vtoruyu
redakciyu, sushchestvenno otlichavshuyusya ot pervoj. Vo vtoroj redakcii, po  mneniyu
Bryusova, "stihi stali tyazhelee, no perevod vezde stal blizhe  k  podlinniku  i
vklyuchil mnogo takogo, chto prezhde bylo propushcheno". Dejstvitel'no,  vo  vtoroj
raz Bryusov byl gorazdo strozhe k svoim perevodam i staralsya ne  dopuskat'  ni
malejshej vol'nosti, hotya by  eta  vol'nost'  ukrashala  perevod  i  polnost'yu
lezhala v rusle zadannogo obraza.  Voobshche,  zametno,  chto  Bryusov  (veroyatno,
soglasnyj s aforizmom Gejne: "Perevod chto zhenshchina: esli ona  krasiva  -  ona
neverna; esli verna -  nekrasiva")  stremilsya  vytravit'  iz  svoego  teksta
vsyakuyu poeticheskuyu krasivost', kak predstavlyaetsya, peregibaya v  etom  palku.
Esli sledovat' duhu ego vtoroj redakcii, to v  poeticheskih  perevodah  nuzhno
istreblyat' lyubuyu sluchajno voznikshuyu krasotu, dazhe  esli  ona  sovershenno  ne
protivorechit soderzhaniyu i stilyu podlinnika. V to zhe  vremya  beskompromissnyj
podhod  Bryusova,  chasto  stremivshegosya  priblizit'sya   dazhe   k   sintaksisu
originala, ne  mozhet  ne  vyzyvat'  uvazheniya  (hotya  podobnye  eksperimenty,
navernoe, bolee umestny pri perevode prozy, - konechno, s soblyudeniem dolzhnoj
mery).
     Znachitel'no pozdnee, v 1916 godu, Bryusov opublikoval perevody eshche  treh
sonetov: 55, 61 i 73. V nih on priderzhivalsya upomyanutogo  strogogo  podhoda,
no sleduet otmetit', chto, nesmotrya na dvizhenie v storonu bukvalizma,  Bryusov
daleko ne vo  vsem  sohranyal  formal'nye  osobennosti  podlinnika.  Tak,  on
proizvol'no otnosilsya k sisteme rifmovki,  a  sonet  73  voobshche  perevel  po
ital'yanskoj sheme.
     V 1917 godu v zhizni strany proizoshli izvestnye istoricheskie peremeny, i
v techenie dvadcati let posle etogo novye perevody  shekspirovskih  sonetov  v
pechati ne poyavlyalis'. Mezhdu tem imenno v eti gody perevodami sonetov aktivno
zanimalsya vidnyj poet Serebryanogo veka Mihail Kuzmin (1872-1936).
     Eshche do revolyucii Kuzmin perevel neskol'ko sonetov; v dvadcatye gody  on
reshil perevesti ves' svod. V 1929 godu, posle togo kak perestali publikovat'
sobstvennye stihi Kuzmina i dazhe ego teatral'nye recenzii (kotorye do  etogo
on,  buduchi  strastnym  teatralom,  pisal   ochen'   aktivno),   edinstvennym
istochnikom sushchestvovaniya dlya Kuzmina  stali  perevody.  Perevodil  on  ochen'
mnogo (vklyuchaya dazhe libretto ital'yanskih oper), no na  pervoe  mesto  stavil
perevody SHekspira.
     Kuzmin  perevel  vosem'  shekspirovskih  p'es.  V  svoih  perevodah   on
priderzhivalsya togo zhe nauchnogo podhoda, kakogo priderzhivalis' M. Lozinskij i
A. Radlova. Pri zhizni Kuzmina  byl  opublikovan  lish'  ego  perevod  "Korolya
Lira", ostal'nye perevody vyshli vskore posle ego smerti i  v  dal'nejshem  ne
pereizdavalis', a perevod "Buri" poyavilsya v pechati tol'ko v 1990 godu.
     V silu razlichnyh obstoyatel'stv Kuzmin to nadolgo otkladyval rabotu  nad
perevodami sonetov, to snova vozvrashchalsya k nim.  Po  utverzhdeniyam  biografov
poeta, on uspel perevesti pervye 110  sonetov,  to  est'  pochti  ves'  cikl,
posvyashchennyj Drugu. Lyudi, kotorym Kuzmin chital ili pokazyval  svoi  perevody,
davali im vposledstvii ochen' vysokuyu ocenku.
     K sozhaleniyu, v 1938 godu, cherez dva  goda  posle  smerti  Kuzmina,  byl
arestovan ego blizkij drug, pisatel' YU. YUrkun,  u  kotorogo  hranilsya  arhiv
poeta, vklyuchaya i perevody sonetov. Rukopis' perevodov bessledno ischezla.
     V  1937  godu  v  hrestomatii  po  literature  epohi  Vozrozhdeniya  byli
opublikovany  vosem'  sonetov  v  perevode  Osipa  Rumera  -  vse  iz  chisla
posvyashchennyh  Smugloj  Ledi.  Spustya  desyat'  let  v  novom  izdanii  toj  zhe
hrestomatii byl napechatan ego perevod soneta 66. O. B. Rumer (1883-1954) byl
izvestnym poetom-perevodchikom, poliglotom, znavshim desyatki  yazykov,  vklyuchaya
ryad vostochnyh (sanskrit, persidskij, armyanskij, gruzinskij). S  anglijskogo,
pomimo  SHekspira,  Rumer  perevodil   narodnye   ballady,   "Kenterberijskie
rasskazy" CHosera (sovmestno s I. Kashkinym), stihi Serreya,  Sidni,  Spensera,
Donna, Tennisona, Stivensona i drugih avtorov. Ego sonety SHekspira - eto uzhe
perevody XX veka, opirayushchiesya na ogromnye dostizheniya russkoj  poezii  nachala
stoletiya.
     V 1938 godu dva soneta SHekspira (66  i  73)  perevel  Boris  Pasternak.
Perevod eshche odnogo soneta (74) Pasternak vypolnil v  1954  godu,  uzhe  posle
poyavleniya   perevodov   Marshaka,   po   pros'be   Grigoriya   Kozinceva   dlya
osushchestvlennoj  tem  teatral'noj  postanovki  "Gamleta"  (kak  i   v   svoem
posleduyushchem  fil'me,  Kozincev  stavil  shekspirovskuyu  tragediyu  v  perevode
Pasternaka).  V  pechati  pri  zhizni  Pasternaka   perevod   soneta   74   ne
publikovalsya.
     Mozhno skazat', chto dovoennye perevody Rumera i  Pasternaka  podgotovili
sleduyushchee etapnoe sobytie v osvoenii sonetov SHekspira -  ih  perevod  S.  YA.
Marshakom (1887-1964). Marshak-perevodchik, kak izvestno,  specializirovalsya  v
osnovnom na anglijskoj poezii - perevodil anglijskie i shotlandskie  narodnye
ballady, stihi Bernsa, Blejka, Vordsvorta, Bajrona, SHelli, Kitsa, Tennisona,
Brauninga, Stivensona, Kiplinga i drugih. Perevodil on i  s  drugih  yazykov.
Sonetami SHekspira Marshak zanyalsya vo vremya  Velikoj  Otechestvennoj  vojny;  s
1945 goda ego perevody stali poyavlyat'sya v zhurnalah i srazu privlekli k  sebe
vnimanie kak chitatelej, tak i kritikov.
     V 1948 godu polnyj svod  sonetov  SHekspira  v  perevode  Marshaka  vyshel
otdel'noj knigoj, kotoraya poluchila samye hvalebnye otzyvy,  byla  nagrazhdena
Stalinskoj premiej i mnogokratno pereizdavalas'. Po  opredeleniyu  Aleksandra
Fadeeva, Marshak sdelal eti sonety "faktom russkoj poezii". V odnom iz  svoih
poslednih  vystuplenij  Marshak  s  gordost'yu  zayavlyal:  "Perevody   sonetov,
neodnokratno izdavavshiesya u nas, vyhodili otdel'nymi izdaniyami,  a  takzhe  v
sobraniyah proizvedenij SHekspira s 1948 po 1964 god obshchim  tirazhom  devyat'sot
shest'desyat tysyach ekzemplyarov. Knigu sonetov mozhno uvidet' v rukah u rabochego
ili shofera taksi. Takaya sud'ba redko vypadaet na dolyu knigi stihov"  {Marshak
S.YA. Sobranie sochinenij: V 8 t. M., 1968-1972. T. 8. S. 431.}. K etomu stoit
dobavit', chto uzh sovershenno isklyuchitel'noj takaya sud'ba yavlyaetsya  dlya  knigi
perevodnoj poezii.
     Kak izvestno, v epohu, o kotoroj idet rech', tirazhi knig i  prisuzhdaemye
im premii byli lish' kosvenno svyazany s  ih  literaturnymi  dostoinstvami,  -
gorazdo vazhnee bylo ih obshchestvenno-politicheskoe zvuchanie. CHem  zhe  ob®yasnit'
besprecedentnuyu podderzhku vlast'yu etih perevodov Marshaka? Uchityvaya vremya  ih
poyavleniya - pervye poslevoennye gody, - vryad li budet oshibkoj  predpolozhit',
chto oni nesli politicheskuyu nagruzku  po  krajnej  mere  v  dvuh  otnosheniyah.
Vo-pervyh, oni predlagali lyudyam, izmuchennym perezhitymi tragediyami i tyagotami
vojny, svoego roda dushevnuyu  reabilitaciyu  -  vozvrashchenie  k  mirnomu  stroyu
myslej i chuvstv s pomoshch'yu klassicheskogo obrazca  liriki.  Vo-vtoryh,  imelsya
mezhdunarodnyj aspekt, ponyatnyj i  blizkij  tem  chitatelyam  Marshaka,  kotorye
zanimali vysokie oficial'nye kabinety: nuzhno bylo  pokazat',  chto  sovetskij
chelovek, osvobodivshij Evropu ot fashizma, -  eto  ne  varvar,  a  nositel'  i
hranitel' vsego bogatstva  mirovoj  kul'tury  (togda  kak  v  centre  Evropy
nezadolgo do togo knigi klassikov szhigali na ploshchadyah).
     Voobshche,   klassicheskaya   literatura   (kotoraya   obyazana   byla    byt'
"gumanisticheskoj") privlekalas' sovetskimi ideologami  v  "soyuzniki"  novomu
stroyu,  a  uspeh  v  perevode  klassiki  schitalsya  zakonomernym  proyavleniem
preimushchestv socialisticheskoj kul'tury.  Sam  Marshak  byl  soglasen  s  takim
podhodom; v svoem stihotvorenii "1616-1949", vyderzhannom v forme soneta,  on
pisal:

                      YA perevel SHekspirovy sonety.
                      Puskaj poet, pokinuv staryj dom,
                      Zagovorit na yazyke drugom,
                      V drugie dni, v drugom krayu planety.

                      Soratnikom ego my priznaem,
                      Zashchitnikom svobody, pravdy, mira.
                      Nedarom imya slavnoe SHekspira
                      Po-russki znachit: potryasaj kop'em.

                      Tri sotni raz i tridcat' raz i tri
                      So dnya ego konchiny ochertila
                      Zemlya urochnyj put' vokrug svetila,
                      Svergalis' trony, padali cari...

                      A gordyj stih i v skromnom perevode
                      Sluzhil i sluzhit pravde i svobode.

     Podobnye ideologicheskie zadachi, esli oni stavilis' pered  Marshakom  ego
izdatelyami ili im samim, byli vpolne v duhe vremeni, i segodnya my ne beremsya
ih osuzhdat' (razve tol'ko s teh pozicij, chto pryamoe obsluzhivanie literaturoj
politiki nikogda ne shlo na pol'zu literature). Sonety  SHekspira  v  perevode
Marshaka zasluzhenno  stali  sovetskoj  klassikoj  i  poluchili  takuyu  shirokuyu
izvestnost', chto ee inerciya sohranyaetsya do sih por. S drugoj storony, teper'
imenno  eto  sovetskoe  proshloe  perevodov  Marshaka  u  nekotoryh   vyzyvaet
ottorzhenie. Dumaetsya, odnako, chto pora - naskol'ko vozmozhno -  otvlech'sya  ot
politicheskogo faktora i vzglyanut' na rabotu Marshaka zanovo,  nepredvzyato,  s
pozicij sobstvenno perevodcheskih.
     Izdanie 1948 goda  soprovozhdalos'  poslesloviem  vedushchego  shekspiroveda
togo vremeni M. Morozova, kotoryj pisal: "Sredi shirokih chitatel'skih  krugov
sonety SHekspira byli u nas  do  sih  por  malopopulyarny,  v  osobennosti  po
sravneniyu s ego proslavlennymi  dramaticheskimi  proizvedeniyami.  I,  odnako,
stoilo tol'ko perevodam Marshaka poyavit'sya v zhurnalah, kak sonetami  SHekspira
zhivo  zainteresovalis'  sovetskie  chitateli  raznyh   vozrastov   i   raznyh
professij. Odna iz prichin zaklyuchaetsya, nesomnenno, v tom, chto v  etih  novyh
perevodah shekspirovskie sonety, oblekshis' v odezhdy drugogo yazyka,  sohranili
svoe zvuchanie, svoyu melodiyu" {SHekspir V.  Sonety  /  Per.  S.  Marshaka.  M.:
Sovetskij pisatel', 1948. S. 177.}.
     Dejstvitel'no  li  Marshaku  udalos'  sohranit'  v  perevode   podlinnoe
zvuchanie i melodiku sonetov SHekspira - vopros diskussionnyj, no sami po sebe
perevody Marshaka, bessporno, melodichny. Ne sluchajno za proshedshie desyatiletiya
k nim  neodnokratno  obrashchalis'  kompozitory  raznyh  stilej  i  napravlenij
(muzyku k sonetam SHekspira v perevodah Marshaka pisali  Dmitrij  Kabalevskij,
Tihon Hrennikov, Mikael Tariverdiev, Rajmond Pauls, Alla Pugacheva i drugie).
     Pri zhizni Marshaka ego  perevody  neizmenno  ocenivalis'  ochen'  vysoko.
Tol'ko v 1960-e gody stali razdavat'sya suzhdeniya, chto Marshak, garmoniziruya  i
osvetlyaya velikij original,  neskol'ko  ego  oslablyaet,  "lishaya...  izvestnoj
temnoty i zagadochnosti" {Literaturnaya gazeta. 1971. 11 avgusta.  S.  6.};  v
otdel'nyh sluchayah otdavalos' predpochtenie perevodam Bryusova ili  Pasternaka.
Marshak uspel  otvetit'  na  takie  vystupleniya,  kotorye  (nesmotrya  na  vsyu
myagkost'  kritiki)  vosprinimal,  sudya  po  vsemu,  dovol'no  boleznenno.  V
kachestve argumenta v pol'zu svoego perevoda Marshak ukazyval na  ego  bol'shuyu
populyarnost' v narode, privodya pis'ma blagodarnyh chitatelej, dlya kotoryh eta
kniga stala zhelannoj duhovnoj pishchej, podderzhkoj v trudnye minuty zhizni  {Tam
zhe.}.
     Naibolee znachitel'naya  kriticheskaya  stat'ya  o  perevodah  Marshaka  byla
opublikovana uzhe posle ego smerti, v 1969 godu; ee napisali M. Gasparov i N.
Avtonomova {Gasparov M., Avtonomova N. Sonety SHekspira - perevody Marshaka //
Voprosy literatury. 1969. | 2.}. Avtory vydvinuli tezis,  chto  dopuskavshiesya
Marshakom stilisticheskie otkloneniya ot  podlinnika  skladyvayutsya  v  sistemu:
poetika SHekspira podmenyaetsya poetikoj russkogo romantizma vremen  ZHukovskogo
i molodogo Pushkina.
     V dejstvitel'nosti stilizaciya sonetov SHekspira pod XIX vek v samom  XIX
veke byla by nevozmozhna. Vyskazhem mnenie, chto izbrannyj Marshakom podhod vryad
li mozhno  schitat'  podmenoj:  anglijskij  poeticheskij  yazyk  epohi  SHekspira
nahodilsya na etape razvitiya, shodnom s tem, na  kakom  nahodilsya  russkij  v
ukazannyj  period.  Vyshe  uzhe  otmechalos',  chto  dramaticheskie  proizvedeniya
Pushkina  blagotvorno  povliyali  na  posleduyushchie  perevody   p'es   SHekspira.
Perevesti "Gamleta" na poeticheskom urovne "Malen'kih tragedij" - o  chem  eshche
mozhet mechtat' perevodchik? Tak chto Marshak ne oshibsya s  vyborom  orientira,  i
imenno eto pomoglo emu najti klyuch k perevodu. Drugoe delo, chto  odnovremenno
(ob etom takzhe napisali Gasparov i Avtonomova) v perevod popalo nemalo chisto
romanticheskih slovesnyh klishe, kotoryh ne bylo i ne moglo byt' u SHekspira. V
to  zhe  vremya  mnogie  renessansnye  obrazy,   bespokoyas'   o   maksimal'noj
dostupnosti  perevoda  dlya  massovogo  chitatelya,  Marshak  isklyuchil  (hotya  v
nekotoryh sluchayah motivy takih iz®yatij neyasny - chem, naprimer,  ne  godilos'
dlya massovogo chitatelya yarkoe sravnenie nochnogo videniya s dragocennym  kamnem
v sonete 27?).
     Govorya o metode Marshaka, M. Morozov otmechal: "...inogda poet-perevodchik
soznatel'no otstupaet ot nekotoryh detalej vneshnego risunka.  V  sonete  28,
naprimer, SHekspir chrezvychajno detaliziroval  kazhdyj  "zavitok"  obraza.  |ta
melkaya rez'ba po kamnyu,  zaimstvovannaya  SHekspirom  u  evfuistov,  v  dannom
sluchae ne interesuet perevodchika-portretista" {Morozov M.M.  Izbrannoe.  M.:
Iskusstvo, 1979. S. 390-391.}. Takuyu  svobodu  v  obrashchenii  s  klassicheskim
tekstom  pozvolyal  sebe  daleko  ne  odin  Marshak;  sredi  perevodchikov  ego
pokoleniya voobshche schitalos' vpolne dopustimym "podpravlyat'" klassikov, kak by
reshaya, s vysot socialisticheskogo mirovozzreniya,  chto  u  teh  cenno,  a  chto
vtorostepenno i ne zasluzhivaet vosproizvedeniya v perevode.
     Glavnaya zhe vol'nost', skazavshayasya na vsem perevode Marshaka, zaklyuchalas'
v zamene pola adresata: bol'shinstvo sonetov, obrashchennyh k molodomu cheloveku,
Drugu, Marshak sdelal obrashchennymi k  zhenshchine,  chem  sovershenno  zatemnil  dlya
chitatelya soderzhanie etoj lyubovnoj istorii. (Razumeetsya, takoe reshenie  mozhno
ob®yasnit' cenzurnymi usloviyami epohi. Odnako  vryad  li  ono  bylo  polnost'yu
vynuzhdennym; bolee veroyatno, chto ono otvechalo ustanovkam samogo Marshaka. Dlya
ego obosnovaniya mozhno  privesti  tot  argument,  chto  vyrazhennye  v  sonetah
chuvstva po bol'shej chasti imeyut universal'nyj, obshchechelovecheskij harakter i ne
obuslovleny zhestko polovoj  prinadlezhnost'yu  dejstvuyushchih  lic.  Po-vidimomu,
etim rukovodstvovalis' i nekotorye dorevolyucionnye  perevodchiki,  u  kotoryh
vstrechalis' podobnye traktovki, - a Marshak, bez somneniya, vnimatel'no izuchal
opyt svoih predshestvennikov.)
     Pri etom v rabote Marshaka voplotilis' (naryadu s nedostatkami) i  luchshie
cherty sovetskoj perevodcheskoj shkoly. Ego perevody otlichaet  professionalizm,
kul'tura slova i vysokij obshchij poeticheskij  uroven';  mnogie  iz  nih,  esli
rassmatrivat' ih v otryve ot originala, yavlyayutsya horoshimi obrazcami  russkoj
poezii. Tem, kto sejchas ogul'no kritikuet Marshaka, mozhno napomnit' izvestnye
slova Pushkina, obrashchennye k kritikam ZHukovskogo:  "Zachem  kusat'  nam  grudi
kormilicy nashej? Ottogo, chto zubki prorezalis'?" Ne  sluchajno  M.  Gasparov,
perepechatyvaya v nedavno vyshedshej knige  svoyu  sovmestnuyu  s  N.  Avtonomovoj
stat'yu,  napisal  v  posleslovii  o  "stilisticheskoj  chutkosti"  Marshaka   i
fakticheski prizval nyneshnih perevodchikov shekspirovskih sonetov uchit'sya  etoj
chutkosti.  Bezuslovno,  te,  kto  sejchas  truditsya  nad  perevodom   sonetov
SHekspira, dolzhny opirat'sya  na  dostizheniya  perevodchikov  proshlogo,  v  ryadu
kotoryh pochetnoe mesto prinadlezhit Marshaku.
     Polnocennyj  i  ob®ektivnyj  analiz  perevodov  Marshaka  eshche  predstoit
osushchestvit'. Zdes' zhe dostatochno skazat', chto zaslugi Marshaka veliki  i  ego
trud ostanetsya vazhnym etapom v russkom osvoenii sonetov SHekspira.
     Odnako Marshak otnyud' ne "zakryl  temu"  sonetov  SHekspira,  kak  dolgoe
vremya schitali ochen'  mnogie.  Monopoliya  perevodov  Marshaka,  za  nekotorymi
edinichnymi  isklyucheniyami,  prodolzhalas'  do  1977  goda,  kogda  v  sbornike
"SHekspirovskie chteniya"  byli  napechatany  vse  sonety  SHekspira  v  perevode
har'kovskogo lingvista A. M. Finkelya (1899-1968). Finkelya k tomu vremeni  ne
bylo v zhivyh - pri zhizni ego perevody nikogda ne izdavalis'. V predislovii k
etoj publikacii vydayushchijsya  shekspiroved  A.  Anikst  otmechal,  chto  perevody
Finkelya chitayutsya trudnee marshakovskih, no eta "trudnost' chteniya ne sledstvie
neumeniya,  a  neizbezhnyj  rezul'tat  stremleniya  Finkelya  kak  mozhno  polnee
peredat' vsyu mnogoslozhnost' shekspirovskoj liriki". Anikst pisal  takzhe,  chto
"pri ogromnoj talantlivosti S. Marshaka, ego perevody ne  peredayut  v  polnoj
mere svoeobraziya liriki SHekspira... tak, pri prelesti stihov  V.  ZHukovskogo
"SHil'onskij  uznik",  on  v  svoih  perevodah  ne   sohranyaet   osobennostej
energichnoj i strastnoj poezii Bajrona. To zhe  proishodit  i  s  SHekspirom  v
perevodah Marshaka" {SHekspirovskie chteniya 1976. M.: Nauka, 1977.}.
     O neobhodimosti novyh perevodov proizvedenij SHekspira (v tom chisle  ego
sonetov) pisal  i  odin  iz  luchshih  rossijskih  poetov-perevodchikov  vtoroj
poloviny XX veka V. Levik {Levik V. Nuzhny li  novye  perevody  SHekspira?  //
Masterstvo perevoda: 1966. M., 1968.}. V 1984 godu  izvestnyj  literaturoved
A.  Zorin  otmechal,  chto  "segodnya  vse  ostree  chuvstvuetsya  potrebnost'  v
perevode, kotoryj pereselyal by ne SHekspira k nam, a nas k SHekspiru" {SHekspir
V. Sonety, M.: Raduga, 1984. S. 286.}.
     Pomimo perevodov Finkelya v 1970-e  gody  poyavilis'  perevody  otdel'nyh
sonetov, vypolnennye P. Karpom {Zapadnoevropejskaya lirika. L., 1974.}  i  R.
Vinonenom {Sel'skaya molodezh'. 1971. | 2.}.
     V  1980-e  i  osobenno  v  1990-e  gody  vyshlo  mnogo  novyh  perevodov
shekspirovskih sonetov; mozhno skazat',  chto  oni  poluchili  v  russkom  yazyke
kakuyu-to novuyu zhizn', kotoruyu poka trudno osmyslit' i  ocenit'.  Sovremennye
perevodchiki  ne  udovletvoreny  starymi  traktovkami,   oni   samostoyatel'no
otkryvayut dlya sebya "nastoyashchego" SHekspira i stremyatsya donesti  svoi  otkrytiya
do chitatelej. V obstanovke novoobretennoj  svobody,  ne  svyazannye  prezhnimi
stereotipami, oni vyrabatyvayut svoi vzglyady i na samu lichnost'  SHekspira,  i
na ego stil', i na pravil'nye principy perevoda ego stihov.  Tak,  izvestnyj
perevodchik Ignatij Ivanovskij opublikoval v 1985 godu stat'yu "Sovsem  drugoj
SHekspir" i podborku sonetov v sobstvennyh perevodah  {Neva.  1985.  |7.}.  V
1994 godu Ivanovskij vypustil svoj perevod vseh sonetov SHekspira.
     V 1986 godu v antologii "Kniga pesen. Iz  evropejskoj  liriki  XIII-XVI
vekov" byli napechatany 11 sonetov v perevodah V.  Orla  {Do  etogo  podborka
perevodov V. Orla byla opublikovana v  zhurnale  "Sel'skaya  molodezh'".}.  Ryad
sonetov v novyh perevodah B. Kushnera, D. SHCHedrovickogo, A.  Vasil'chikova,  G.
Kruzhkova,  D.  Kuz'mina  byli  opublikovany  v  1989  godu  v  shekspirovskom
bibliograficheskom ukazatele, vypushchennom Bibliotekoj  inostrannoj  literatury
(sostavitel' - YU. Fridshtejn). Odnoj iz poslednih publikacij sonetov SHekspira
v tolstom zhurnale sovetskogo obrazca stala podborka  perevodov  I.  Asterman
{Zvezda. 1989. |4.}.
     V 1990-h  godah  k  svobode  tvorchestva  dobavilis'  novye  processy  v
literature i na knizhnom rynke:  rezko  snizilis'  tirazhi  zhurnalov  i  knig,
edinaya prezhde literaturnaya zhizn' raspalas',  i  novye  perevody  dazhe  vsego
svoda sonetov SHekspira prohodyat nezamechennymi ne tol'ko obshchestvennost'yu,  no
i specialistami. Takova sud'ba perevodov I. Fradkina  (1997),  V.  Tarzaevoj
(1997), V. Rozova (1998). Dazhe rabota takogo vidnogo mastera hudozhestvennogo
perevoda, kak Ignatij Ivanovskij, ostalas'  neizvestnoj  shirokomu  chitatelyu.
Sravnitel'no  shirokuyu  izvestnost'  poluchil  tol'ko  perevod  S.   Stepanova
("Azbuka", S.-Peterburg, 1999).
     Mezhdu  tem  sonety  SHekspira   perevodyat   sejchas   mnogie   -   i   na
professional'nom, i na lyubitel'skom urovne. Vozrastnoj i social'nyj diapazon
perevodchikov tak  zhe  shirok,  kak  kogda-to  byl  shirok  diapazon  chitatelej
perevodov Marshaka: ot shkol'nikov do pensionerov. Mozhno skazat', chto  v  dele
perevoda sonetov SHekspira na russkij yazyk nastupil nastoyashchij  "bum".  Stanet
li rezul'tatom etogo "buma"  poyavlenie  novogo  perevoda,  kotoryj  po  vsem
pokazatelyam prevzojdet rabotu Marshaka, dlya  mnogih  do  sih  por  ostayushchuyusya
obrazcom? Smozhet li kto-nibud' perevesti sonety  SHekspira  "na  veka",  kak,
sudya po vsemu, udalos' Marshaku perevesti luchshie stihi Roberta Bernsa? Vopros
ostaetsya otkrytym.
     Predlagaemaya chitatelyu kniga predstavlyaet soboj popytku  svesti  voedino
raznoobraznye opyty v etoj oblasti  i  dat'  kartinu  naibolee  znachitel'nyh
perevodov sonetov SHekspira za poslednie dva desyatiletiya.

                                                   V. Nikolaev, A. SHarakshane

                              Ot sostavitelej

     Pri  podgotovke  nastoyashchego  sbornika   sostaviteli   rukovodstvovalis'
razlichnymi, trudno sovmestimymi kriteriyami: hotelos' po  vozmozhnosti  shiroko
predstavit' chitatelyu raznyh avtorov i pri etom otobrat'  perevody,  naibolee
sovershennye ili interesnye v  kakih-libo  otnosheniyah.  Ne  stavilas'  zadacha
sostavit'  stilisticheski  edinyj  perevod  vsego  svoda  sonetov;  naoborot,
raznoobrazie i dazhe pestrota tekstov schitalis' za blago. I vse zhe, v tom chto
kasaetsya metoda perevoda, nakladyvalis' nekotorye  ogranicheniya.  Glavnye  iz
nih svyazany s  trebovaniyami  tochnosti.  Rassmatrivalis'  tol'ko  poeticheskie
perevody   (a   sushchestvuyut    poluprozaicheskie),    vosproizvodyashchie    formu
shekspirovskogo soneta (a est' primery,  kogda  za  perevod  soneta  vydaetsya
stihotvorenie  dlinoj  do  tridcati  i  bolee  strok)   i,   v   podavlyayushchem
bol'shinstve, vypolnennye razmerom  podlinnika  -  pyatistopnym  yambom.  Bolee
togo, dazhe pri  vypolnenii  etih  uslovij  v  knigu  ne  vklyuchalis'  vol'nye
perevody, perelozheniya i "variacii na temu". Po mneniyu sostavitelej,  vol'nye
perevody imeyut pravo na sushchestvovanie,  no  dolzhny  pechatat'sya  otdel'no  ot
tochnyh, chtoby ne putat' chitatelya. S drugoj  storony,  sostaviteli  staralis'
izbavit' chitatelya ot perevodov pust'  dostatochno  tochnyh,  no  kosnoyazychnyh,
poeticheski bespomoshchnyh, v kotoryh imenem SHekspira osvyashchayutsya plohie stihi na
russkom yazyke.
     V  otnoshenii  pola  adresatov  sonetov  byla  prinyata   tochka   zreniya,
gospodstvuyushchaya v sovremennom mirovom shekspirovedenii i sostoyashchaya v tom,  chto
sonety 1-126 obrashcheny k molodomu  cheloveku,  a  sonety  127-152  -  k  dame.
Nekotorye russkie perevodchiki "Sonetov" ispoveduyut drugie  tolkovaniya,  i  v
ryade sluchaev  prihodilos'  otkazyvat'sya  ot  interesnyh  perevodov  po  etoj
prichine. S drugoj storony, sredi sonetov  "k  Drugu"  nemalo  takih,  gde  v
originale net yavnyh ukazanij na pol, i v sluchayah, kogda takih ukazanij net i
v perevodah, byla vozmozhnost' vklyuchit' ih v sbornik (s soglasiya avtora),  ne
zaostryaya "vopros pola". Sleduet poetomu sdelat'  ogovorku,  chto  _publikaciya
perevodov v nastoyashchem  sbornike  ne  obyazatel'no  oznachaet,  chto  ih  avtory
razdelyayut upomyanutuyu prinyatuyu tochku zreniya_.
     Naryadu s etimi soobrazheniyami -  tak  skazat'  tvorcheskogo  haraktera  -
bol'shuyu rol' v processe otbora igrali raznoobraznye prakticheskie soobrazheniya
i  prichiny,  privodit'  kotorye  zdes'  net  neobhodimosti.  Sleduet  tol'ko
podcherknut', chto v itoge _chislo perevodov, vzyatyh dlya sbornika ot  togo  ili
inogo avtora, ni v  koem  sluchae  ne  otrazhaet  ih  sravnitel'noj  cennosti,
opredelenie kotoroj yavlyaetsya prerogativoj chitatelya_.

     Kazhdyj sonet predstavlen original'nym anglijskim  tekstom,  podstrochnym
perevodom i, kak pravilo, dvumya poeticheskimi perevodami. V  ryade  sluchaev  -
dlya naibolee populyarnyh sonetov - kolichestvo poeticheskih perevodov uvelicheno
do shesti. Original "Sonetov" pechataetsya po izdaniyu: The Sonnets / Ed. by  G.
Blakemore Evans. The New Cambridge Shakespeare, Cambridge University  Press,
1996.  Podstrochnyj  perevod  vypolnen  A.  SHarakshane;   dlya   etogo   shiroko
ispol'zovalsya kommentarij, soderzhashchijsya  v  ukazannom  izdanii,  odnako  vsyu
otvetstvennost' za pravil'nost' perevoda neset ego avtor.

     Sostaviteli vyrazhayut blagodarnost'  Igoryu  Os'kinu  za  predostavlennye
materialy.



                      stoletiyu opublikovaniya "Sonetov"
                         v perevodah raznyh avtorov
                       v sobranii sochinenij SHekspira
                          pod red. S. A. Vengerova

                                  Sonnets
                                   Sonety



                 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, mak'st waste in niggarding:
                    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
                    To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

               Ot prekrasnejshih sozdanij my zhelaem potomstva,
               chtoby takim obrazom roza krasoty nikogda ne umirala,
               no, kogda bolee zrelaya _roza_ {*} so vremenem, skonchaetsya,
               ee nezhnyj naslednik nes pamyat' o nej.
               No ty, obruchennyj s sobstvennymi yasnymi glazami,
               pitaesh' svoe yarkoe plamya toplivom svoej sushchnosti,
               sozdavaya golod _tam_, gde nahoditsya izobilie,
               sam sebe vrag, slishkom zhestokij k svoej miloj persone!
               Ty, yavlyayushchijsya teper' svezhim ukrasheniem mira
               i edinstvennym glashataem krasochnoj vesny,
               v sobstvennom butone horonish' svoe soderzhanie
               i, nezhnyj skryaga, rastochaesh' _sebya_ v skuposti.
                  Pozhalej mir, a ne to stan' obzhoroj,
                  s®evshim prichitayushcheesya miru na paru s mogiloj.

     {*   Vsyudu   v   tekste  podstrochnogo  perevoda  kursivom  dany  slova,
dobavlennye dlya bol'shej ponyatnosti i gladkosti. - Vse primechaniya prinadlezhat
avtoru podstrochnogo perevoda.}

                    Potomstva ot prekrasnejshih my zhdem,
                    CHtob ne uvyala roza krasoty,
                    V drugom cvetke, naslednike svoem,
                    Opyat' yaviv znakomye cherty.

                    No s yasnym vzorom obruchen svoim,
                    V svoe lish' plamya zharu poddavaya,
                    Sebe vragom ty delaesh'sya zlym,
                    Mezh izobil'ya golod sozdavaya.

                    Ty miru ukrashen'em svezhim stal, -
                    Edinstvennyj, gerol'd vesennih dnej,
                    No vnutr' butona sut' svoyu ubral,
                    Sebya tranzhirya v skuposti svoej.

                    Mir pozhalej - ne to poroj unyloj
                    Ty budesh' proedat' svoj dolg s mogiloj.

                    Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                    Vsegda my ot prekrasnogo sozdan'ya
                    Potomstva zhdem - pust' rozoj krasota
                    Cvetet, a uvyadat' pora nastanet
                    Siyaet snova, s yunogo kusta.

                    No ty, s krasoyu glaz svoih povenchan,
                    Lish' svoj ogon' pitaesh' sam soboj.
                    Sred' izobil'ya ty na golod vechnyj
                    Obrek sebya, zhestokij nedrug svoj.

                    Ty - molodoe ukrashen'e mira,
                    Glashataj veshnih krasok i cvetov,
                    No sam, skupec i vmeste s tem tranzhira,
                    Sebya v butone shoronit' gotov.

                    Ne obezdol' zhe mir, obzhora milyj,
                    Ne razdeli sebya s odnoj mogiloj!

                    Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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 tottered 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 soC

              Kogda sorok zim {*} voz'mut v osadu tvoe chelo
              i vyroyut glubokie transhei na pole tvoej krasoty,
              gordyj naryad tvoej yunosti, kotoryj teper' tak privlekaet
                                                               vzglyady,
              vse budut schitat' lohmot'yami;
              togda esli tebya sprosyat, gde vsya tvoya krasota,
              gde vse bogatstvo cvetushchih dnej,
              skazat', chto ono v tvoih gluboko zapavshih glazah,
              bylo by zhguchim stydom i pustoj pohval'boj.
              Naskol'ko pohval'nee bylo by ispol'zovanie tvoej krasoty,
              esli by ty mog otvetit': "|tot moj prekrasnyj rebenok
              podytozhit moj schet i stanet opravdaniem moej starosti",
              dokazav _ego shodstvom s toboj_, chto ego krasota - eto tvoe
                                                             nasledstvo
                 |to bylo by _kak budto_ snova stat' molodym, kogda ty
                                                               star,
                 i uvidet' svoyu krov' goryachej, kogda ty chuvstvuesh', chto
                                                    _v tebe_ ona holodna.

     {*  Po ponyatiyam togo vremeni, sorokaletnij vozrast dlya cheloveka oznachal
nastuplenie starosti.}

                      Kogda tvoj lob osadyat sorok zim,
                      Vsyu krasotu transheyami izryv,
                      Proshchajsya s prezhnim oblikom tvoim:
                      Kak staryj plashch, ty stanesh' nekrasiv.

                      I na vopros, gde nynche novyj dom
                      Toj krasoty, chto radovala nas,
                      Odnim vsepozhirayushchim stydom
                      Otvetish' ty so dna ugasshih glaz.

                      O, esli by na sklone let ty mog
                      Skazat' v otvet: "Vot syn prekrasnyj moj,
                      Moim schetam on podvedet itog
                      Poluchennoj v nasledstvo krasotoj".

                      Ty mog by v starosti rodit'sya vnov'
                      I videt', kak tvoya igraet krov'.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    Kogda polsotni zim voz'mut v osadu,
                    Transheyami izryv, chelo tvoe,
                    Tvoej krasy naryad - ochej usladu -
                    Vse osmeyut kak zhalkoe tryap'e.

                    I esli sprosit kto-nibud' odnazhdy,
                    Gde vse bogatstvo prezhnej krasoty,
                    CHto skazhesh'? CHto ono v glazah zapavshih?
                    Pustaya pohval'ba i zhguchij styd!

                    Kuda dostojnej v poru uvyadan'ya
                    Sumet' otvetit': "Vot moe ditya -
                    Mne prodolzhenie i opravdan'e", -
                    Svoi cherty v rebenke nahodya!

                    Kak budto ty, starik, stal snova molod
                    I v zhilah snova plamya, a ne holod!

                    Perevod A. SHarakshane



               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 rememb'red not to be,
                  Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

            Posmotri v zerkalo i skazhi licu, kotoroe ty vidish':
            prishlo vremya etomu licu sozdat' drugoe,
            _tak kak_, esli ty ne obnovish' ego svezhest',
            ty obmanesh' mir, lishish' blagodati kakuyu-to mat' {*}.
            Ibo gde ta, ch'e nevozdelannoe lono
            prenebrezhet tvoej pahotoj?
            Ili - kto nastol'ko bezrassuden, _chto_ stanet grobnicej,
            chtoby iz lyubvi k sebe ne dat' poyavit'sya potomstvu?
            Ty - zerkalo dlya svoej materi, i ona v tebe
            vozvrashchaet prelestnyj aprel' svoih luchshih let;
            tak i ty, cherez okna svoej starosti {**}, uvidish',
            vopreki morshchinam, eto svoe zolotoe vremya.
               No esli ty zhivesh', chtoby ne ostavit' o sebe pamyati,
               umri v odinochestve, i tvoj obraz umret s toboj.

     {* T. e. lishish' kakuyu-to zhenshchinu schast'ya materinstva.
     **  Zdes'  "through  windows  of  thy  age" (cherez okna svoej starosti)
mozhno ponyat' kak "starymi glazami" ili "v svoih detyah".}

                     Skazhi licu, chto v zerkale uvidish':
                     Pora nastala kopiyu sozdat'.
                     Il' ty ves' mir obmanesh' i obidish'
                     I obezdolish' budushchuyu mat'.

                     Gde ta, ch'e nevozdelannoe lono
                     Ot pahoty otkazhetsya tvoej?
                     I kto sposoben tak samovlyublenno
                     Grobnicej stat' dlya sobstvennyh detej?

                     Ty zerkalo dlya materi rodnoj -
                     Ona v nem ta, kakoj byla vesnoyu.
                     Vot tak skvoz' okna starosti sedoj
                     I ty uvidish' vremya zolotoe.

                     No esli hochesh', chtob tebya zabyli,
                     Umri odin i oblik skroj v mogile.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                    Skazhi licu, chto v zerkale ty vidish':
                    Pora sebe podobie sozdat',
                    A to obmanshchikom pred mirom vyjdesh',
                    U zhenshchiny otnimesh' blagodat'.

                    Gde deva, ch'e nepahannoe lono
                    Prezrit takogo zemledel'ca trud?
                    I kto bezumec tot samovlyublennyj,
                    CHto skazhet - pust' potomki v nem umrut?

                    Dlya materi ty - zerkalo zhivoe,
                    Cvetushchih let vernuvshijsya aprel'.
                    I ty pod starost' vremya zolotoe,
                    V morshchinah sam, uvidish' kak teper'.

                    No esli ty k zabven'yu delo klonish',
                    Umri odin, i obraz svoj shoronish'.

                    Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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 tombed with thee,
                    Which used lives th'executor to be.

           Rastochitel'naya prelest', pochemu ty tratish'
           na sebya svoe nasledie krasoty?
           Zaveshchaya, Priroda nichego ne darit, no lish' daet vzajmy,
           i, buduchi shchedroj, ona daet vzajmy tem, kto shchedr {*};
           tak pochemu, prekrasnyj skryaga, ty zloupotreblyaesh'
           obil'nym darom, dannym tebe, chtoby otdavat'?
           Rostovshchik bez pribyli, pochemu ty ispol'zuesh'
           takuyu velikuyu summu summ i pri etom ne imeesh' sredstv
                                                         k zhizni?
           Ved', zaklyuchaya sdelki tol'ko s odnim soboj,
           ty, milyj, obmanyvaesh' tol'ko samogo sebya;
           a kogda Priroda velit tebe ujti,
           kakoj priemlemyj buhgalterskij otchet ty smozhesh' ostavit'?
              Tvoya neispol'zovannaya [ne pushchennaya v rost] {**} krasota
                                       dolzhna byt' pohoronena s toboj,
              Togda kak, buduchi ispol'zovannoj, ona zhivet v kachestve
                                                     tvoego dusheprikazchika.

     {*  V  etoj  stroke  originala  oba  epiteta,  "frank"  i "free", imeyut
znachenie   "shchedryj";   vtoroj  takzhe  mozhet  soderzhat'  namek  na  vol'nost'
seksual'nogo povedeniya.
     ** Vsyudu v tekste podstrochnogo perevoda v kvadratnyh skobkah privodyatsya
znacheniya   slov   podlinnika,   kotorye   ne   peredany   v  perevode  iz-za
sushchestvennoj   mnogoznachnosti  slov  ili  potomu,  chto  ih  pryamaya  peredacha
po-russki zvuchala by nepriemlemo koryavo i/ili neponyatno.}


                     Zachem ty na sebya, prelestnyj mot,
                     Rashoduesh' bogatstvo krasoty?
                     Priroda ne navek, a v dolg daet.
                     Ona shchedra, no shchedrym bud' i ty.

                     Styazhatel' milyj, kak ty ne postig,
                     CHto krasota dana, chtoby otdat'?
                     Kak mog ty, beskorystnyj rostovshchik,
                     ZHit' shiroko, a zhizni ne vidat'?

                     S samim soboj torgovlyu ty vedesh',
                     Sebya obmanyvaya bez truda,
                     No v chas, kogda iz mira ty ujdesh',
                     Kakoj otchet predstavish' ty togda?

                     I vse zhe mozhno krasotu spasti:
                     Skoree v oborot ee pusti.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    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 zahochesh' 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.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




                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'ersnowed 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.

               Te chasy, kotorye svoej tonkoj rabotoj sozdali
               prelestnyj obraz, na kotorom ostanavlivayutsya vse vzglyady,
               povedut sebya kak tirany po otnosheniyu k nemu zhe
               i lishat krasoty to, chto _vse_ prevoshodit krasotoj,
               poskol'ku neutomimoe vremya vedet leto
               k otvratitel'noj zime i tam gubit ego:
               soki _budut_ skovany morozom, a pyshnaya listva ischeznet,
               krasota _budet_ zanesena snegom i vsyudu _budet_ golo.
               Togda, esli essenciya leta ne byla sohranena,
               zhidkim uznikom, zatochennym v steklyannyh stenah,
               vmeste s krasotoj budet utrachena ee _zhivotvornaya_ sila,
               ne stanet ni _krasoty_, ni pamyati o tom, kakova ona byla.
                  No esli iz cvetov vydelena essenciya, to, hotya ih
                                                          postigaet zima,
                  oni teryayut {*} tol'ko svoj vid, a ih sladostnaya sushchnost'
                                                           po-prezhnemu zhivet.

     {*  Soglasno  kommentatoram,  v  etom  meste  originala "leese" sleduet
chitat' kak "lose".}

                   Tot chas, kogda tvoj milyj, nezhnyj vid
                   I svetlyj obraz uslazhdayut glaz,
                   Stanovitsya tiranom i grozit
                   Bol'shoj nespravedlivost'yu dlya nas.
                   Nas vremya vseh bez ustali vedet
                   Iz leta k razrushitel'noj zime;
                   Bez list'ev les, v stvolah ne sok, a led,
                   Pod snegom krasota v holodnoj t'me.
                   Kogda net letnej prelesti cvetov,
                   Tekuchij plennik v stenkah iz stekla,
                   Cvetochnyj zapah - aromat duhov -
                   Napomnit nam, kak krasota cvela.
                      Cvety pogibli, vstretivshis' s zimoj,
                      A sushchnost' ih sohranena zhivoj.

                   Perevod A. Kuznecova

                      To vremya, chto vayalo neustanno
                      Na radost' vzoram oblik molodoj,
                      Vnezapno stanet dlya nego tiranom,
                      Razrushiv vse, chto bylo krasotoj.

                      Vot tak ono k zime privodit leto,
                      Ne preryvaya beg ni na mgnoven'e.
                      I list'ev net, i snegom vse odeto.
                      Zamerzla zhizn', i vsyudu zapusten'e.

                      I esli by ne sladostnyj nektar,
                      Sej zhidkij plennik, zapertyj v stekle,
                      Bessledno by ischezla krasota,
                      Ne ostavlyaya pamyat' na zemle.

                      No te cvety, chto nam nektar dayut,
                      Teryayut oblik, a ne sut' svoyu.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                  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 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-willed, for thou art much too fair
                     To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

           Tak ne pozvol' gruboj ruke zimy obezobrazit'
           v tebe tvoe leto do togo, kak vydelena tvoya essenciya;
           napolni sladost'yu kakoj-nibud' sosud, obogati kakoe-to
                                                   _vmestilishche_ [mesto]
           sokrovishchem tvoej krasoty do togo, kak ona samounichtozhitsya.
           Takoe ispol'zovanie [pomeshchenie v rost] ne yavlyaetsya
                                       zapreshchennym rostovshchichestvom,
           ono delaet schastlivymi teh, kto oplachivaet dobrovol'nuyu
                                                               ssudu;
           ty vprave porodit' drugogo sebya
           ili _stat'_ v desyat' raz schastlivee, esli _"procent" budet_
                                                        desyat' k odnomu.
           Desyatikratno umnozhennyj, ty byl by schastlivee, chem teper',
           esli by desyat' tvoih _detej_ desyat' raz vosproizveli tvoj oblik;
           togda chto mogla by podelat' smert', esli by ty pokinul
                                                              _etot mir_,
           ostaviv sebya zhit' v potomstve?
              Ne bud' svoenravnym, ved' ty slishkom prekrasen,
              CHtoby stat' dobychej smerti i sdelat' chervej svoimi
                                                          naslednikami.


                      Poka ruka svirepejshej iz zim
                      Ne pogubila oblik letnij, milyj,
                      Fial napolni sushchestvom svoim,
                      I krasota ne konchit put' mogiloj.
                      Kak kreditor, chto vygodnyj zaem
                      S procentom pribyl'nym vernet obratno,
                      Ty mog by v svetlom obraze svoem
                      Uvidet' sam sebya desyatikratno.
                      Ty zhil by ne odin, a desyat' raz,
                      Desyatikratno povtorennyj v detyah,
                      Kogda by probil tvoj poslednij chas,
                      Ty v nih by zhil, uzh ne zhivya na svete.
                         Naslednikami prelesti svoej,
                         Smotri, ne sdelaj zemlyanyh chervej.

                      Perevod A. Kuznecova

                     Ne daj Zime surovoyu rukoyu
                     Sok letnij vyzhat' - napolnyaj sosud
                     I sladost'yu svoeyu, i krasoyu,
                     Ne to oni besslavno propadut.
                     Ne greh vzimat' procenty 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.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




                  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, thyself outgoing in thy noon,
                     Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

              Glyadi: kogda na vostoke blagodatnoe svetilo
              podnimaet pylayushchuyu golovu, vnizu vse glaza
              otdayut pochesti etomu novoyavlennomu zrelishchu,
              sluzha vzglyadami ego svyashchennomu velichestvu;
              i kogda _ono_ vzobralos' na krutoj nebesnyj holm,
              napominaya krepkogo molodogo cheloveka v rascvete let,
              vzglyady smertnyh po-prezhnemu lyubuyutsya ego krasotoj,
              soprovozhdaya ego _blistatel'noe_ [zolotoe] puteshestvie;
              no kogda s vysshej tochki, na _iznoshennoj_ [utomlennoj]
                                                           kolesnice,
              kak dryahlaya starost', ono, shatayas', pokidaet den',
              glaza, prezhde predannye, otvorachivayutsya
              ot etogo nizkogo uchastka _puti_ i glyadyat proch'.
                 Tak i ty, teper' vstupayushchij v svoj polden',
                 Umresh', nikomu ne nuzhnyj, esli tol'ko ne zavedesh'
                                                               syna.

                      Vot na vostoke milostivyj svet,
                      Gorya, pod®emlet golovu svoyu.
                      Vse, prisyagaya, chtut ego rascvet
                      I pochesti glazami vozdayut.

                      Vzbirayas' vverh, na holm nebes krutoj,
                      Mladoe solnce k zrelosti idet,
                      I vzory, voshishchayas' krasotoj,
                      Soprovozhdayut put' luchistyj tot.

                      Kogda zhe postarevshij piligrim
                      Ustalo kolesnicej pravit vniz,
                      Glaza, chto shli pochtitel'no za nim,
                      Uzh ot nego davno vse otreklis'.

                      I tak zhe na zakate ty rastaesh',
                      Kol' na zemle ty syna ne ostavish'.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Smotri: kogda vzdymaet na vostoke
                     Pylayushchuyu golovu voshod,
                     Ves' mir vziraet na nego v vostorge
                     I pochesti, kak bogu, vozdaet.

                     Kogda, vzojdya na goru golubuyu,
                     Svetilo polno zhizni molodoj,
                     Vse tak zhe dushu smertnuyu lyubuyu
                     Plenyaet etot putnik zolotoj.

                     Kogda zhe s vysoty, uzhe ne v sile,
                     Ono povozkoj shatkoj katit v noch',
                     Glaza, chto prezhde predanno sledili,
                     Gnushayutsya upadka, smotryat proch'.

                     I ty, sejchas vhodyashchij v poru poldnya,
                     Umresh' odin, otcovstva ne ispolnya.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




              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.'

         _Sam_ muzyka dlya sluha, pochemu ty pechalish'sya, slysha muzyku?
         Priyatnoe ne voyuet s priyatnym, udovol'stvie raduetsya
                                                   udovol'stviyu;
         pochemu zhe ty lyubish' to, chto prinimaesh' neohotno,
         ili zhe prinimaesh' s radost'yu to, chto tebe dosadno?
         Esli vernoe sozvuchie horosho nastroennyh _strun_ [zvukov],
         soedinennyh v [brachnye] soyuzy, oskorblyaet tvoj sluh,
         _tak eto potomu_, chto oni myagko uprekayut tebya, gubyashchego
         v bezbrachii [muzykal'nye] partii, kotorye ty dolzhen
                                                       ispolnit'.
         Smotri, kak struny, odna - lyubeznyj suprug drugoj,
         udaryayut, kazhdaya s kazhdoj vo vzaimnom poryadke,
         napominaya roditelya, rebenka i schastlivuyu mat',
         kotorye, vse kak odin, poyut odnu radostnuyu notu.
            Ih pesnya bez slov, v kotoroj neskol'ko _golosov_ kazhutsya
                                                       odnim _golosom_,
            poet tebe: "Ty odin okazhesh'sya nichem".

                     Ty - muzyka, no s muzykoj v razlade,
                     A radost' s radost'yu zhivet v ladu.
                     Tak pochemu ty rad svoej dosade
                     I lyubish' to, v chem chuvstvuesh' bedu?

                     Ved' eto zvuk, so zvukom obruchen,
                     Lish' potomu tvoj oskorblyaet sluh,
                     CHto kazhdyj mig napominaet on,
                     Kak v odinochestve bedneet duh.

                     Poslushaj, kak igroj netoroplivoj
                     Mnogogolos'e struny sozdayut.
                     Tak syn s otcom i mater'yu schastlivoj
                     V trojnom edinstve slazhenno poyut.

                     Oni bez slov dayut tebe uprek:
                     Nemnogo proku v tom, kto odinok.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Sam - muzyka dlya sluha, otchego zhe
                     Ty, muzyke vnimaya, vse grustnej?
                     Slast' lyubit slast', so schast'em schast'e shozhe,
                     A zdes' pechal' - i radost' ryadom s nej!
                     Naverno, v zvukah strojnogo poryadka
                     Dushe smushchennoj slyshitsya uprek,
                     Oni koryat nastojchivo i sladko:
                     Zachem ty sam dosele odinok?
                     Smotri - soglas'ya uzy, slovno sem'i,
                     Svyazuyut zvuki: kazhdaya struna
                     Poet dlya vseh, v soglasii so vsemi -
                     Kak muzh, ditya, schastlivaya zhena...

                     Skol' mnogo zvukov! No edina sut':
                     "Neprav izbravshij odinokij put'".

                     Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo




                Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
                That thou consum'st thyself 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_ iz boyazni li uvlazhnit' glaza vdovy
            ty rastrachivaesh' sebya v odinokoj zhizni?
            O! esli tebe sluchitsya umeret' bezdetnym,
            mir budet oplakivat' tebya, kak lishennaya pary {*} zhena.
            Mir budet tvoej vdovoj i _budet_ vechno skorbet',
            chto ty ne ostavil posle sebya nikakogo svoego obraza,
            togda kak lyubaya obyknovennaya vdova mozhet hranit',
            _vspominaya_ po glazam detej, oblik muzha v svoej dushe.
            Podumaj: to, chto mot tratit v etom mire,
            tol'ko perehodit s mesta na mesto, tak kak mir po-prezhnemu
                                                         obladaet etim,
            no rastrata krasoty - eto ee konec v mire,
            i, ne ispol'zuya {**} ee, vladelec ee unichtozhaet.
               Net lyubvi k drugim v grudi u togo,
               kto sovershaet nad samim soboj takoe ubijstvennoe
                                                           zlodeyanie.

     {*  Soglasno  kommentatoram,  v etom meste originala "makeless" sleduet
chitat' kak "mateless".
     **  Rech'  idet o vygodnom ispol'zovanii, prinosyashchem "procenty", to est'
rozhdenii detej.}

                     Ne slez li vdov'ih hochesh' izbezhat'
                     I odinoko put' prohodish' svoj?
                     No esli rod ne stanesh' prodolzhat',
                     Ves' mir tvoej okazhetsya vdovoj.

                     Vdova ne perestanet slezy lit':
                     Ved' ty nadezhdy ne ostavil ej
                     Supruga milyj obraz voskresit',
                     Poglubzhe zaglyanuv v glaza detej.

                     Promotano bogatstvo - ne beda,
                     Ono, smeniv vladel'ca, ucelelo.
                     No krasotu ty gubish' navsegda
                     I razrushaesh', ne puskaya v delo.

                     Ty ne lyubil, dolzhno byt', do sih por,
                     Raz terpish' svoj ubijstvennyj pozor.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Il' tak tebya sleza pugaet vdov'ya,
                     CHto odinochestva ty terpish' gnet?
                     No kol' umresh' ty, ne rodiv podob'ya,
                     Ves' mir tebya oplakivat' nachnet.

                     Dlya mira smert' tvoya tem budet huzhe,
                     CHto obraz tvoj ni v chem ne budet zhiv,
                     Kogda vdovice vspominat' o muzhe
                     Dano, sebya synami okruzhiv.

                     CHto v mire mot potratil - ne ischezlo,
                     Lish' pomenyalo mesto bez vreda,
                     No, krasotu rastrativ bespolezno,
                     Ub'esh' ee dlya mira navsegda.

                     Lyubvi v dushe tot ne imeet k lyudyam,
                     Kto vinovat v sem prestuplen'e lyutom.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




               For shame deny that thou bear-st love to any,
               Who for thyself 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 possess'd with murd'rous hate,
               That 'gainst thyself 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 thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
                  Make thee another self, for love of me,
                  That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

           Stydis'! Nepravda, chto u tebya est' lyubov' k komu-to -
           _u tebya_, kotoryj v otnoshenii sebya tak nerazumen.
           Mozhno soglasit'sya, esli ugodno, chto ty lyubim mnogimi,
           no, chto ty nikogo ne lyubish', sovershenno ochevidno;
           ibo ty tak oderzhim ubijstvennoj nenavist'yu,
           chto ne ostanavlivaesh'sya pered tem, chtoby stroit' kozni
                                                           samomu sebe,
           stremyas' razrushit' prekrasnyj krov,
           zabota o sohrannosti kotorogo dolzhna byt' tvoim glavnym
                                                               zhelaniem.
           O, peremeni svoi mysli, chtoby ya mog izmenit' svoe mnenie!
           _Neuzheli_ nenavist' dolzhna imet' luchshee zhilishche, chem
                                                       nezhnaya lyubov'?
           Bud', kak _samo_ tvoe prisutstvie, milostivym i dobrym
           ili k sebe po krajnej mere proyavi dobroserdechie:
              sotvori drugogo sebya radi menya,
              chtoby krasota mogla vechno zhit' v tvoih _detyah_ ili v tebe.

                    Pokajsya, chto sebya ne sudish' strogo,
                    Legko bezhish' ot schast'ya svoego.
                    Ty govorish', v tebya vlyublennyh mnogo,
                    No sam-to ty ne lyubish' nikogo.

                    K lyubvi svoej ubijstvenno surov,
                    Ty i ne dumaesh' surovost' skryt'
                    I razrushaesh' tot prekrasnyj krov,
                    Kotoryj ty by dolzhen ukrepit'.

                    Tak ubedi menya, chto eto lozh'.
                    Uzhel' vrazhda pochetnee lyubvi?
                    Bud' shchedr dushoj, kak ty soboj horosh,
                    Hotya by sam dlya schast'ya ozhivi.

                    Ty povtoris' v naslednike svoem,
                    Pust' krasota zhivet v tebe i v nem.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     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.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




              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 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.

           Po mere togo kak ty budesh' prihodit' v upadok, tak zhe
                                         bystro ty budesh' rascvetat'
           v odnom iz tvoih _detej_, iz togo, chto otdelish' ot tebya,
           i tu svezhuyu krov', kotoruyu ty, buduchi molodym, podarish',
           ty smozhesh' nazvat' svoej, kogda utratish' molodost'.
           V etom - mudrost', krasota i rost;
           bez etogo - bezrassudstvo, starost' i holodnoe uvyadanie.
           Esli by vse dumali tak, _kak ty_, vremena prekratilis' by
           i za tri dvadcatiletiya {*} mir ischez by.
           Pust' te, kogo Priroda sozdala ne dlya togo, chtoby sohranyat', -
           neotesannye, urodlivye, grubye, - pogibnut besplodnymi;
           no kogo ona nadelila luchshe vsego, _tem_ ona dala bol'she {**},
           i etot obil'nyj dar ty dolzhen zabotlivo priumnozhat'.
              Ona izvayala tebya kak svoyu pechat' i imela v vidu,
              chtoby ty proizvel bol'she ottiskov, a ne dal pogibnut'
                                                         etomu obrazcu.

     {* T.e. za chelovecheskij vek.
     **  V  originale - trudnoe dlya istolkovaniya mesto. Vozmozhnoe prochtenie:
"...vsem,  kogo  Priroda  nadelila  luchshe  vsego,  ona darit i bol'she shansov
ostavit'  potomstvo".  Po  drugoj versii, "the" v stroke 11 sleduet ponimat'
kak "thee"; v takom sluchae vsya stroka oznachaet: "kogo by i kak by priroda ni
odarila, tebe ona dala bol'she".}

                      My, uvyadaya, vmeste s tem rastem
                      V svoem potomke, v nashem daleke.
                      Krov' molodaya vozroditsya v nem
                      I vozmestit poteri v starike.

                      I v etom smysl, i zhizn', i krasota -
                      Inache vremya prekratit svoj beg,
                      I budut holod, mrak i pustota,
                      I navsegda ischeznet chelovek.

                      Dary prirody ne vsegda shchedry.
                      Kto grub i zol, puskaj pogibnet on.
                      I pust' umnozhit vse ee dary,
                      Kto byl v izbytke imi nadelen.

                      Izbrannik on - s nego priroda-mat'
                      Dlya kopij izgotovila pechat'.

                      Perevod V. Savina

                    Pojdet na ubyl' zhizn' tvoya, no v syne
                    Ona pribudet, stanet vse vidnej,
                    I krov' mladuyu, chto daruesh' nyne,
                    Ty nazovesh' svoej na sklone dnej.

                    I v etom - krasota, i rost, i razum;
                    Bez etogo - bezum'e, starost', krah.
                    Kogda b takoj primer vse vzyali razom,
                    Za kratkij vek ves' mir soshel by v prah.

                    Te, chto Prirodoj sdelany nebrezhno, -
                    Bezlikie, - pust' bez sleda umrut.
                    No k izbrannym shchedra ona bezbrezhno,
                    I dar sej umnozhat' - tvoj dolg i trud.

                    Priroda kak pechat' tebya vayala,
                    CHtob ottiskov ostavil ty nemalo.

                    Perevod A. SHarakshane




               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 schitayu udary chasov, soobshchayushchih vremya,
             i vizhu, kak prekrasnyj den' pogruzhaetsya v otvratitel'nuyu
                                                                  noch';
             kogda ya smotryu na otcvetayushchuyu fialku
             i na sobolinye kudri, splosh' poserebrennye sedinoj;
             kogda ya vizhu golymi, bez listvy, velichestvennye derev'ya,
             prezhde ukryvavshie ot zhary stado,
             i zelen' leta, vsyu uvyazannuyu v snopy,
             kotorye vezut na drogah, s beloj kolyuchej borodoj;
             togda ya zadayus' voprosom o tvoej krasote,
             _ponimaya_, chto ty dolzhen ischeznut' vmeste so _vsem_, chto
                                                     unichtozheno vremenem,
             poskol'ku _vse_ prelesti i krasoty prenebregayut soboj
             i umirayut, kak tol'ko vidyat, chto podrastayut drugie,
                i nichto ot serpa Vremeni ne mozhet zashchitit',
                krome potomstva, kotoroe brosit emu vyzov, kogda ono
                                                     zaberet tebya otsyuda.


                       Kogda ya slyshu boj chasov, kogda
                       YA vizhu den' v puti ko t'me unyloj;
                       Kogda fialka vyanet i seda
                       Iznanka chernyh lokonov u miloj;
                       Kogda ya nablyudayu listopad
                       I bezzashchitnost' kron; kogda osennij
                       Lyut veter i pernatye letyat
                       Na yug, - togda v polyah opustoshen'ya
                       O krasote ya dumayu tvoej.
                       Ona - zelenyj list, fialka, ptica.
                       Tak znaj: zhestoki sroki! No sumej
                       V sebya inogo perevoplotit'sya -
                          I vremya, vstretiv syna tvoego,
                          Ne sdelaet s toboyu nichego.

                       Perevod R. Vinonena

                      Kogda schitayu mernyj boj chasov
                      I vizhu den' v preddverii nochnom,
                      Fialki smert' v tishi gluhih lesov
                      I lokon, ubelennyj serebrom,

                      I golyh vetok chuvstvuyu oznob,
                      Davavshih ten' stadam v iyul'skij znoj,
                      Na pogrebal'nyh drogah vizhu snop
                      S torchashchej kverhu zhestkoj borodoj,

                      Togda ya zadayu sebe vopros,
                      CHto stanet dal'she s krasotoj tvoej:
                      Ved' hod veshchej stol' mnogoe unes,
                      Osvobozhdaya put' dlya novyh dnej.

                      Serp Vremeni tebya ne poshchadit,
                      No tvoj naslednik Vremya pobedit.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo


                       Kogda chasov udary ya schitayu,
                       Smotryu, kak tonut dni vo t'me nochej,
                       I vizhu, kak fialka uvyadaet,
                       Kak serebrom ukryta smol' kudrej;

                       Kogda derev'ya goly, kak stolby,
                       Hot' ukryvali stado v sil'nyj znoj,
                       I zelen' leta svyazana v snopy,
                       Svisaya s drog kolyuchej borodoj, -

                       Kak ne podumat' o tvoej krase,
                       Ved' chary s hodom vremeni projdut?
                       Krasoty mira otrekutsya vse,
                       Kogda drugie ih smenit' pridut.

                       I net zashchity ot serpa togo,
                       Za vychetom potomstva tvoego.

                       Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                       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 raz 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.

                       Perevod I. Fradkina


                      Kogda ya vsled chasam schitayu vremya
                      I vizhu mrak, chto pozhiraet svet,
                      I smolyanyh kudrej poserebren'e,
                      I rozu, chto, uvyav, ronyaet cvet,
                      Kogda zamechu, kak redeyut krony,
                      CHto stado v znoj skryvali pod shatrom,
                      I leto lyazhet na voz pohoronnyj
                      Belesym i shchetinistym snopom, -
                      YA usomnyus': pred Vremenem, naverno,
                      I krasota tvoya ne ustoit,
                      Ved' prelesti zemli sebya otvergnut,
                      Uvidev teh, kto ih smenit' speshit.
                         Da, Vremya vse pozhnet, zashchity net nam, -
                         No mnogo huzhe umeret' bezdetnym.

                      Perevod T. SHabaevoj

                       Kogda v chasah ya vremya nablyudayu
                       I vizhu nochi ten' na yasnom dne,
                       Fialku, chto, otcvetshi, obletaet,
                       I smolyanye kudri v sedine;

                       Glyazhu, kak roshcha dogola razdeta,
                       CHto ten' davala stadu v letnij znoj,
                       I kak vezut na drogah zelen' leta,
                       V snopah, s kolyuchej beloj borodoj, -

                       Togda ya znayu: dolzhen mir pokinut'
                       I ty kogda-to, Vremenem gonim,
                       Raz vsyudu prelest' i krasa pogibnut'
                       Gotovy, chtoby dat' rasti drugim.

                       Ot Vremeni s kosoyu net zashchity, -
                       V potomstve lish' spasenie ishchi ty.

                       Perevod A. SHarakshane




               O that you were your self! 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
               Your self 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.

           O, pust' by ty prinadlezhal sebe! {*} No, lyubov' moya, ty
           ne dol'she budesh' prinadlezhat' sebe, chem ty sam zhivesh'
                                                _na etom svete_ [zdes'].
           K neminuemomu koncu ty dolzhen gotovit'sya
           i svoj milyj obraz podarit' komu-to drugomu,
           chtoby krasota, kotoruyu ty poluchil v arendu,
           ne imela okonchaniya; togda ty stal by
           prinadlezhat' sebe snova posle svoej smerti,
           kogda tvoj milyj otprysk voplotit tvoj milyj oblik.
           Kto pozvolit takomu prekrasnomu domu prijti v upadok,
           kogda berezhnyj uhod mog by dostojno podderzhat' ego
           vopreki burnym vetram zimnego dnya
           i opustoshitel'nomu nastupleniyu vechnogo holoda smerti?
              O, nikto kak moty! Vozlyublennyj moj, pomni:
              u tebya byl otec; pust' tvoj syn skazhet to zhe.

     {* Drugoe vozmozhnoe tolkovanie: "pust' by ty ostavalsya soboj".}


                   O, bud' soboj! Vsegda bud' sam soboj,
                   No pomni, chto vsemu nastupit kraj,
                   I k sroku smerti milyj obraz svoj
                   Komu-nibud' drugomu peredaj.
                   Tebe dana krasa i blagodat'
                   V arendu, ne nadolgo. Esli ty
                   Pokinesh' nas, dolzhny my uvidat'
                   V tvoem potomke vse tvoi cherty.
                   Kto razreshit sgnoit' svoj milyj krov,
                   Besstrastnym budet i ne zashchitit
                   Ego ot v'yuzhnyh, yarostnyh vetrov
                   I holoda, gde smert' odna carit?
                      Lish' sumasbrod! No ty, moj milyj, vse zhe
                      Imel otca, pust' syn tvoj skazhet to zhe.

                   Perevod A. Kuznecova

                      Ty v etot mir yavilsya ne navechno,
                      Tebe nedolgo 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.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina




                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.

             Svoi suzhdeniya ya ne sobirayu so zvezd,
             i vse zhe, polagayu, ya vladeyu astronomiej,
             no ne tak, chtoby predskazyvat' udachu ili neudachu,
             chumu, golod ili to, kakimi budut vremena goda;
             takzhe ne umeyu ya delat' predskazanij na kratkie momenty
                                                            _vremeni_,
             kazhdomu ukazyvaya [ego] grad, dozhd' ili veter,
             ili govorit', horosho li pojdut dela u gosudarej,
             po znamen'yam {*}, kotorye ya nahozhu v nebe.
             No ya svoe znanie vyvozhu iz tvoih glaz,
             i v etih neizmennyh zvezdah ya chitayu tu premudrost',
             chto pravda {**} i krasota budut vmeste procvetat',
             esli ty _otvlechesh'sya_ ot sebya _i_ obratish'sya k sohraneniyu
                                                          _svoej krasoty_;
                inache vot chto ya tebe predskazyvayu:
                tvoj konec budet dlya pravdy i krasoty rokovym predelom.

     {*  "By  oft  predict"  - trudnaya dlya perevoda fraza, v kotoroj narechie
"oft"  (chasto) upotrebleno kak prilagatel'noe, a "predict" (predskazyvat') -
kak sushchestvitel'noe.
     **  Zdes'  i  vo  mnogih  sluchayah  dalee  slovo "truth" primenitel'no k
adresatu sonetov upotreblyaetsya v shirokom smysle polozhitel'nogo nravstvennogo
nachala  i  mozhet  interepretirovat'sya  ne  tol'ko kak "pravda", "istina", no
takzhe kak "sovershenstvo", "dobrodetel'", "postoyanstvo", "vernost'".}


                     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.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina

                     Hot' ya ne doveryayus' zvezdam dal'nim,
                     Znakoma astronomiya i mne,
                     No ne takaya, chtob reshat' gadan'em,
                     Kogda byt' moru, gladu i vojne.

                     YA ne dayu na kazhdyj chas prognozy,
                     Grom il' groza gryadet - ne znayu sam;
                     Gde zhdut carej udachi i ugrozy,
                     Ne v silah predskazat' po nebesam.

                     Zato glaza tvoi mne znan'e dali,
                     Po etim zvezdam ya mogu predrech':
                     CHtob krasota i pravda procvetali,
                     Ne dolzhen vtune ty sebya berech',

                     Il' stanut pravde s krasotoyu nezhnoj
                     Tvoi glaza mogiloj neizbezhnoj.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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 checked even by the selfsame 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 ingraft you new.

             Kogda ya dumayu o _tom, chto_ vse, chto proizrastaet,
             ostaetsya sovershennym tol'ko kratkij mig;
             chto eta ogromnaya scena predstavlyaet ne chto inoe, kak spektakli,
             kotorye, tajno vliyaya, tolkuyut zvezdy;
             kogda ya postigayu, chto rost lyudej, kak rastenij,
             pooshchryaet i ostanavlivaet to zhe samoe nebo:
             _vse oni_ tshcheslavny v svoem molodom soku, v vysshej tochke
                                                    nachinaetsya ih upadok,
             i _zatem_ ih rascvet izglazhivaetsya iz pamyati;
             togda mysl' ob etom nepostoyannom prebyvanii _v mire_
             delaet tebya samym bogatym molodost'yu v moih glazah,
             _kotorye vidyat, kak_ razrushitel'noe Vremya sporit
                                                         s Uvyadaniem,
             _stremyas'_ prevratit' den' tvoej molodosti v mrachnuyu noch',
                i v reshitel'noj vojne s Vremenem, radi lyubvi k tebe,
                to, chto ono budet otbirat' u tebya, ya budu privivat' tebe
                                                                  snova.

                     Kogda ya soznayu: vse, chto rastet,
                     Uderzhit sovershenstvo lish' na mig,
                     CHto mir - bol'shaya scena, gde idet
                     Spektakl' po ukazan'yam zvezd nemyh,

                     CHto lyudi, rasplodivshis', kak rasten'ya,
                     ZHivut po manoven'yu teh zhe zvezd,
                     Kichatsya sokom yunogo cveten'ya,
                     K zabveniyu klonya poldnevnyj rost,

                     To ya tebya okidyvayu vzglyadom,
                     Sil'nej divyas' bogatstvu tvoemu,
                     Togda kak Vremya ob ruku s Raspadom
                     Vedut tvoj yunyj den' v gluhuyu t'mu.

                     Unosit Vremya molodost' tvoyu,
                     No, kak rostok, ya vnov' tebya priv'yu.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Vse, chto roslo, to pribavlyalo v roste,
                     Na mig odin vo ves' vstavaya rost,
                     No bylo pusto na bol'shom pomoste,
                     Gde shli tajkom peregovory zvezd.
                     Proizrastali lyudi, kak rasten'ya,
                     I hvastali o podvigah svoih
                     V zabvenii, na glubine paden'ya,
                     A zvezdy vse nahvalivali ih.
                     I, glyadya na shatanie pomostov,
                     YA vizhu, kak ty molod i bogat
                     Tam, gde zhivuyu plot' na golyj ostov
                     Razmenivayut Vremya i Raspad.
                        Tebe ya pomogu. Rasti upornej
                        Tam, gde tebe pererubayut korni!

                     Perevod V. Orla




                  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.

         No pochemu ty bolee sil'nym sposobom
         ne povedesh' vojnu protiv etogo krovavogo tirana, Vremeni,
         i ne ukrepish' sebya protiv uvyadaniya
         sredstvami bolee blagoslovennymi, chem moi besplodnye stihi?
         Sejchas ty na vershine schastlivyh chasov,
         i mnogo devstvennyh sadov, eshche ne zasazhennyh,
         s blagochestivoj ohotoj vospriyali by tvoi zhivye cvety,
         gorazdo bolee pohozhie _na tebya_, chem tvoe risovannoe podobie.
         Tak _i_ dolzhny linii zhizni {*} _obnovlyat'_ tvoyu zhizn',
         _ved'_ ni kist' etogo vremeni {**}, ni moe uchenicheskoe pero,
         _ne sposobnye peredat'_ ni tvoego vnutrennego dostoinstva, ni
         vneshnej krasoty,
         ne mogut sdelat' tak, chtoby ty sam zhil v glazah lyudej.
            Otdavaya sebya, ty sohranish' sebya,
            i _tak_ ty dolzhen zhit', zapechatlennyj sobstvennym
                                                 milym masterstvom.

     {*  Trudnoe  dlya  ponimaniya  mesto,  dopuskayushchee  razlichnye tolkovaniya.
Vozmozhno,  imeyutsya  v vidu cherty detej, povtoryayushchie i "obnovlyayushchie" (repair)
krasotu otca.
     ** Vozmozhno, zdes' imeetsya v vidu sovremennyj SHekspiru stil' portretnoj
zhivopisi.}

                       Tak pochemu zhe, esli tochit nozh
                       Krovavyj despot Vremya, vrag zhivyh,
                       Ty luchshej oborony ne najdesh',
                       CHem etot bednyj bezoruzhnyj stih?

                       Naprasno sad v nevinnosti prirodnoj
                       ZHdet zavyazi tvoih cvetushchih let,
                       CHtoby rodilsya plod, s toboyu shodnyj
                       Kak ni odin risovannyj portret.

                       Ne sohranit ni Vremeni pero,
                       Ni etot neumelyj karandash
                       Tvoj yunyj oblik, pravdu i dobro,
                       I ty sebya vekam ne peredash'.

                       Umnozh' bogatstvo shchedrost'yu svoej
                       I v syne sam sebya zapechatlej.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     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.
                        Tak vossozdaj svoj obraz nakonec:
                        YAvi iskusstva svoego venec.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




               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 poverit moim stiham v gryadushchie vremena,
           esli oni budut napolneny tvoimi vysshimi dostoinstvami,
           hotya, vidit nebo, oni vsego lish' grobnica,
           kotoraya skryvaet tvoyu zhizn' i ne pokazyvaet i poloviny
                                                      tvoih kachestv?
           Esli by ya mog opisat' krasotu tvoih glaz
           i v novyh stihah perechislit' vse tvoi prelesti,
           gryadushchij vek skazal by: "|tot poet lzhet:
           takimi nebesnymi chertami nikogda ne byvali ochercheny
                                                     zemnye lica".
           Poetomu moi rukopisi, pozheltevshie ot vremeni,
           byli by preziraemy, kak stariki, menee pravdivye,
                                                       chem boltlivye,
           i to, chto tebe prichitaetsya po pravu, nazvali by
                                   _neobuzdannym_ voobrazheniem poeta
           ili pyshnym slogom antichnoj pesni;
              odnako, bud' v to vremya zhiv tvoj rebenok,
              ty zhil by vdvojne: v nem i v etih stihah.

                    Spustya goda, poveryat li v moj stih,
                    Kotoryj polon prelesti tvoej? -
                    Hranilishche krasy, zaslug tvoih
                    Ne luchshee, chem sklep il' mavzolej.
                    Pust' opisal ya glaz chudesnyh svet,
                    CHto v dobrote i svezhesti voznik,
                    V inoe vremya skazhut: "Lgal poet,
                    Pridav licu zemnomu bozhij lik".
                    Mne kazhetsya, chto pozheltelyj list
                    Vosprimut, slovno lepet starikov,
                    Hot' skazhut, chto v pylu poet rechist
                    I soblyudal razmery drevnih strof.
                       No dozhivi tvoj syn do etih dnej,
                       Ty b dvazhdy zhil - v nem i strofe moej.

                    Perevod A. Kuznecova

                   Ne primut li moj stih za nebylicu,
                   Pust' ya tebya v nem verno opisal?
                   Hot' vidit nebo, on - skorej grobnica
                   I men'she poloviny pokazal.

                   Kol' perechislyu mnogo divnyh chert,
                   Glaz krasotu userdno vospevaya,
                   Gryadushchee promolvit: "Lzhet poet -
                   Nebesnyh lic u smertnyh ne byvaet".

                   I budut pozheltevshie listy,
                   Kak staryj vral', vseh boltunov prezrennej,
                   Igroyu vdohnoven'ya stanesh' ty,
                   Na vydumku bogatoj pesnej drevnej.

                   No esli by ostavil ty potomka,
                   Ty zhil by dvazhdy: v nem i etih strokah.

                   Perevod V. Nikolaeva




               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.

           Sravnit' li mne tebya s letnim dnem?
           Ty krasivee i myagche [bolee umeren]:
           prelestnye majskie butony sotryasayutsya burnymi vetrami,
           a [arendnyj] srok leta slishkom kratok;
           poroj slishkom goryacho siyaet nebesnyj glaz,
           a chasto ego zolotoj cvet zatumanen,
           i vse prekrasnoe poroj perestaet byt' prekrasnym,
           lishaetsya svoej otdelki v silu sluchaya ili izmenchivosti
                                                           prirody;
           no tvoe vechnoe leto ne potuskneet
           i ne utratit vladeniya krasotoj, kotoraya tebe prinadlezhit {*},
           i Smert' ne budet hvastat', chto ty bluzhdaesh' v ee teni,
           kogda v vechnyh strokah ty budesh' rasti s vremenem.
              Poka lyudi dyshat i glaza vidyat,
              do teh por budet zhit' eto _moe proizvedenie_, i ono budet
                                                       davat' zhizn' tebe.

     {*  V  originale - "thou ow'st"; po mneniyu issledovatelej, glagol "owe"
zdes' sleduet chitat' kak "own" (vladet', obladat').}

                    Tebya sravnyu li s letnim dnem? Edva li.
                    Ty myagche i milee. Poglyadi:
                    Vot v mae vetry lepestki sorvali,
                    A vot mayachit osen' vperedi.
                    Vot solnechnyj v lazuri glaz sverkaet,
                    Vdrug tuchi zakryvayut nebesa...
                    Takov zakon prirody: rascvetaet
                    I uvyadaet vsyakaya krasa.
                    No o svoem ty ne trevozh'sya lete.
                    Smert' ne vostorzhestvuet nad toboj:
                    Nachertannye mnoyu stroki eti
                    Navek zapechatleyut obraz tvoj.
                       ZHivi zhe v kazhdom novom pokolen'e,
                       Pokuda sluh est' u lyudej i zren'e.

                    Perevod V. Vasil'eva

                       Mogu l' tebya ya upodobit' letu?
                       Ty krashe, i krasa tvoya rovnej.
                       Ved' ugrozhayut buri pervocvetu,
                       I kratok srok zakonnyj letnih dnej.

                       Siyayushchee oko v nebosvode
                       To slishkom zhguche, to omracheno.
                       Vse luchshee v izmenchivoj prirode
                       Nesovershennym byt' obrecheno.

                       No net predela tvoemu cveten'yu,
                       Ty ne utratish' dara krasoty
                       I pogloshchen ne budesh' Smerti ten'yu,
                       Kol' v strochkah vechnyh voplotish'sya ty.

                       Pokuda v lyudyah est' dusha i zren'e,
                       Ty zhiv prebudesh' - kak moe tvoren'e.

                       Perevod A. SHarakshane



               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.

            Vsepozhirayushchee Vremya! Zatupi _kogti_ [lapy] l'va
            i zastav' zemlyu poglotit' ee sobstvennyj dragocennyj
                                                          priplod;
            vyrvi ostrye zuby iz pasti svirepogo tigra
            i sozhgi dolgovechnuyu feniks v ee krovi;
            pronosyas', tvori radostnye i mrachnye vremena goda;
            delaj, chto pozhelaesh', bystronogoe Vremya,
            so vsem etim mirom i ego bleknushchimi prelestyami.
            No ya zapreshchayu tebe odno, samoe uzhasnoe, prestuplenie:
            svoimi chasami ne izrezh' prekrasnoe chelo moego vozlyublennogo,
            ne nacherti na nem linij svoim drevnim perom.
            Ego, v svoem bege, ostav' nevredimym
            kak obrazec krasoty dlya budushchih lyudej.
               Vprochem, delaj samoe hudshee, drevnee Vremya: nesmotrya
                                                         na tvoj vred,
               moj vozlyublennyj v moih stihah budet vechno zhit'
                                                           molodym.

                    O Vremya, zatupi zhe lapy l'vov;
                    Puskaj zemlya s®est sobstvennyj priplod,
                    I tigr lishitsya rezhushchih klykov,
                    I Feniks pust' v krovi sebya sozhzhet.

                    Za urozhaem zasuhu vedi
                    I delaj vse, chto hochesh', probegaya,
                    S ogromnym mirom ty, no greh odin,
                    Odin lish' greh tebe ya zapreshchayu.

                    Ty ne risuj u druga na chele
                    SHtrihov svoim istochennym perom.
                    Pust' yunym on prebudet na zemle
                    I krasoty predstanet obrazcom.

                    A esli ty ne slyshish' slov moih,
                    To yunym sohranit ego moj stih.

                    Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                       O, Vremya alchnoe! Vse sokrushi:
                       Veli zemle pozhrat', chto rodila,
                       L'vu kogti zatupi, zubov lishi
                       I feniks vechnuyu sozhgi dotla.

                       Za letom zimu skoruyu prishli.
                       CHto hochesh' s mirom delaj, razori
                       Vse ukrashen'ya bleklye zemli,
                       Lish' hudshego iz zol ne sotvori:

                       Na lbu lyubimom za chertoj chertu
                       Pust' ne provodit drevnij tvoj rezec,
                       CHtob nevredimoj druga krasotu
                       Ostavit' dlya lyudej kak obrazec.

                       A vprochem, koznyam vopreki tvoim
                       V stihah moih on budet molodym.

                       Perevod A. SHarakshane




               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.

          Licom zhenshchiny, napisannym rukoj samoj Prirody,
          obladaesh' ty, gospodin-gospozha moej strasti;
          nezhnym serdcem zhenshchiny, odnako neznakomym
          s nepostoyanstvom, kotoroe v obychae u obmanshchic - zhenshchin;
          glazami bolee yarkimi, chem u nih, no bez ih obmannoj igry,
          krasyashchimi [zolotyashchimi] lyuboj predmet, na kotoryj oni glyadyat;
          muzhskoj stat'yu, kotoraya vse stati prevoshodit {*},
          pohishchaet vzory muzhchin i porazhaet dushi zhenshchin.
          Sperva ty sozdavalsya, chtoby stat' zhenshchinoj,
          no zatem Priroda, tvorya tebya, vospylala k tebe lyubov'yu
          i, _zanyavshis'_ dobavleniem, otnyala tebya u menya -
          dobaviv nechto mne vovse ne nuzhnoe;
             no poskol'ku ona prednaznachila {**} tebya dlya udovol'stviya
                                                                zhenshchin,
             pust' budet moej tvoya lyubov', a ispol'zovanie {***} tvoej
                                                  lyubvi - ih sokrovishchem.

     {*   Spornoe   mesto.   Sushchestvitel'noe  "hue",  krome  preobladayushchej v
sovremennom  anglijskom  yazyke  gruppy znachenij "cvet", "ottenok", "ton", vo
vremena   SHekspira   moglo   ispol'zovat'sya   takzhe   v  znacheniyah  "forma",
"blagorodnaya  osanka",  "graciya".  Glagol  "control" (v forme "controlling")
mozhet vyrazhat' ideyu prevoshodstva, dominirovaniya, no mozhet byt' istolkovan v
smysle  vklyucheniya  chastej  celym;  v  poslednem sluchae vozmozhen perevod: "ty
nadelen  muzhskoj  stat'yu,  v  kotoroj voploshcheny vse luchshie muzhskie i zhenskie
cherty".
     **  V  podlinnike  ispol'zovana  glagol'naya  konstrukciya  "prick out" v
znachenii "vybrat'", "otmetit'", s igroj na slove "prick", kotoroe s XVI v. i
po nastoyashchee vremya ispol'zuetsya kak prostorechnoe nazvanie muzhskogo organa.
     ***  Zdes'  "thy  love's  use" (ispol'zovanie tvoej lyubvi) mozhno ponyat'
kak fizicheskuyu lyubov' v otlichie ot duhovnoj, na kotoruyu pretenduet poet, ili
kak potomstvo - rezul'tat "ispol'zovaniya" lyubvi s "pribyl'yu".}

                     Tvoj lik, moj gospodin i gospozha,
                     Pisala kak dlya zhenshchiny Priroda,
                     No, kak u zhenshchin, myagkaya dusha
                     Ot vechnoj ih kapriznosti svobodna.

                     Tvoi glaza pravdivej i yasnee
                     I zolotyat vse to, na chto glyadyat.
                     Nachalami oboimi vladeya,
                     I zhenskij, i muzhskoj ty manish' vzglyad.

                     I zhenshchinoj ty sozdan byl snachala,
                     No ne mogla Priroda ne vlyubit'sya
                     I u menya tu zhenshchinu ukrala,
                     Dobaviv to, chto mne ne prigoditsya,

                     CHtob mog ty zhenshchin odaryat' blazhenstvom
                     I odaryal menya lyubov'yu zhenskoj.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Licom prekrasnoj zhenshchine podoben,
                     Ty car'-carica dum i chuvstv moih,
                     A serdcem dev nezhnej, no ne sposoben
                     K izmene, chto v obychae u nih.

                     Glaza, chej svet kak budto darit zlatom,
                     Igry fal'shivoj zhenskoj lisheny,
                     A stan muzhskoj vseh ochertanij ladom
                     Plenyaet vzor i muzha, i zheny.

                     Tebya Priroda zhenshchinoj lepila;
                     Zatem, sama zhe strast'yu vospylav,
                     Nenuzhnym dobavlen'em nadelila
                     I tem menya lishila vsyakih prav.

                     I koli tak, bud' zhenshchinam usladoj,
                     A mne lyubov' svoyu ostav' nagradoj.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                So is it not with me as with that Muse,
                Stirred 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 fixed in heaven's air:
                   Let them say more that like of hearsay well,
                   I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

              YA ne pohozh na _teh poetov, ch'yu_ Muzu
              vdohnovlyaet na stihi raskrashennaya krasota,
              kotorye samo nebo ispol'zuyut dlya ukrasheniya
              i vse prekrasnoe perechislyayut _v svyazi_ so svoimi
                                                     vozlyublennymi,
              tvorya sochetaniya gordyh sravnenij
              s solncem i lunoj, s perlami zemli i morya,
              s pervocvetom aprelya i vsem tem redkostnym, -
              chto zaklyucheno v etom ogromnom nebesnom kupole.
              O, pozvol'te mne, istinno lyubyashchemu, i pisat' istinno;
              a potom, pover'te, predmet moej lyubvi krasotoj ne ustupit
              lyubomu, kto rozhden mater'yu, hotya i ne tak blestyashch,
              kak te zolotye svechi, chto ustanovleny v nebe.
              Pust' bol'she govoryat te, kto lyubit molvu,
              ya zhe ne budu rashvalivat' to, chem ne nameren torgovat'.

                     So mnoj sovsem ne tak, kak s Muzoj toj,
                     Kotoraya v izyskannyh tvoren'yah,
                     Risovannoj prel'stivshis' krasotoj,
                     Sam nebosvod beret dlya ukrashen'ya;

                     CHto nizhet pary gordye sravnenij,
                     Gde solnce, i luna, i zhemchug morya,
                     Bogatstva nedr, i pervocvet vesennij,
                     Krase lyuboj svoej krasoyu vtorya.

                     Pozvol'te mne lyubit', no i ne lgat':
                     Krasiv, kak deti materej zemnyh,
                     Moj drug, no ne sposoben zasverkat',
                     Kak v nebe sotni svechek zolotyh.

                     I ya hvalit' ne sobirayus' vam
                     Togo, kogo voveki ne prodam.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Ne tak sluzhu ya Muze, kak poety,
                     CHto, krasotoj mishurnoj vdohnovyas',
                     Ej sami nebesa vpletut v kuplety,
                     So vsem prekrasnym ej pripishut svyaz'

                     I narekut, v sravnen'i gordelivom,
                     Lunoj i solncem, perlom nedr i vod,
                     Aprel'skim cvetom - vsyakim redkim divom,
                     CHto zaklyuchaet etot nebosvod.

                     A mne v stihah, kak i v lyubvi, dorozhe
                     Pravdivost'. I pover'te: moj predmet
                     Prekrasen tak, kak chelovek byt' mozhet,
                     Hot' i ne yarche solnca i komet.

                     Drugie pust' shumyat, a ya ne slavlyu
                     Togo, chto na prodazhu ya ne stavlyu.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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 gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

              Moe zerkalo ne ubedit menya, chto ya star,
              poka yunost' i ty - odnogo vozrasta,
              no kogda ya uvizhu u tebya borozdy vremeni,
              togda, nadeyus', smert' polozhit konec moim dnyam,
              tak kak vsya ta krasota, kotoraya tebya oblachaet,
              est' ne chto inoe, kak prekrasnoe odeyanie moego serdca,
              zhivushchego v tvoej grudi, kak tvoe v moej;
              tak kak zhe ya mogu byt' starshe tebya?
              Poetomu, lyubov' moya, beregi sebya,
              kak i ya budu _berech' sebya_ - ne radi sebya, a radi tebya,
              nosya v _sebe_ tvoe serdce, kotoroe ya budu oberegat',
              kak zabotlivaya nyan'ka - ditya, ot vsyakogo zla.
                 Ne rasschityvaj poluchit' svoe serdce, esli moe budet
                                                                ubito:
                 ty dal ego mne ne dlya togo, chtoby ya ego vozvrashchal.

                      CHto star ya, ne dokazhut zerkala,
                      Poka vesna - rovesnica tvoya.
                      No esli Vremya milogo chela
                      Kosnetsya, smert' svoyu uvizhu ya.

                      Ved' blesk tvoej chudesnoj krasoty -
                      Lish' vidimyj pokrov moej dushi.
                      I kak mogu ya starshe byt', chem ty,
                      Kol' dvum serdcam dano drug v druge zhit'?

                      Poetomu bud' berezhnym s soboyu,
                      Tak kak i ya s toboj, moya dusha.
                      I serdce ya tvoe ot zla ukroyu,
                      Kak zhenshchina, chto nyanchit malysha.

                      A kol' moe pogibnet bezvozvratno,
                      Svoe uzhe ty ne voz'mesh' obratno.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                    CHto star ya, ne dokazhet mne zercalo,
                    Pokuda s yunost'yu ty let odnih,
                    No, uvidav, chto vremya nachertalo
                    Tebe morshchiny, smert' najdu ya v nih.

                    Vladeyu serdcem ya tvoim po pravu,
                    Ved' i moe zhivet v tvoej grudi,
                    Prisvoiv krasoty tvoej opravu;
                    Tak kak zhe mne byt' starym, posudi?

                    Poetomu, lyubov' moya, proshu ya:
                    Ty beregi sebya; ya zh dal obet
                    Sebya berech', chtob serdce, chto noshu ya,
                    Kak nyan'ka dobraya, hranit' ot bed.

                    Kol' budet serdce, chto v tebe, ubito,
                    Tvoe ostanetsya vo mne sokryto.

                    Perevod A. SHarakshane




              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 expressed.
                 O learn to read what silent love hath writ:
                 To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

            Kak plohoj akter na scene,
            ot straha vybivayushchijsya iz roli,
            ili nekoe svirepoe sushchestvo, perepolnennoe yarost'yu,
            u kotorogo ot izbytka moshchi slabeet sobstvennoe serdce;
            tak ya, robeyushchij ot otvetstvennosti, zabyvayu proiznesti
            sovershennye formuly lyubovnogo rituala,
            i kazhetsya, chto lyubov' vo mne oslabevaet,
            podavlennaya bremenem sobstvennoj moshchi.
            O pust' moi knigi {*} zamenyat mne krasnorechie
            i stanut nemymi predvestnikami moego govoryashchego serdca
                                                              [grudi],
            molyashchimi o lyubvi i vzyskuyushchimi nagrady
            bolee, chem yazyk, kotoryj bol'she vyskazal {**}.
               O, nauchis' chitat' to, chto napisala molchalivaya lyubov':
               umenie slyshat' glazami - chast' tonkogo uma lyubvi.

     {*  Nekotorye  issledovateli  schitayut, chto "books" (knigi) v stroke 9 -
eto opechatka i sleduet chitat' "looks" (vzglyady, vyrazhenie lica).
     **  Vozmozhno,  zdes'  soderzhitsya  namek  na drugogo poeta, posvyashchavshego
stihi   tomu   zhe   adresatu.  Tema  takogo  "poeta-sopernika"  neodnokratno
poyavlyaetsya v bolee pozdnih sonetah k Drugu.}

                     Kak budto neumelyj licedej,
                     CHto ot ispuga roli nit' teryaet,
                     Kak zver', chto, v gneve raspalyas' sil'nej,
                     Izbytkom sily serdce oslablyaet,

                     Tak ya, boyas' sfal'shivit', pozabyl
                     Lyubovnoj ceremonii obryad,
                     I strast' v moej grudi lishilas' sil,
                     Poskol'ku strast'yu slishkom ya bogat.

                     Puskaj zhe o lyubvi mol'bu zavodit
                     Bezglasnoe posrednichestvo knig,
                     Slova krasnorechivye nahodit
                     Sil'nej, chem sdelal bojkij tot yazyk.

                     Prochti slova bezmolvnye moi.
                     Ochami slushat' - vysshij dar lyubvi.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Kak inogda plohoj akter ot straha
                     Ne mozhet roli vymolvit' slova,
                     A gnevnaya natura ot razmaha
                     Strastej svoih stanovitsya slaba,

                     Tak mne ot chuvstv nevmogotu byvaet
                     Rechej lyubovnyh soblyudat' ustav;
                     I kazhetsya togda, chto ubyvaet
                     Lyubov', ot sily sobstvennoj ustav.

                     Tak pust' zhe vyrazit tetrad' nemaya
                     Vse to, chto govorit v moej grudi, -
                     Pust' molit o lyubvi; i, ej vnimaya,
                     Menya ty bol'she vseh voznagradi.

                     Umej ponyat', chto skazano bez zvuka.
                     Glazami slyshat' - vot lyubvi nauka.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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, wherethrough 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.

               Moi glaza, upodobyas' hudozhniku, zapechatleli
               oblik tvoej krasoty na skrizhali moego serdca;
               moe telo sluzhit ej ramoj,
               a perspektiva - iskusstvo luchshih hudozhnikov,
               tak kak cherez hudozhnika nuzhno videt' ego masterstvo {*},
               chtoby najti, gde pomeshchen tvoj istinnyj obraz,
               vsegda visyashchij v masterskoj moej grudi,
               okna kotoroj zastekleny tvoimi glazami {**}.
               Posmotri, kakie dobrye uslugi okazyvayut glaza glazam:
               moi glaza izobrazili tvoj oblik, a tvoi dlya menya -
               okna moej grudi, cherez kotorye solnce
               lyubit zaglyadyvat', chtoby vnutri videt' tebya.
                  Odnako iskusstvu glaz ne hvataet [takoj] mudrosti:
                  oni risuyut tol'ko to, chto vidyat, ne znaya serdca.

     {*  Trudnoe dlya istolkovaniya mesto. Vozmozhno, imeetsya v vidu, chto glaz,
kak  ob®ektiv  kamery-obskury,  sozdaet  obraz  vozlyublennogo v dushe [grudi]
poeta, v sootvetstvii s zakonami perspektivy.
     **  Potomu  chto, kak skazano v sonete 22, "moe serdce nahoditsya v tvoej
grudi".}

                    Risuet glaz na serdce obraz tvoj,
                    A telo sluzhit ramoj: slovno divo,
                    Portret v moej grudi, kak v masterskoj -
                    Iskusstvo vozvyshaet perspektiva.
                    Vdvoem s toboj my sozdaem portret:
                    Moi glaza tebya narisovali,
                    A skvoz' tvoi - kak v okna, l'etsya svet,
                    I holst visit v grudi, kak v svetlom zale.
                    V soglasii dve pary glaz zhivut,
                    Risuya i risunok osveshchaya.
                    Svet rvetsya v grud'! O, kak ego tam zhdut -
                    Portret sverkaet, solnce voshishchaya.
                       No vzor moj v serdce dostupa lishen -
                       Lish' to risuet glaz, chto vidit on.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina

                     Moi glaza hudozhnikami stali:
                     Holstom moe vzyav serdce, ramoj - grud',
                     Oni portret tvoej krasy sozdali,
                     Gde perspektiva - zhivopisi sut'.

                     Razdvinuv ploti tesnye granicy,
                     Tvoj obraz vernyj dast uzret' ona.
                     On v masterskoj dushi moej hranitsya,
                     CHto svetom glaz tvoih osveshchena.

                     Tak trudyatsya glaza glaz milyh radi:
                     Moi glaza risuyut oblik tvoj,
                     Tvoi zhe - okna; solnce, vnutr' glyadya,
                     V moej dushe lyubuetsya toboj.

                     No zhivopiscy eti neveliki,
                     Ne znaya serdca, pishut tol'ko liki.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane



                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 rased 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.

         Pust' te, k komu blagosklonny ih zvezdy,
         hvastayut pochestyami i gordymi titulami,
         togda kak ya, komu fortuna zakryla put' k takomu torzhestvu,
         bezvestnyj, nahozhu radost' v tom, chto pochitayu bol'she vsego.
         Lyubimcy velikih gosudarej raspuskayut svoi prekrasnye
                                                         lepestki,
         sovsem kak nogotki pod vzglyadom solnca,
         i v nih zhe sokryta ih gordynya,
         tak kak ot _pervogo_ hmurogo vzglyada ih slava umiraet.
         Utomlennyj _ratnymi trudami_ voin, proslavlennyj v bitvah,
         posle tysyachi pobed odnazhdy poterpevshij neudachu,
         vycherkivaetsya sovsem iz knigi chesti,
         i zabyvaetsya vse ostal'noe, radi chego on trudilsya.
            No schastliv ya, lyubyashchij i lyubimyj;
            ot etogo ya ne mogu otkazat'sya, i menya nel'zya etogo lishit'.

                   Pust' te, k komu svetila blagosklonny,
                   Voznosyat chest' svoyu i titul slavnyj.
                   A ya, Fortunoj etim obdelennyj,
                   Obradovan nezrimo chest'yu glavnoj.

                   Puskaj vremenshchiki vladyk velikih
                   Cvetut, kak nogotki pod vzorom solnca.
                   Nahmuryatsya, pomerknut solnca bliki,
                   I vsej ih slave umirat' pridetsya.

                   Ustavshij voin, polkovodec nekij,
                   Razbityj posle tysyachi pobed,
                   Iz knigi chesti vycherknut naveki,
                   I pro nego uzhe ne pomnit svet.

                   YA schastliv byt' lyubimym i lyubit',
                   Ved' eto nevozmozhno izmenit'.

                   Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                    Pust' tot, komu blagovolyat svetila,
                    Vysokim titulam i slave rad,
                    A ya, kogo fortuna obdelila,
                    Imeyu to, chto vyshe vseh nagrad.

                    Lyubimec gosudarya rascvetaet
                    Narcissom gordym v solnechnyh luchah,
                    No nad ego rascvetom smert' vitaet:
                    Sokrylos' solnce, i cvetok zachah.

                    I esli voin, sto pobed dobyvshij,
                    Okazhetsya odnazhdy pobezhden,
                    Ves' ratnyj trud ego zabudut byvshij,
                    Besslav'em budet on voznagrazhden.

                    A ya - schastlivec lyubyashchij, lyubimyj,
                    I eto titul moj neotdelimyj.

                    Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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 tottered 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.

         Vlastelin [lord] {*} moej lyubvi, k kotoromu dolgom vassala
         menya krepko privyazali tvoi dostoinstva,
         k tebe ya shlyu eto pis'mennoe posol'stvo,
         chtoby zasvidetel'stvovat' svoj dolg _uvazheniya_, a ne vykazat'
                                                           ostrotu uma, -
         dolg stol' velikij, chto _v sravnenii_ um, takoj bednyj, kak moj,
         mozhet pokazat'sya golym, ne imeya slov dlya ego vyrazheniya,
         no ya nadeyus', chto kakoj-nibud' dobroj mysl'yu
         v glubine svoej dushi ty prikroesh' ego nagotu
         do toj pory, kogda ta zvezda, chto napravlyaet moj put',
         posmotrit na menya milostivo, v blagopriyatnom raspolozhenii,
         i odenet moyu istrepavshuyusya lyubov' v _krasivye_ odezhdy,
         chtoby pokazat' menya dostojnym tvoego dragocennogo uvazheniya.
            Togda, vozmozhno, ya osmelyus' hvalit'sya, kak ya tebya lyublyu,
            a do togo ne yavlyus' k tebe na ispytanie.

     {*  Vozmozhno, zdes' imeet mesto igra smyslov i slovo "lord" upotrebleno
kak  v  shirokom smysle "vlastelin", tak i v uzkom smysle titula, - esli, kak
schitaet    bol'shinstvo   issledovatelej,   adresat   sonetov   byl   molodym
aristokratom.}

                    O lord moej lyubvi! Kak tvoj vassal,
                    Kotorogo svyazali dolga uzy,
                    K tebe goncami stroki ya poslal,
                    CHtob pokazat' svoj dolg - ne yarkost' Muzy.

                    Dolg tak velik, chto um neschastnyj moj
                    Ne syshchet slov, chtob vyrazit' ego,
                    No veryu ya, chto budet stih nagoj
                    Odet igroyu chuvstva tvoego, -

                    Poka zvezda kakaya-to menya
                    K izyskannoj krase ne privedet,
                    Lyubvi lohmot'ya na kamzol smenya,
                    CHtob byl dostoin ya tvoih shchedrot.

                    Togda i pohvalyus' moej lyubov'yu,
                    A do teh por lico skryvayu vnov' ya.

                    Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                      Lyubvi moej vladetel'nyj milord,
                      CH'im sovershenstvam ya obyazan dan'yu!
                      Svoim sluzhen'em, a ne slogom, gord,
                      YA pribegayu k etomu poslan'yu.

                      Tak veliko sluzhen'e, chto moj slog
                      Pokazhetsya nagim i bespoleznym.
                      YA upovayu, chtob ukryt'sya mog
                      Tvoim on ponimaniem lyubeznym!

                      Kogda zhe zvezdy, chto sud'bu tvoryat,
                      Mne yavyat dobroe raspolozhen'e,
                      Svoej lyubvi smogu ya dat' naryad,
                      CHto i tvoe zasluzhit uvazhen'e.

                      Togda skazhu ya, kak tebya lyublyu,
                      A do pory tvoj sluh ne oskorblyu.

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                Weary with toil, I baste me to my bed,
                The dear repose for limbs with travel tired,
                But then begins a journey m 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 myself, no quiet find.

             Ustavshij ot tyagot _puti_, ya speshu v postel',
             _sulyashchuyu_ zhelannyj otdyh chlenam, utomlennym dorogoj,
             no togda nachinaetsya puteshestvie v moej golove,
             kotoroe utomlyaet moj um, kogda trudy tela zakonchilis',
             tak kak togda moi mysli iz daleka, gde ya nashel pristanishche,
             otpravlyayutsya v userdnoe palomnichestvo k tebe
             i zastavlyayut moi slipayushchiesya glaza shiroko raskryt'sya,
             glyadya v temnotu, kotoruyu vidyat slepye,
             no voobrazhaemoe zrenie moej dushi
             predstavlyaet moemu nevidyashchemu vzoru tvoj prizrak,
             kotoryj, kak dragocennyj kamen', vitayushchij v mrachnoj nochi,
             delaet chernuyu noch' prekrasnoj, a ee staroe lico - molodym.
             Vot tak dnem - moi chleny, a noch'yu - um
             radi tebya, i radi menya samogo, ne znayut pokoya.

                     Ustav s dorogi, toroplyus' v krovat' -
                     Dat' peredyshku utomlennoj ploti.
                     No ya i lezha v put' skachu opyat',
                     I razum zamenyaet plot' v rabote.

                     I dumy - iz kraev, gde moj nochleg, -
                     V palomnichestvo hodyat za toboj,
                     I, ne somknuv slipayushchihsya vek,
                     YA vizhu t'mu, chto vidit i slepoj.

                     Odnim voobrazheniem, bez glaz,
                     Tvoyu vo t'me ya razlichayu ten',
                     I, v toj nochi sverkaya, kak almaz,
                     Ty prevrashchaesh' noch' v prekrasnyj den'.

                     Dnem telo, noch'yu razum bednyj moj
                     Nikak ne mogut obresti pokoj.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                      Okonchiv puteshestvie dnevnoe,
                      ZHelannyj otdyh telu dat' mogu,
                      No tol'ko lyagu, stranstvie inoe
                      V bessonnom nachinaetsya mozgu:

                      Gde b ni pristal ya, mysli-piligrimy
                      K tebe svoj nachinayut dal'nij put'.
                      YA provozhayu ih v polet nezrimyj
                      I vek tyazhelyh ne mogu somknut'.

                      Zato dushi vsevidyashchie ochi,
                      Nezryachemu, mne daryat obraz tvoj.
                      On svetitsya almazom v chernoj nochi,
                      Potemki napolnyaya krasotoj.

                      Tak dnem truzhu ya telo, noch'yu - razum,
                      Pokoya nas dvoih lishaya razom.

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane



                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' strength seem stronger.

           Kak zhe mne togda vernut'sya v blagopoluchnoe sostoyanie,
           esli mne otkazano v blage otdyha -
           kogda tyagoty dnya ne oblegchayutsya noch'yu,
           no, _naoborot_, noch' usilivaet dnevnoj gnet, a den' - nochnoj,
           i oba, hotya kazhdyj yavlyaetsya vragom vlasti drugogo,
           pozhimayut ruki, soglashayas' muchit' menya,
           odin - tyagotami puti, a drugaya - _zastavlyaya_ sokrushat'sya,
           chto chem bol'she etih tyagot, tem bol'she ya otdalyayus' ot tebya?
           YA govoryu dnyu, chtoby ugodit' emu, chto ty _tak_ svetel,
           _chto_ okazyvaesh' emu lyubeznost', _zamenyaya ego_, kogda tuchi
                                                           zatmevayut nebo;
           tak i smuglolikoj nochi ya l'shchu,
           _govorya, chto_, kogda blestyashchie zvezdy ne mercayut, ty ozaryaesh'
                                                                    vecher.
              No den' kazhdyj den' prodlevaet moi pechali,
              a noch' kazhduyu noch' vse usilivaet moyu tosku.

                     No kak zhe snova schast'e ya najdu,
                     Kogda pokoj davno otbroshen proch',
                     I son ne oblegchaet mne bedu,
                     Noch' den' tiranit, den' tiranit noch'?

                     I oba vmeste, hot' oni vragi,
                     Tak mnogo mne stradanij prinesli,
                     On - napravlyaya vdal' moi shagi,
                     Ona - toskoj o tom, chto ty vdali.

                     YA govoryu, starayas' im pol'stit',
                     CHto dnyu pomozhet svet prekrasnyj tvoj,
                     CHto yarko mozhesh' ty pozolotit'
                     Bezzvezdnyj nebosvod vo t'me nochnoj.

                     No chto ni den', toska moya dlinnee,
                     I noch' ot nochi bol' moya sil'nee.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     I kak zhe mne vernut' blagopoluch'e,
                     Kogda celitel'-son ko mne nejdet,
                     Kogda za tyazhkim dnem i noch' ne luchshe,
                     I noch', kak den', a den', kak noch', gnetet?

                     Hotya drug drugu ih vrazhdebny carstva,
                     Menya izvodyat vmeste den' i noch':
                     Terzayus' noch'yu, chto menya mytarstva
                     Dnevnye ot tebya unosyat proch'.

                     YA dnyu pol'stil - skazal, chto lik tvoj svetit
                     Emu pod stat', kol' v tuchah nebesa;
                     A nochi - chto ne bud' i zvezd na svete,
                     Vse ozarit za nih tvoya krasa.

                     No den' moyu vse umnozhaet muku,
                     A noch' vse gorshe delaet razluku.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




               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 myself 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 myself 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 rememb'red such wealth brings
                  That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

            Kogda, v prezrenii u Fortuny i v glazah lyudej,
            ya v polnom odinochestve oplakivayu moe polozhenie
                                                      otverzhennogo
            i trevozhu gluhoe nebo tshchetnymi mol'bami,
            i smotryu na sebya i proklinayu svoyu sud'bu,
            mechtaya upodobit'sya tomu, kto bogache nadezhdoj,
            pohodit' na odnogo vneshnost'yu, na drugogo - obiliem druzej,
            zhelaya obladat' iskusstvom etogo i krugozorom togo, -
            menee vsego dovol'stvuyas' tem, chem ya bolee vsego nadelen;
            sredi etih myslej, pochti preziraya sebya,
            ya vdrug dumayu o tebe, i togda moya dusha,
            podobno zhavoronku, na zare podnimayushchemusya
            s ugryumoj zemli, poet gimny u nebesnyh vorot,
               tak kak mysl' o tvoej dragocennoj lyubvi daet takoe
                                                          bogatstvo,
               chto ya by pognushalsya pomenyat'sya svoim polozheniem
                                                          s korolyami.

                      Kogda, gonimyj vzglyadami lyudej,
                      S samoj sud'boj ya chuvstvuyu razlad,
                      I nebo gluho k zhalobe moej,
                      I ni sebe, ni zhizni ya ne rad.

                      I zhit' hotel by, kak zhivet drugoj,
                      Dostojnoj druzhboj udivlyaya svet,
                      A tot - umom, a etot - krasotoj,
                      I tol'ko dlya menya nadezhdy net.

                      Togda gnetet menya dosada zlaya,
                      No vspomnyu o tebe - i zhizni rad,
                      I, zhavoronkom utrennim vzletaya,
                      Dusha moya poet u rajskih vrat.

                      Na slavu i bogatstva korolej
                      Ne promenyal by ya lyubvi tvoej.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo.

                     Kogda, ne mil ni lyudyam, ni fortune,
                     Otverzhennyj, ya plachu nad soboj
                     I k nebesam gluhim vzyvayu vtune,
                     Mechtaya upodobit'sya sud'boj

                     Schastlivcam, chto nadezhdami bogaty,
                     Komu dany, na radost' ih druz'yam,
                     Talant, i vneshnost', i uma palaty, -
                     Zabyv o tom, chem tak bogat ya sam;

                     Sebya zhaleyu, chut' ne preziraya,
                     No vspomnyu o tebe - dusha v polet
                     Stremitsya ot zemli k vorotam raya
                     I, budto zhavoronok, pesn' poet.

                     V tvoej lyubvi takaya mne nagrada,
                     CHto mne i carskoj uchasti ne nado.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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 na _sudebnye_ zasedaniya bezmolvnyh zavetnyh myslej
           ya vyzyvayu vospominaniya o proshedshem,
           ya vzdyhayu o mnogom, k chemu tshchetno stremilsya,
           i, _dumaya_ o staryh bedah, zanovo oplakivayu rastratu moih
                                                             luchshih let.
           Togda moi glaza, neprivychnye k vlage, byvayut zatopleny
                                                              _slezami_
           po dragocennym druz'yam, skrytym v vechnoj nochi smerti;
           ya oplakivayu zanovo davno izzhitye muki lyubvi
           i stenayu o mnogom, chto bylo, no ischezlo;
           togda ya goryuyu o prezhnih gorestyah
           i tyazhko, bedu za bedoj, povtoryayu
           pechal'nyj schet prezhnih stradanij,
           zanovo oplachivaya ego, kak budto on ne byl oplachen ran'she.
              No esli v eto vremya ya podumayu o tebe, dorogoj drug,
              to vse poteri vospolnyayutsya i pechali prohodyat.

                       Na sessiyu bezmolvnogo suda
                       Povestkoj vyzyvayu ten' bylogo.
                       V ume utrat prohodit chereda,
                       I prezhnej skorb'yu muchayus' ya snova.

                       Ne znavshij slez, ya slezy l'yu svoi
                       O teh druz'yah, chto skryla Smerti noch'.
                       Svezha toska pogashennoj lyubvi
                       I vse kartiny, chto umchalis' proch'.

                       I ya skorblyu o tom, chego uzh net,
                       Oplachivayu, vybivshis' iz sil,
                       Pechal'nyj schet moih minuvshih bed,
                       Kotoryj ya davno uzh oplatil.

                       Na esli vspomnyu o tebe, moj drug,
                       Pechali eti ischezayut vdrug.

                       Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                      Kogda pered sudom moih razdumij
                      Prohodit dnej minuvshih chereda,
                      Mne zhal' vsego, chego iskal ya vtune,
                      I muchit v proshlom kazhdaya beda.

                      Togda glaza, kotorym slezy vnove,
                      Ih l'yut o teh, kto vechnoj noch'yu vzyat,
                      O davnih ranah umershej lyubovi,
                      O vsem bylom, chto ne vernut' nazad.

                      I, pamyat' vorosha, ya stony mnozhu,
                      Kak gorestej prozhityh pereskaz,
                      Ih schet pechal'nyj dlya sebya itozhu
                      I zanovo plachu, kak v pervyj raz.

                      No tol'ko o tebe, moj drug, ya vspomnyu,
                      Kak vse utraty tyazhkie vospolnyu.

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




               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.

             Tvoya grud' _mne_ doroga vsemi serdcami,
             kotorye ya, buduchi lishen ih, polagal mertvymi;
             tam carstvuet lyubov', so vsem, chto ej prinadlezhit,
             i vsemi druz'yami, kotoryh ya schital pohoronennymi.
             Kak mnogo svyashchennyh i pochtitel'nyh slez
             glubokaya predannaya [religioznaya] lyubov' pohitila iz moih
                                                                   glaz,
             kak procenty mertvym, kotorye, kazhetsya,
             tol'ko peremestilis' i teper' sokryty v tebe!
             Ty - mogila, v kotoroj zhivet pogrebennaya lyubov',
             uveshannaya trofeyami moih ushedshih vozlyublennyh druzej,
             kotorye vse svoi prava na menya peredali tebe,
             i to, chto prinadlezhalo mnogim, teper' tol'ko tvoe.
                Ih lyubimye obrazy ya vizhu v tebe,
                i ty - vmeste so vsemi nimi - celikom vladeesh' mnoj.

                     V tvoej grudi - priyut dlya vseh serdec,
                     Kogda-to milyh serdcu moemu.
                     Moya lyubov' tam carstvennyj zhilec,
                     A s nej druz'ya, soshedshie vo t'mu.

                     Kak mnogo slez obil'nyh i svyatyh,
                     O gibeli bezvremennoj skorbya,
                     YA molcha prolil o druz'yah moih,
                     Voshedshih, kak v ubezhishche, v tebya!

                     Ty - sklep lyubvi, kotoraya zhiva.
                     Venkami proshlyh let ukryta dver',
                     I na menya druzej moih prava
                     Tebe, moj drug, prinadlezhat teper'.

                     Ty sohranyaesh' oblik ih zhivoj,
                     Ty - vse oni, i, znachit, ves' ya tvoj.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                   V tvoej grudi - sobran'e vseh serdec,
                   S kotorymi prostit'sya ya ne v silah,
                   Tam carstvuet lyubov', tam svoj konec
                   Nashli druz'ya moi, a ne v mogilah.

                   Platya procenty ot svoih poter',
                   Kak mnogo raz ya chtil svyatym obryadom
                   Slezy obronennoj teh, chto teper'
                   V tebe yavilis' dragocennym kladom!

                   V tebe zhiva za grobom, smert' poprav,
                   Lyubov', s nasled'em teh, kogo ne stalo.
                   Tebe ostavil kazhdyj dolyu prav
                   Na to, chto im vo mne prinadlezhalo.

                   Na vseh lyubimyh ya v tebe glyazhu,
                   I ves' tebe - vsem vam - prinadlezhu.

                   Perevod A. SHarakshane




               If thou survive my well-contented day,
               When that churl Death my bones with dust shall 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.'

            Esli ty perezhivesh' tot blagoslovennyj dlya menya den',
            kogda etot skryaga [muzhlan], Smert', ukroet moi kosti prahom,
            i sluchajno eshche raz perechtesh'
            eti bednye bezyskusnye stroki tvoego umershego druga,
            sravni ih s dostizheniyami vremeni
            i, hotya by ih ostavilo pozadi lyuboe pero,
            sohrani ih radi moej lyubvi, ne radi stihov,
            kotorye budut prevzojdeny iskusstvom bolee schastlivyh
                                                              lyudej.
            I udostoj menya takoj lyubyashchej mysli:
            "Esli by Muza moego druga rosla vmeste s rastushchim vekom,
            ego lyubov' prinesla by bolee cennye plody, chem eti,
            chtoby _emu_ shagat' v ryadah luchshih {*},
            no raz on umer, i poety stali luchshe,
            ya budu chitat' ih _sochineniya_ radi ih stilya, a ego - radi
                                                                 lyubvi".

     {*  V  podlinnike  -  obraz marshiruyushchih polkov, gde "equipage" oznachaet
"vooruzhenie",  "osnashchenie".  Vozmozhno,  zdes'  soderzhitsya ukazanie na luchshuyu
obrazovannost' drugih poetov po sravneniyu s avtorom sonetov.}

                    O, esli ty zemnoj prodolzhish' put',
                    A Smert' s zemlej moi smeshaet kosti,
                    I esli na dosuge kak-nibud'
                    Moj skromnyj stih k tebe nagryanet v gosti,
                    To ty, drug moj, togda sravni ego
                    S tem, chto segodnya sozdayut poety,
                    Kotorym Vremya darit masterstvo;
                    YA chuvstvom zhil - ceni menya za eto.
                    Pust' mysl' v tebe zhivet: "On mog vpolne
                    Vospet' lyubye dni, lyubye dali.
                    On ros by s nashim vekom naravne,
                    No - mertvogo - drugie obognali.
                       Poety prevzoshli ego iskusstvo,
                       No v nih ya masterstvo cenyu, v nem - chuvstvo!"

                    Perevod I. Fradkina

                   Kol' ty perezhivesh' tot den', kogda mne
                   Smert' nakonec upryachet kosti v prah,
                   I perechtesh' potom, chto drug tvoj davnij
                   Pisal v svoih beshitrostnyh stihah,

                   Ty ih sravni s tvoren'yami epohi,
                   Gde ih pero lyuboe prevzoshlo,
                   No za lyubov' moyu, hot' strochki plohi,
                   Ih sohrani vsem novshestvam nazlo.

                   I obo mne ty tak podumaj nezhno:
                   "Kogda b on s vekom vmeste mog rasti,
                   Ego by Muza zhizn' dala, konechno,
                   Stiham takim, chto byt' emu v chesti.

                   Drugie prevzoshli ego, no vse zhe,
                   Hot' slog ih dorog, v nem lyubov' dorozhe".

                   Perevod A. SHarakishne




               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 alcumy,
               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 splendor 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.

            Mnozhestvo raz videl ya, kak velikolepnoe utro
            chestvuet vershiny gor carstvennym _vzglyadom_ [glazom],
            kasayas' zolotym licom zelenyh lugov,
            pozolachivaya blednye potoki s pomoshch'yu nebesnoj alhimii,
            no vskore pozvolyaet nizhajshim tucham bezhat'
            urodlivoj massoj po svoemu bozhestvennomu licu
            i, pryacha ot pokinutogo mira svoj oblik,
            kradetsya, nevidimoe, na zapad s pozorom.
            Tak i moe solnce odnazhdy rannim utrom ozarilo
            moj lob vsem svoim velikolepiem,
            no, uvy, moim ono bylo tol'ko odin chas -
            skoro ego ot menya skryla tucha.
               I vse zhe moya lyubov' ego za eto niskol'ko ne preziraet:
               zemnym solncam pozvoleno imet' pyatna, kogda v pyatnah
                                                          solnce nebesnoe.

                     YA videl, kak torzhestvennyj voshod
                     Na gornyh pikah carstvenno gorit
                     I blednuyu poverhnost' bystryh vod
                     Alhimiej nebesnoj zolotit.

                     No nizkim tucham pozvolyaet on
                     Svoj svetlyj lik ukryt' ot nashih glaz,
                     I vot uzhe, pohishchen, unesen,
                     Besslavno on na zapade ugas.

                     Tak solnca moego prekrasnyj svet
                     Blestyashchee prorochil torzhestvo,
                     No chas proshel - i schast'ya bol'she net,
                     Zakryla tucha hmuraya ego.

                     I vse zhe ya lyubvi ne izmenil:
                     Ved' pyatna est' i u zemnyh svetil.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      V svoem yavlen'e utrennem velikom
                      Vershinam gornym solnce darit vzor,
                      Lugov kasayas' luchezarnym likom
                      I v zlato prevrashchaya glad' ozer,

                      No chasto nizkih tuch begushchej svore
                      Daet pyatnat' svoj obraz nezemnoj
                      I, mir pokinuv, storonoyu vskore
                      Speshit na zapad, so svoej vinoj.

                      Tak i zemnoe solnce ozarilo
                      Menya svoej krasoj v nachale dnya.
                      Uvy, moim ono nedolgo bylo -
                      Ego sokryla tucha ot menya.

                      Vse solncu svoemu lyubov' prostila,
                      Ved' bez pyatna i v nebe net svetila!

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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 break,
                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 sheeds,
                   And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

             Pochemu ty obeshchal takoj prekrasnyj den'
             i _tem_ zastavil menya otpravit'sya v put' bez plashcha,
             chtoby pozvolit' nizkim tucham nastich' menya v puti,
             skryv tvoe velikolepie otvratitel'noj zavesoj?
             Nedostatochno tebe probit'sya skvoz' tuchi,
             chtoby osushit' ot Dozhdya moe pobitoe burej lico,
             ved' nikto ne stanet hvalit' bal'zam,
             kotoryj lechit ranu, no ne iscelyaet beschest'ya.
             I tvoj styd ne stanet lekarstvom ot moego gorya;
             hotya ty raskaivaesh'sya, ya vse zhe v ubytke:
             sozhaleniya obidchika dayut lish' slaboe uteshenie
             tomu, kto neset krest tyazhkoj obidy.
                No eti slezy - zhemchuzhiny, kotorye ronyaet tvoya
                                                          lyubov', -
                dragocenny i iskupayut vse zlye deyaniya.

                      Zachem ty obeshchal mne yasnyj den'
                      I ya v dorogu bez plashcha pustilsya?
                      No tuch menya nastigla zlaya ten' -
                      Tvoj svetlyj obraz v dymke ih zatmilsya.

                      Pust' iz-za tuch probilsya blesk lucha -
                      Dozhdem pobityj lik ne sushat vzory.
                      I nazovu l' spasitelem vracha,
                      CHto lechit ranu, ne lecha pozora?

                      I skorb' moyu tvoj styd ne iscelit,
                      Raskayan'e tebe ne dast zashchity.
                      Obidchika pechal' ne oblegchit,
                      Ne oblegchit mne tyazhkij krest obidy.

                      No slezy l'esh' ty, i zhemchuzhin teh
                      Bogatstvo ves' tvoj iskupaet greh.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Byl mne toboj obeshchan den' pogozhij,
                     I v put' ya ustremilsya nalegke,
                     No nizkoj tuchi mgloj, na dym pohozhej,
                     Byl ot tebya otrezan vdaleke.

                     Pust' ty razveesh' tuchi mezhdu nami, -
                     Hot' ot dozhdya lico mne osushi, -
                     Vse malo mne, ved' proku net v bal'zame,
                     CHto lechit rany tela, ne dushi.

                     V tvoem raskayan'e mne net lechen'ya,
                     Pechal' tvoya ushcherb ne vozmestit.
                     Obidy krest tyazhel, i oblegchen'ya
                     Ne prineset obidevshego styd.

                     No etot perl - sleza s tvoej resnicy -
                     Iskupit vsyu vinu tvoyu storicej.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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.
                All men make faults, and even I in this,
                Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
                Myself corrupting salving thy amiss,
                Excusing thy sins more than their sins are;
                For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense -
                Thy adverse party is thy advocate -
                And 'gainst myself 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.

            Ne pechal'sya bol'she o tom, chto sovershil:
            u roz est' shipy, a v serebryanyh istochnikah - gryaz';
            tuchi i zatmeniya pyatnayut lunu i solnce,
            i otvratitel'nyj cherv' zhivet v sladchajshem butone.
            Vse lyudi sovershayut prostupki, i dazhe ya - v etom
                                                    _stihotvorenii_,
            uzakonivaya tvoe pregreshenie sravneniyami,
            unizhaya sebya, zaglazhivayu tvoyu oshibku,
            nahodya dlya tvoih grehov bol'she opravdanij, chem dlya grehov
                                                              drugih {*}.
            Ved' chuvstvennomu prostupku ya pridayu razumnost' -
            tvoya protivnaya storona stanovitsya tvoim advokatom -
            i protiv sebya samogo nachinayu tyazhbu.
            Takaya grazhdanskaya vojna idet vo mne mezhdu lyubov'yu
                                                         i nenavist'yu,
               chto ya ponevole stanovlyus' posobnikom
               milogo vora, kotoryj menya zhestoko ograbil.

     {*  Spornoe  mesto.  V  original'nom izdanii Torpa v etoj stroke dvazhdy
povtoryalos'  mestoimenie  "their" (ih): "Excusing their sins more than their
sins  are",  odnako  bol'shinstvo  pozdnejshih  izdatelej  schitali eto oshibkoj
"nabora   i   zamenyali  odno  ili  oba  mestoimeniya  na  "thy"  (tvoi),  chem
opredelyalis'  raznye  istolkovaniya.  Pomimo  prinyatogo v nastoyashchem perevode,
rasprostranennym  istolkovaniem yavlyaetsya: "...nahodya dlya tvoih grehov bol'she
opravdanij, chem oni togo zasluzhivayut (i tem samym pooshchryaya tebya na dal'nejshie
prostupki)".}

                   Nu ne goryuj zhe o svoem postupke:
                   U roz shipy est', a v fontanah - tina,
                   CHerv' merzostnyj zhivet v butone hrupkom,
                   Zatmen'ya pryachut yasnye svetila...
                   Porochny lyudi - vot i ya pod stat' im:
                   CHtob opravdat' tebya - ishchu sravnenij,
                   Hot' uteshat' tebya berus' nekstati -
                   Tvoj greh ne stoit stol'kih izvinenij.
                   I chuvstvennost' tvoyu ya ponimayu -
                   Beru zashchitu, brosiv obvinen'e,
                   Sebe zhe samomu ya isk vchinyayu;
                   Stol' yarostno v dushe moej srazhen'e,
                      CHto ya uzh souchastnik tvoj userdnyj,
                      Moj milyj vor, takoj nemiloserdnyj.

                   Perevod T. SHabaevoj

                      Oshibkoj ne kaznis', ona ponyatna:
                      Poroj hrustal'nyj zamutnen rodnik,
                      U rozy est' shipy, na solnce - pyatna,
                      I v sladostnyj buton chervyak pronik.

                      My vse greshny. YA - tem, chto obelyayu
                      Tvoyu vinu sravneniem takim,
                      Rassudok svoj postydno osleplyayu,
                      Tebe proshchaya bol'she, chem drugim.

                      Oshibke chuvstv ishchu ya opravdan'e,
                      Stal advokatom obvinitel' tvoj,
                      Lyubov' i nenavist', bushuya vtajne,
                      Vedut vo mne mezhdousobnyj boj,

                      Tak chto posobnikom ya stal nevol'no
                      Obidchika, mne sdelavshego bol'no.

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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 borne 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.

          Pozvol' mne priznat', chto my dvoe dolzhny byt' razdvoeny,
          hotya _dve_ nashi nerazdelimye lyubvi sut' odno,
          chtoby te pyatna _pozora_, kotorye lezhat na mne,
          ya nes odin, bez tvoej pomoshchi.
          V dvuh nashih lyubovyah - odna privyazannost',
          no v nashih zhiznyah - raznoe zlo,
          kotoroe, hotya i ne umalyaet edinoj lyubvi,
          kradet u lyubvi dragocennye chasy naslazhdeniya.
          YA, mozhet byt', nikogda bol'she ne priznayu tebya pri vstreche,
          chtoby moya priskorbnaya vina ne navlekla na tebya pozor;
          i ty publichno ne vykazyvaj mne raspolozheniya,
          chtoby, okazannaya mne chest' ne ubavila chesti u tvoego imeni.
             Ne delaj etogo; ya lyublyu tebya tak,
             chto, poskol'ku ty moj, i tvoya reputaciya - moya.

                    I pravda, luchshe nam derzhat'sya vroz',
                    Hot' na dvoih lyubov' u nas odna.
                    Inache tem delit'sya by prishlos',
                    Za chto na mne odnom lezhit vina.

                    Lyubvi edinoj my priznali vlast',
                    Zato u kazhdogo svoya beda.
                    Puskaj ona ne odoleet strast',
                    No luchshij mig pohitit bez truda.

                    S toboj ya vstrechus' slovno nevznachaj,
                    Moya vina na mne byla i est',
                    I ty pri vseh mne chest' ne vozdavaj,
                    CHtoby tvoya ne postradala chest'.

                    Poberegis': ved' my s toboj - odno
                    I lyazhet na tebya moe pyatno.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     YA priznayu: dolzhny my byt' dvoimi,
                     Hotya lyubov'yu slity my v odno.
                     Pust' lish' moe grehi pyatnayut imya,
                     Mne v odinochku ih nesti dano.

                     Odna lyubov' soedinyaet milyh,
                     No v zhizni kazhdogo svoya pechal'.
                     Lyubvi nichto pokolebat' ne v silah,
                     No otnyatyh chasov bescennyh zhal'.

                     YA budu oto vseh skryvat' privychno
                     Lyubuyu svyaz', chto mezhdu nami est',
                     I ty menya ne privechaj publichno,
                     CHtob na menya svoyu ne tratit' chest'.

                     YA tak lyublyu, chto vsem v tebe vladeyu -
                     I chest'yu besporochnoyu tvoeyu.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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,
                 Intitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
                 I make my love ingrafted 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 dryahlyj otec raduetsya,
         vidya, chto ego polnyj zhizni syn [rebenok] sovershaet deyaniya
         yunosti,
         tak ya, ohromevshij {*} po zhestokoj zlobe Fortuny,
         nahozhu vse svoe uteshenie v tvoih dostoinstvah i vernosti,
         tak kak esli krasota, proishozhdenie, bogatstvo, ili um,
         ili chto-to iz etogo, ili vse, ili chto-to eshche,
         oblagorozhennye toboj, po-korolevski voplotilis' v tebe {**},
         _to_ ya priobshchayu svoyu lyubov' k etim blagam,
         _i_ togda ya ne hromoj, ne bednyj, ne preziraemyj,
         poskol'ku eta ten' _tvoih blag_ tak sushchestvenna {***},
         chto mne dovol'no tvoego izobiliya
         i ya zhiv chast'yu vsej tvoej slavy.
             CHto ni est' luchshego, ya zhelayu, chtoby eto prinadlezhalo
                                                            tebe;
             esli eto zhelanie vypolneno, to ya desyatikratno schastliv.

     {*  Bol'shinstvo  kommentatorov schitayut, chto opredelenie "lame" (hromoj)
zdes' sleduet ponimat' v perenosnom smysle.
     ** Spornoe mesto, dopuskayushchee razlichnye prochteniya.
     ***  V  podlinnike ispol'zovany zaimstvovannye iz filosofii obrazy teni
(shadow) i substancii (substance), o kotoryh sm. primechanie k sonetu 53.}

                     Kak nemoshchnyj otec sledit svershen'ya
                     Rebenka svoego vo cvete let,
                     Tak ya, vkusiv ot roka porazhen'e,
                     Slezhu za cheredoj tvoih pobed.

                     Ved' i umu, i krasote, i slave,
                     Bogatstvu - vsem dostoinstvam tvoim
                     YA, zhalkij nishchij, prichastit'sya vprave,
                     Svoej lyubov'yu prichashchennyj im.

                     I ya teper' ne nemoshchnyj, ne bednyj,
                     Mne hleb nasushchnyj zren'e podaet,
                     Sledyashchee, lyubya, tvoj marsh pobednyj, -
                     I syt ya slavoj ot tvoih shchedrot.

                     Vse to, chego zhelat' tebe ya smeyu,
                     YA ot tebya storiceyu imeyu.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova

                      Kak starcheskaya nemoshch' ispokon
                      Vzdyhaet, uteshayas' yunoj siloj,
                      Tak ya, fortunoj zloyu obdelen,
                      Tvoimi zhiv dostoinstvami, milyj.
                      Tvoj um, bogatstvo, znatnost', krasota
                      I mne peredayutsya po krupice:
                      Ne hil, ne beden ya i hromota
                      Moya ischezla - net prichin kaznit'sya.
                      Obogatil menya soyuz dvoih:
                      Tvoi zaslugi - i moi po pravu,
                      ZHivet vo mne ta chast' zaslug tvoih,
                      Kotoraya tebe prinosit slavu.
                         Vse luchshee, chto v mire est' u nas, -
                         V tebe: schastlivej vseh ya v desyat' raz.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina



                 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 thyself the thanks if aught in me
                 Worthy perusal stand against thy sight,
                 For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
                 When thou thyself 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.

             Kak mozhet moya Muza nuzhdat'sya v predmete dlya tvorchestva,
             kogda _zhiv_ [dyshish'] ty, kotoryj napolnyaet moi stihi
             svoej dragocennoj temoj, slishkom velikolepnoj,
             chtoby ee mogla vyrazit' lyubaya zauryadnaya bumaga?
             O blagodari sam sebya, esli chto-to u menya _v stihah_
             predstaet v tvoih glazah dostojnym chteniya,
             ibo kto nastol'ko tup [nem], chtoby ne sumet' pisat' k tebe,
             kogda ty sam darish' svet dlya tvorchestva?
             Bud' sam desyatoj Muzoj, vdesyatero prevoshodyashchej [svoimi
                                                            dostoinstvami]
             te starye devyat', kotoryh prizyvayut stihotvorcy,
             i tot, kto obrashchaetsya k tebe, pust' sozdast
             vechnye stihi, perezhivushchie dolgie vremena.
                Esli moya skromnaya Muza ponravitsya nashim
                                              pridirchivym dnyam,
                pust' trud dostanetsya mne, a hvala - tebe.

                    CHto nuzhno mne eshche dlya sochinen'ya,
                    Kol' dyshish' ty i v moj vlivaesh' stih
                    Takoj bal'zam chudesnyj vdohnoven'ya,
                    Kotoryj nedostupen dlya drugih?

                    Blagodari sebya, kol' chem-to ya
                    V tvoih glazah sumel dostojnym stat'.
                    Tot nem, kto ne napishet dlya tebya, -
                    Ty svet takoj sposoben izluchat'.

                    O, bud' desyatoj Muzoj, v desyat' raz
                    Dostojnee teh prezhnih devyati!
                    Tomu zhe, kto vozzval k tebe sejchas,
                    Ty pomogi bessmert'e obresti.

                    Kol' mil ya vkusam etih strogih dnej,
                    Moj budet trud, a pohvala - tvoej.

                    Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                   Issyaknet razve Muza, esli ty
                   Sebya v stihi vlivaesh', mne na radost',
                   Tak laskovo, chto grubye listy
                   Vobrat' v sebya ne v silah etu sladost'?
                   Ty slovno luch Poezii zhivoj,
                   On svetit - ya poyu ot voshishchen'ya.
                   Hvali sebya za stih udachnyj moj:
                   Ty dlya menya istochnik vdohnoven'ya.
                   O, bud' desyatoj Muzoyu moej,
                   Sopernichaya s devyat'yu drugimi,
                   I v desyat' raz bud' ostal'nyh sil'nej,
                   Skvoz' gody pronesi stihi zhivymi.
                      I esli im v vekah dan' vozdadut,
                      To slava vsya tvoya, moj - tol'ko trud.

                   Perevod I. Fradkina




                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.

              O, kak zhe ya mogu vospet' podobayushchim obrazom tvoi
                                                           dostoinstva,
              kogda ty - sut' luchshaya chast' menya?
              CHto mozhet moya pohvala prinesti mne samomu?
              I kogo, kak ne sebya, ya hvalyu, kogda ya hvalyu tebya?
              Hotya by radi etogo davaj zhit' vroz',
              i pust' nasha dragocennaya lyubov' poteryaet nazvanie edinoj -
              chtoby, blagodarya etomu raz®edineniyu, ya mog vozdat'
              tebe to dolzhnoe, kotorogo zasluzhivaesh' ty odin.
              O razluka, kakoj pytkoj byla by ty,
              esli by tvoj tosklivyj dosug ne daval sladostnoj svobody
              posvyashchat' vremya myslyam o lyubvi,
              kotoraya tak sladostno zanimaet vremya i mysli,
                 i esli by ty ne uchila, kak sdelat' edinoe razdvoennym,
                 vozdavaya zdes' hvalu tomu, kto _ot menya_ otdalen.

                    O, kak vospet' prekrasnyj oblik tvoj,
                    Kogda ty - luchshee, chto est' vo mne?
                    Kak mne tebya ukrasit' pohvaloj
                    I tem ne pohvalit' sebya vdvojne?

                    Rasstanemsya - hotya by dlya togo,
                    CHtoby uvidel ty, moj vlastelin,
                    Vsyu silu poklonen'ya moego,
                    Kotorogo dostoin ty odin.

                    Razluka gor'ko muchila by nas,
                    Kogda by ne davala nam dosug
                    Dlya myslej o lyubvi v zavetnyj chas,
                    Smyagchayushchij obmanom tyazhest' muk.

                    No i v razluke my s toboj vdvoem,
                    Raz ty zhivesh' v soznanii moem.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Kak mne tebya dostojnee vospet',
                     Dushi moej prekrasnaya chastica,
                     I chest' tvoyu sluchajno ne zadet',
                     I samomu soboj ne vozgordit'sya?

                     Ne luchshe li rasstat'sya - hot' na mig -
                     I razorvat' ves' etot krug porochnyj,
                     CHtob, uhodya, lyubvi proshchal'nyj krik
                     Soedinit' nas vnov' stremilsya prochno.

                     No net, razluki ne perenesti,
                     Kogda, tomimyj bol'yu ozhidan'ya,
                     To, chto dolzhno tak pyshno rascvesti,
                     YA na s®eden'e otdayu stradan'yu.

                     Moj milyj, nauchi, kak zhit' bez muk,
                     S toboyu slit'sya v tyagosti razluk.

                     Perevod A. SHvedchikova




              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 thyself deceivest
              By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
              I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief,
              Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
              And yet love knows it is a greater grief
              To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
                 Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
                 Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.

            Voz'mi vse moi lyubvi, moya lyubov' {*}, da, voz'mi ih vse.
            CHto ty priobretesh' takogo, chego ne imel prezhde? -
            nikakoj lyubvi, moya lyubov', kotoruyu ty mog by nazvat'
                                                    istinnoj lyubov'yu:
            vse moe bylo tvoim do togo, kak ty poluchil eshche i eto.
            I esli ty beresh' moyu lyubov' radi moej lyubvi {**},
            ya ne mogu vinit' tebya za upotreblenie moej lyubvi,
            i vse zhe ty vinovat, esli ty sam sebya obmanyvaesh',
            _rukovodstvuyas'_ svoenravnym vkusom k tomu, chto tvoe
                                                 sushchestvo otvergaet.
            YA proshchayu tvoj grabezh, milyj vor,
            hotya ty prisvoil sebe vse, chem ya vladel;
            i vse zhe lyubov' znaet, chto gorshe
            snosit' zlo lyubvi, chem obychnye udary nenavisti.
               Porochnoe ocharovanie, v kotorom vsyakoe zlo
                                         predstavlyaetsya dobrom,
               ubej menya obidami, no vse zhe my ne dolzhny byt' vragami.

     {*  V  podlinnike  mnogokratno upotrebleno slovo "love", s igroj na ego
raznyh   znacheniyah,   i   prochtenie  soneta  zavisit  ot  istolkovaniya  etih
znachenij.  Po mneniyu bol'shinstva issledovatelej, povodom dlya etogo soneta (i
dvuh  sleduyushchih)  stalo  to,  chto  Drug  soblaznil  lyubovnicu poeta (ili byl
soblaznen  eyu).  Sootvetstvenno, "my love" v pervoj stroke - eto obrashchenie k
Drugu, kotoroe mozhno perevesti kak "moj milyj", "vozlyublennyj".
     **  Inymi slovami, esli ty otobral u menya lyubovnicu potomu, chto ya lyublyu
ee.}

                     Voz'mi ih vse, da, vse moi lyubvi.
                     Namnogo li bogache ty teper'?
                     Kak noviznu lyubov'yu ne zovi,
                     Davno ya otdal vse tebe, pover'.

                     Ty vse prisvoil iz lyubvi ko mne.
                     YA tvoego ne osuzhdayu pyla,
                     No postydis': ved' po tvoej vine
                     Tvoya zhe lozh' tebya s dorogi sbila.

                     Grabezh tebe proshchayu, nezhnyj vor,
                     Hot' nishchego ty obobral, kak mog,
                     I legche videt' nenavist' v upor,
                     CHem vernosti ukradennyj zalog.

                     Ty opravdaesh' dazhe put' durnoj.
                     Ubej menya, no ne vrazhduj so mnoj.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Kol' hochesh', to lyubov' moyu voz'mi,
                     CHto novogo poluchish' vmeste s neyu?
                     Ona ne budet istinnoj, pojmi, -
                     YA tvoj davno, i net lyubvi sil'nee.

                     I za moyu lyubov', chto poluchil,
                     Moya lyubov', sudit' tebya ne stanu;
                     No skol'ko ty uprekov zasluzhil,
                     Kol' vzyal ee, doverivshis' obmanu.

                     Moj milyj vor, proshchayu tvoj razboj,
                     Hotya zabral ty vse bez sozhalen'ya,
                     Bol'nee ved' lyubvi uprek nemoj,
                     CHem nenavisti gor'kie muchen'ya.

                     Ty zlo samo s nevinnosti slezami,
                     Ubej menya, chtob nam ne stat' vragami.

                     Perevod A. Kazakovoj




                 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 mightest 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.

             |ti milye prostupki, kotorye sovershaet svoevolie,
             kogda poroj menya net v tvoem serdce,
             vpolne podobayut tvoej krasote i tvoim godam,
             ibo soblazn postoyanno sleduet za toboj po pyatam.
             Ty dobr, i potomu tebya zavoevyvayut;
             ty prekrasen, i potomu tebya osazhdayut;
             a kogda zhenshchina dobivaetsya _lyubvi_, kakoj syn zhenshchiny
             zhestoko pokinet ee do togo, kak oderzhit pobedu? {*}
             Uvy mne, no vse zhe ty mog by vozderzhat'sya ot _zahvata_ moih
                                                                 vladenij
             i otchitat' svoyu krasotu i besputnuyu yunost',
             kotorye, v svoem bujstve, vedut tebya dazhe tuda,
             gde ty nevol'no narushaesh' dve vernosti:
                ee - svoej krasotoj ee soblaznyaya,
                svoyu - iz-za svoej krasoty izmenyaya mne.

     {*  Mnogie  izdateli  schitayut,  chto  v  etom  meste  podlinnika imeetsya
opechatka,  i  sleduet  chitat':  "Till  she  have  prevailed". V takom sluchae
perevod dolzhen zvuchat': "...do togo, kak ona oderzhit pobedu".}

                       Ty volyu nizkim shalostyam daesh',
                       Kogda menya v bespechnom serdce net,
                       Lish' potomu, chto molod i horosh
                       I dlya soblazna porozhden na svet.

                       Ty nezhen - vse hotyat toboj vladet',
                       Krasiv - i slovno sozdan dlya osad,
                       A esli zhenshchina raskinet set',
                       Kakoj syn zhenshchiny ne budet rad?

                       I mne ne ugrozhala by beda,
                       Kogda ty strasti pritushit' by mog,
                       Oni tebya zabrosili tuda,
                       Gde k nam oboim budesh' ty zhestok.

                       Ty krasotoj s uma svedesh' ee,
                       Izmenoj serdce razob'esh' moe.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Tvoih izmen bespechnyh chereda,
                      Kogda ty zabyvaesh' obo mne, -
                      Pri krasote tvoej, v tvoi goda,
                      Sredi strastej, estestvenna vpolne.
                      Ty dobr - tebya v polon berut shutya,
                      Krasiv - tebya legko zavoevat';
                      K zhelan'yam zhen, o zhenshchiny ditya,
                      Legko li ravnodushnym prebyvat'?
                      Uvy! Ty i menya ne poshchadil.
                      Tvoej krase i yunosti uprek
                      YA shlyu za to, chto ty, v izbytke sil,
                      Dve chesti srazu oporochit' mog:
                         Ee - svoej krasoyu soblazniv,
                         Svoyu zhe - mne s podrugoj izmeniv.

                      Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo




                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 know'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.

               To, chto ty obladaesh' eyu, - ne vsya moya pechal',
               hotya mozhno skazat', chto ya lyubil ee goryacho;
               chto ona obladaet toboj - vot glavnaya _prichina_ moih stenanij,
               poterya v lyubvi, kotoraya zadevaet menya sil'nee.
               Lyubyashchie greshniki [obidchiki], ya opravdayu vas tak:
               ty lyubish' ee, potomu chto znaesh', chto ya lyublyu ee,
               i tak zhe radi menya ona izmenyaet mne,
               idya na to, chtoby moj drug radi menya ispytal ee.
               Esli ya teryayu tebya, to moya poterya - eto priobretenie dlya
                                                              moej lyubvi,
               a teryayu ee - moj drug priobretaet etu poteryu.
               Dvoe nahodyat drug druga, i ya teryayu oboih,
               i oba radi menya vozlagayut na menya etot krest.
                  No vot uteshenie: moj drug i ya sut' odno, _i, znachit_, -
                  o sladkoe samoobol'shchenie! - ona lyubit menya odnogo.

                       Polgorya, chto ona teper' tvoya,
                       A serdce proshlogo ne zabyvaet,
                       No s neyu i tebya lishilsya ya,
                       A eto gore bol'she zadevaet.

                       Obidchiki, proshchayu vam obidu.
                       Ty po moim sledam predalsya strasti,
                       Ona so mnoj vrazhduet lish' dlya vidu,
                       Poskol'ku ty ved' u nee vo vlasti.

                       Tebya ya poteryal - ona nashla,
                       I ya tebe pomog ee najti.
                       Vdvojne moya razluka tyazhela,
                       Mne krest dvojnoj prihoditsya nesti.

                       No ved' nedarom ty i ya - odno.
                       Pust' ya ne s nej, lyubim ya vse ravno.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                       Ty obladaesh' eyu - ne beda,
                       Hotya ee lyubil ya ochen' nezhno.
                       Ona toboj vladeet - vot kogda
                       Uzhe moe neschast'e neizbezhno.

                       Obidchiki moi, ya vas proshchayu:
                       Ee ty lyubish' kak moyu lyubov',
                       I dlya menya ona, moj duh smushchaya,
                       Tebya, moj drug, ispytyvaet vnov'.

                       Poteryannaya mnoj tebe dostalas';
                       Ty mnoj poteryan - u nee ty est'.
                       Drug druga vy nashli - ya poteryal vas,
                       I na menya vy vozlozhili krest.

                       No yasno mne: odno - moj drug i ya.
                       O grezy! Vse ravno ona - moya.

                       Perevod V. Nikolaeva




               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.

              CHem bol'she ya smezhayu glaza, tem luchshe oni vidyat,
              tak kak ves' den' oni glyadyat na veshchi nestoyashchie,
              no kogda ya splyu, vo sne oni smotryat na tebya
              i, _zakrytye_ [temnye], napravlyayut svetlyj vzglyad v temnotu {*}.
              Tvoya ten' delaet svetlymi teni;
              kakim zhe prekrasnym zrelishchem byla by _veshchestvennaya_
                                                  forma etogo obraza
              pri svete dnya i tvoem, gorazdo bolee yarkom, svete,
              esli dlya nevidyashchih glaz tvoya ten' tak siyaet!
              YA govoryu: kakoe bylo by schast'e dlya moih glaz
              smotret' na tebya sredi zhivogo dnya,
              esli v mertvoj nochi tvoj prekrasnyj, _hotya i_
                                                nesovershennyj obraz
              skvoz' tyazhelyj son zapechatlevaetsya v nezryachih glazah!
              Vse dni mne vidyatsya nochami, poka ya ne vizhu tebya,
              a vse nochi - yasnymi dnyami, kogda sny mne pokazyvayut
                                                              tebya.

     {*  Soglasno  predstavleniyam  togo  vremeni,  v osnove mehanizma zreniya
lezhali ishodyashchie iz glaz luchi.}

                      Smezhaya veki, zorche ya stokrat,
                      Pri svete dnya glyazhu, ne zamechaya.
                      Vo sne zhe ochi na tebya glyadyat,
                      Tvoj svetlyj lik vo mrake razlichaya.

                      Tvoya bezmerno luchezarna ten',
                      Vstayushchaya peredo mnoj nochami, -
                      O skol' ona svetlej, chem yasnyj den',
                      Kol' vizhu ya nezryachimi ochami!

                      Skol' prosiyali by tvoi luchi,
                      YAvis' oni pri svete dnya zhivogo,
                      Kol' ten' tvoya slepym ocham v nochi
                      Neset snopy siyaniya takogo!

                      Mne den' - kak noch', kogda ty ne so mnoj,
                      A noch' - kak den', kol' v son prihodish' moj.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova

                    Dnem nikogo ya vzglyadom ne primetil.
                    Smezhil ya veki - vzor moj stal ostrej:
                    Moi glaza, nezryachie pri svete,
                    Vnov' krasotoj oslepleny tvoej!
                    Mel'kaet svetonosnoe viden'e,
                    Vysvechivaya chernotu nochi, -
                    Ot sveta zhmuryus' ya, lishennyj zren'ya,
                    U teni oslepitel'ny luchi!
                    V gluhuyu noch' svetleet mrak postylyj,
                    Hot' svetit tol'ko blagostnaya ten',
                    Tak kak zhe zasverkaet obraz milyj,
                    Kogda ego uvizhu v yasnyj den'!
                       Den' bez tebya ob®yat nochnoyu mgloj,
                       A noch' svetla, ved' ty vo sne so mnoj.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




              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.

               Esli by vyaloe veshchestvo moej ploti bylo mysl'yu,
               to dosadnoe rasstoyanie ne ostanovilo by menya,
               poskol'ku togda, vopreki prostranstvu, ya byl by perenesen
               iz dalekih predelov tuda, gde prebyvaesh' ty.
               Togda bylo by nevazhno, hotya by moi nogi stoyali
               na zemle, samoj otdalennoj ot tebya,
               tak kak provornaya mysl' mozhet pereprygivat' cherez more
                                                               i sushu,
               kak tol'ko voobrazit mesto, gde hotela by byt'.
               No, uvy, menya ubivaet mysl', chto ya - ne mysl',
               sposobnaya perenosit'sya cherez mnogie mili tuda, kuda uehal ty,
               no chto, sostoyashchij v takoj bol'shoj mere iz zemli i vody {*},
               ya dolzhen provodit' pustoe vremya v stenaniyah,
                  nichego ne imeya ot takih medlitel'nyh elementov,
                  krome tyazhkih slez - znakov ih stradaniya.

     {*  V etom i sleduyushchem sonetah metaforicheski obygryvaetsya uchenie o tom,
chto chelovek sostoit iz chetyreh "elementov": zemli, vody, vozduha i ognya.}

                      Kogda b iz mysli sostoyalo telo,
                      Vot by menya k tebe pereneslo -
                      Ot samogo dalekogo predela,
                      Prostranstvu nenavistnomu nazlo!
                      I dazhe pust', popav v chuzhie strany,
                      YA v samoj dal'nej ot tebya strane:
                      Mysl' pereprygnet cherez okeany,
                      Lish' pro tebya podumaetsya mne.
                      Da, ya ne mysl'. I net pechal'nej mysli.
                      YA iz zemli s vodoyu popolam,
                      I mezhdu nami sotni verst povisli,
                      I vremya predalos' inym delam.
                         Zemlya s vodoj lezhat v moem nachale,
                         I s nimi ya delyu moi pechali.

                      Perevod V. Orla

                      Kogda by mysl'yu plot' moya byla,
                      To put' k tebe ne znal by protyazhen'ya;
                      Kuda b tebya sud'ba ne zanesla,
                      Tam poyavilsya b ya v odno mgnoven'e.

                      Hot' v samyj dal'nij udalis' predel,
                      Morya pust' mezhdu nami ili strany,
                      Kak mysl' legko b ya ih preodolel -
                      Lish' o tebe podumayu, zhelannyj.

                      No ya ne mysl'. Takim, kakoj ya est',
                      Mne ne ugnat'sya sledom za toboyu;
                      YA, v sushchnosti, zemli s vodoyu smes'
                      I prinuzhden dosug delit' s bedoyu.

                      Ot dvuh stihij v znak gorya moego
                      Dany mne slezy, - bol'she nichego.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




                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, oppressed with melancholy,
                Until life's composition be recured
                By those swift messengers returned 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.

           Drugie dva _elementa_, legkij vozduh i ochishchayushchij ogon',
           oba s toboj, gde by ya ni prebyval:
           pervyj - moya mysl', vtoroj - moe zhelanie;
           neulovimye, oni legko perenosyatsya _s mesta na mesto_.
           Kogda eti bolee bystrye elementy otpravlyayutsya
           k tebe v serdechnom posol'stve lyubvi,
           moya zhizn', sozdannaya iz chetyreh _elementov_, ostavshis'
                                                      tol'ko s dvumya,
           klonitsya k smerti, podavlennaya melanholiej;
           _tak prodolzhaetsya_, poka sostav zhizni ne vosstanovitsya
           vozvrashcheniem ot tebya etih bystryh poslancev,
           kotorye kak raz sejchas vozvrashchayutsya, ubedivshis'
           v tvoem dobrom zdravii, chtoby povedat' eto mne.
              Kogda vest' soobshchena, ya raduyus', no zatem, snova
                                                 neudovletvorennyj,
              ya otsylayu ih nazad i srazu stanovlyus' pechal'nym.

                     V razluke my, no nam obrucheny
                     Ogon' i vozduh - ostal'nye zven'ya
                     Prirody; i k tebe obrashcheny
                     Ogon' zhelan'ya, mysli dunoven'e.
                     Kogda poslancy nezhnyh chuvstv moih
                     K tebe speshat, nog pod soboj ne chuya,
                     Kak v okruzhen'e dvuh stihij drugih
                     Smertel'no odinok ya, kak toskuyu!
                     Togda lish' tol'ko ozhivayu ya,
                     Kogda goncy, otpravyas' v put' obratnyj,
                     Mne vestochku prinosyat ot tebya,
                     CHto ty zdorov i vse s toboyu ladno.
                        YA schastliv, no na mig lish' - i gotov
                        Vnov' v put'-dorogu otoslat' goncov.

                     Perevod V. Tarzaevoj

                     No vot stihii legkie, skol'zya,
                     Lyuboe odoleyut rasstoyan'e:
                     Ogon' i vozduh, vernye druz'ya, -
                     To mysl' moya i vechnoe zhelan'e.
                     Letyat k tebe pokornye posly,
                     Opustoshiv menya napolovinu;
                     Teper' ya lish' voda i gorst' zemli:
                     YA pogruzhayus' v smertnuyu puchinu
                     Do toj pory, poka ne prinesli
                     Mne doroguyu vestochku pro druga
                     Moi druz'ya - krylatye posly, -
                     CHto ty zdorov i schastliv v chas dosuga.
                        No raduyus' nedolgo - mig promchit,
                        Vnov' shlyu poslov ya, gorech'yu ubit.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




                  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 'tide 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.

         Moi glaza i serdce vedut smertel'nuyu vojnu,
         delya zavoevanie - tvoj zrimyj obraz {*}:
         glaza hoteli by zapretit' serdcu videt' tvoe izobrazhenie,
         a serdce glazam - svobodno pol'zovat'sya etim pravom.
         Serdce zayavlyaet, chto ty nahodish'sya v nem -
         v kamorke, kuda ne pronikaet vzglyad hrustal'nyh glaz, -
         no otvetchiki otvergayut eto zayavlenie
         i govoryat, chto tvoya prekrasnaya vneshnost' nahoditsya v nih.
         CHtoby reshit' etot spor o prave sobstvennosti, uchrezhdeno
         zhyuri iz myslej, kotorye vse yavlyayutsya arendatorami serdca,
         i po ih verdiktu opredeleny
         dolya yasnyh glaz i dragocennaya chast', _otvodimaya dlya_ serdca.
            Itak, moim glazam prichitaetsya tvoya vneshnost',
            a serdce imeet pravo na to, chto vnutri, - tvoyu
                                                     serdechnuyu lyubov'.

     {* Po vsej vidimosti, rech' idet o dostavshemsya poetu portrete Druga.}

                     Moj glaz i serdce, ovladev toboj,
                     Iz-za dobychi ssoryatsya, i vot
                     Stremitsya glaz prisvoit' obraz tvoj,
                     A serdce glazu voli ne daet.

                     Vchinyaet serdce isk, prosya o tom,
                     CHtob na tebya ne pokushalsya glaz.
                     Otvetchik zhe tverdit, chto v nem samom
                     ZHivet tvoj obraz kazhdyj den' i chas.

                     Prishlos' prisyazhnym myslyam zasedat',
                     I spor zhestokij priveden k koncu:
                     Velit verdikt otvetchiku otdat'
                     Ne bol'she i ne men'she, chem istcu.

                     CHto vidit glaz - dostanetsya emu,
                     CHto lyubit serdce - serdcu moemu.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      ZHestokoyu zahvachennym bor'boyu,
                      Kak serdcu s okom tvoj delit' portret?
                      Ego schitaet oko za soboyu,
                      No prav takih, schitaet serdce, net:

                      Mol, celikom ty v nem, a oko srodu,
                      Ne vidya, i ne vedalo o tom.
                      No oko argument otvodit s hodu:
                      Mol, v nem tvoj divnyj obraz celikom.

                      I chtob ne dlilas' eta tyazhba dole,
                      Prisyazhnyh myslej sud opredelil,
                      V chem sostoit otnyne oka dolya,
                      I serdce lennym pravom nadelil:

                      Mol, oku - vneshnosti tvoej oprava,
                      A serdce na lyubov' imeet pravo.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova




                Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
                And each doth good turns now unto the other:
                When that mine eye is famished 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 present 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.

               Mezhdu moimi glazami i serdcem zaklyuchen soyuz,
               i obe storony teper' okazyvayut dobrye uslugi drug drugu:
               kogda glaza muchit golod po vzglyadu _na tebya_
               ili lyubyashchee serdce samo sebya dushit vzdohami,
               togda glaza piruyut, _lyubuyas'_ izobrazheniem moego
                                                   vozlyublennogo,
               i priglashayut serdce k etomu zhivopisnomu ugoshcheniyu;
               v drugoj raz glaza stanovyatsya gostyami serdca
               i razdelyayut ego mysli o vozlyublennom.
               Tak, blagodarya tvoemu izobrazheniyu ili moej lyubvi
               ty, nahodyas' daleko, vsegda ostaesh'sya so mnoj,
               tak kak ne mozhesh' udalit'sya ot menya bol'she, chem moi mysli,
               a ya vsegda s nimi, i oni - s toboj.
                  Esli zhe oni spyat, tvoj obraz v moih glazah
                  probuzhdaet moe serdce dlya naslazhdeniya serdca i glaz.

                      Glaza i serdce - luchshie druz'ya,
                      Tovarishchi po obshchemu neschast'yu,
                      Kogda uvidet' milogo nel'zya,
                      I serdce razryvaetsya na chasti -

                      Moi glaza laskayut tvoj portret
                      I zastavlyayut serdce chashche bit'sya,
                      Il' serdce priglashaet na banket
                      Glaza, chtoby lyubov'yu podelit'sya.

                      V portrete il' v lyubvi vsegda so mnoj
                      Tvoj milyj obraz. CHto by ni sluchilos',
                      Ujti ne smozhesh' - mysliyu odnoj
                      My svyazany nadezhnej vsyakoj sily.

                      A esli ya usnu, to i vo sne
                      Prinadlezhat' ty budesh' tol'ko mne.

                      Perevod S. Epifanovoj

                      Soyuz u oka s serdcem zaklyuchen
                      Ob oboyudnoj pomoshchi - na sluchaj,
                      Kogda s toboyu vzglyad moj razluchen
                      I stonet serdce ot toski tyaguchej.

                      U oka pir glyadet' na tvoj portret,
                      I serdce - gost', yavlyayushchijsya k sroku;
                      I v myslyah o tebe na svoj obed
                      SHlet serdce priglasheny; drugu-oku.

                      Vot tak, v razluke, ty so mnoj vsegda,
                      S moej lyubov'yu i vlyublennym vzglyadom,
                      Ne denesh'sya ot myslej nikuda,
                      YA - s nimi, a oni - s toboyu ryadom.

                      Kol' mysli spyat, na tvoj portret glyazhu
                      I vzglyadom serdce spyashchee buzhu.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova




                How careful was I, when I took my way,
                Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
                That to my use it might un-used stay
                From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
                But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
                Most worthy 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 locked 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.

            Kak ya zabotilsya, kogda otpravlyalsya v put',
            pomestit' kazhduyu bezdelicu pod krepchajshie zapory,
            chtoby dlya moej pol'zy ona ostalas' netronutoj, -
            _sohranit'_ ot nechestnyh ruk, pod nadezhnoj ohranoj!
            No ty, ryadom s kotorym moi dragocennosti - bezdelicy,
            moe samoe cennoe uteshenie, a teper' - moya velichajshaya pechal',
            ty, luchshij iz vsego, chto est' dorogogo, i moya edinstvennaya
                                                                  zabota,
            ostavlen dobychej dlya lyubogo poshlogo vora.
            Tebya ya ne zaper ni v kakoj sunduk,
            a tol'ko _hranyu_ tam, gde tebya net, hotya ya chuvstvuyu, chto - est':
            v nezhnom uzilishche moej grudi,
            kotoroe po proizvolu ty mozhesh' poseshchat' i ostavlyat',
               i dazhe ottuda, ya boyus', ty budesh' ukraden,
               tak kak _dazhe_ chestnost' sklonna k vorovstvu radi takogo
                                                        dragocennogo trofeya.


                    Kak melochen ya byl, gotovyas' v put',
                    Kak proveryal zasovy i zamki,
                    CHtoby najti potom kogda-nibud'
                    V sohrannosti vse eti pustyaki.

                    A ty, moj klad, kotoryj mne neset
                    I vse moe blazhenstvo, i bedu,
                    Edinstvennaya cel' moih zabot, -
                    Ty u lyubogo vora na vidu.

                    V takoj tajnik tebya ya zaklyuchu,
                    Gde net tebya, i vse zhe ty so mnoj.
                    Ne pod zamkom derzhat' tebya hochu,
                    I esli v kletke spryachu, to v grudnoj.

                    No krasoty nepobedima vlast'.
                    Tebya i chestnost' norovit ukrast'.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      YA ostorozhen byl, ujdya iz doma,
                      Do melochi vse spryatal pod zamok,
                      CHtoby nepravda ne kosnulas' krova
                      I lish' zakon dobrom ego stereg.

                      A ty, moj svet, moj kamen' dragocennyj,
                      Moya zvezda - teper' moya napast',
                      Edinstvennaya radost', drug bescennyj,
                      Bezvinnoj zhertvoj vora mozhesh' past'.

                      YA ne sposoben grud' svoyu zastavit',
                      Kak plennika, tvoj obraz ohranyat',
                      Ty mozhesh' v mig lyuboj ee ostavit',
                      I ya tebya ne v silah uderzhat'.

                      Boyus', tebya pohityat i ottuda -
                      I CHestnost' ukradet takoe chudo!

                      Perevod A. Kazakovoj




                 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,
                 Called 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 insconce 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.

               Na to vremya - esli takoe vremya pridet, -
               kogda ya uvizhu, chto tebe dosadny moi iz®yany;
               kogda tvoya lyubov' vyvedet svoyu itogovuyu summu,
               prizvannaya k takoj revizii mudrymi soobrazheniyami;
               na to vremya, kogda ty kak chuzhoj projdesh' mimo
               i edva poprivetstvuesh' menya etimi solncami, svoimi glazami;
               kogda lyubov', uzhe ne ta, kakoj ona byla,
               najdet prichiny dlya stepennoj holodnosti, -
               na to vremya ya stroyu sebe ukrepleniya zdes',
               v soznanii togo, chego ya stoyu {*},
               i svoyu ruku podnimu, _svidetel'stvuya_ protiv sebya,
               v zashchitu zakonnyh osnovanij tvoej storony.
                  CHtoby brosit' menya, bednogo, ty imeesh' silu zakonov,
                  poskol'ku dlya lyubvi _tvoej ko mne_ ya ne mogu privesti
                                                  nikakoj _zakonnoj_ prichiny.


     {* |tu frazu mozhno ponyat' dvoyako: "v soznanii svoih bol'shih dostoinstv"
ili "v soznanii svoej nichtozhnosti".}

                    V zaklyatyj den' - ego poshlet li rok? -
                    Kogda padu v tvoem suzhdenii strogom,
                    Kogda lyubvi ty podvedesh' itog,
                    Kak rostovshchik, chto schet vedet zalogam, -
                    V zaklyatyj den', kogda v tolpe menya
                    Edva okinesh' ravnodushnym vzorom,
                    Kogda lyubov' pogasshaya tvoya
                    Teplo zamenit ceremonnym vzdorom, -
                    V zaklyatyj den' ya vystoyu v bede
                    V soznanii, chto sam vsemu vinoyu,
                    I, ruku vskinuv, slovno na sude,
                    YA poklyanus', chto pravota s toboyu.
                       YA bez tebya pogibnu, mozhet byt',
                       No net zakona, chto velit lyubit'.

                    Perevod B. Kushnera

                     Tot den', kogda (ego ne klichu ya!)
                     Ty na moi iz®yany hmuro glyanesh',
                     I vystavit mne schet lyubov' tvoya,
                     I, vnyav rassudku, ty terpet' ustanesh';

                     Tot den', kogda, svoim putem projdya,
                     Menya ne udostoish' yasnym vzorom,
                     Kogda lyubov', v nadmennost' perejdya,
                     Brezglivo vspomnit o sebe s pozorom;

                     Tot den' vstrechaya, ya sejchas vstayu;
                     Nichtozhestvo svoe priznav s otvagoj,
                     Svidetel'stvuyu pravotu tvoyu
                     I ruku podnimayu pod prisyagoj.

                     Menya ty vprave brosit' - ya sudu
                     V zashchitu nichego ne privedu.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova




               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 tyazhelo mne ehat' svoej dorogoj,
             kogda tam, kuda ya stremlyus' - v konce moego utomitel'nogo
                                                        puteshestviya, -
             udobstva i otdyh skazhut _mne_:
             "Vot skol'ko mil' otdelyaet tebya ot tvoego druga".
             ZHivotnoe, kotoroe vezet menya, izmuchennogo svoej pechal'yu,
             vyalo tashchitsya, vezya etot gruz _pechali_ vo mne,
             kak budto kakim-to instinktom bednyaga znaet,
             chto ego vsadniku ne po dushe skorost', udalyayushchaya ego ot tebya.
             _Konya_ ne podgonyaet okrovavlennaya shpora,
             kotoruyu _moe_ razdrazhenie inogda vonzaet v ego shkuru,
             na chto on otvechaet tyazhkim stonom,
             bolee ranyashchim menya, chem shpory - ego boka,
             ved' etot ston napominaet mne:
             moe gore lezhit vperedi, a moya radost' - pozadi.

                    S trudom svoj tyazhkij trud ya sovershayu,
                    I mysl' mne dostavlyaet stol'ko muk,
                    I otdyha, i sna menya lishaya:
                    "Vse dal'she ot tebya tvoj milyj drug".

                    Moj kon', ustavshij ot moih stenanij,
                    Netoroplivo podo mnoj bredet,
                    Kak budto znaet, chto k koncu skitanij
                    Toska menya - ne skorost' privedet.

                    Udary shpor moih ne zastavlyayut
                    (CHto v bok emu poroj vonzaet gnev)
                    Konya skakat'; on ston lish' istorgaet,
                    I vo sto krat togda bol'nee mne.

                    I ehom ston zvuchit v moej grudi:
                    Minula radost', gore - vperedi.

                    Perevod A. Kazakovoj

                     O, kak v puti dalekom tyazhelo mne,
                     Kogda ya znayu, chto na sklone dnya
                     Mne otdyh dolgozhdannyj lish' napomnit,
                     CHto milyj drug vse dal'she ot menya!

                     Moj kon', pod tyazhest'yu moej pechali,
                     Pletetsya vyalo, s povodom ne v lad, -
                     Emu, kak vidno, chuvstva podskazali,
                     CHto vsadnik skorosti i sam ne rad.

                     Serdyas', ya v bok ego vonzayu shporu,
                     No poluchayu tol'ko tyazhkij ston,
                     Kakoj izdat' skoree mne by vporu,
                     Kto huzhe ranen, chem ot shpory - on.

                     I stonu etomu ya mysl'yu vtoryu,
                     CHto schast'e pozadi - ya edu k goryu.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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 ran and give him leave to go.

           Vot kak moya lyubov' mozhet opravdat' medlitel'nost' {*}
           moego vyalogo _konya_, nesushchego menya, kogda ya skachu ot tebya:
           ot togo mesta, gde nahodish'sya ty, zachem mne toropit'sya?
           Poka ya ne budu vozvrashchat'sya, v speshke net nuzhdy.
           O, kakoe opravdanie najdet togda moe bednoe zhivotnoe,
           kogda _i_ krajnyaya bystrota _mne_ pokazhetsya medlennoj?
           Togda by ya daval shpory, hotya by ehal verhom na vetre,
           v okrylennoj skorosti ya ne priznaval by dvizheniya;
           togda nikakaya loshad' ne pospela by za moim zhelaniem;
           [poetomu] zhelanie, sostoyashchee iz sovershennoj lyubvi,
           s rzhaniem _neslos' by_ - ne vyalaya plot'! - v ognennoj skachke.
           No lyubov', radi lyubvi, tak opravdaet moego odra:
              raz po puti ot tebya on namerenno medlil,
              _po puti_ k tebe ya pomchus' _vpered_ i ostavlyu ego idti.

     {*  V  podlinnike  -  stilisticheskaya figura: "slow offence", bukval'no:
"medlitel'naya provinnost'".}

                     Prostit moya lyubov' bez promedlen'ya
                     Nerastoropnost' moego konya,
                     On s kazhdym shagom mchit menya k zabven'yu,
                     No put' obratnyj - schast'e dlya menya.

                     Kakoe bednyj kon' moj izvinen'e
                     Najdet mne, esli dazhe skorost' ya
                     Ne chuvstvuyu i shporyu v isstuplen'i
                     Boka, kak veter, bystrogo konya.

                     Skakun s moeyu strast'yu ne sravnitsya,
                     CHto sotkana iz chuvstvennoj lyubvi,
                     Ona bystrej konya lyubogo mchitsya -
                     Konya, ogon' zhelanij, ne kori.

                     No esli on tak medlenno idet,
                     YA speshus' i pomchus' - ved' strast' ne zhdet.

                     Perevod A. Kazakovoj

                      Takoe u lyubvi est' opravdan'e
                      Nikchemnomu konyage moemu:
                      Kogda ot druga proch', dorogoj dal'nej,
                      YA edu, toropit'sya ni k chemu.

                      A stanu vozvrashchat'sya - byt' v otvete
                      Emu pred neterpeniem moim.
                      Togda, hotya by mchalsya on kak veter,
                      Vse mne kazalos' by, chto my stoim.

                      Togda moe zhelan'e nas obgonit;
                      Ono podobno bystromu ognyu,
                      S nim nikakie ne sravnyatsya koni -
                      No svoego ya vse zhe izvinyu:

                      Kol' ot tebya on plelsya ele-ele,
                      Puskaj bredet, a sam pomchus' ya k celi.

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




               So am I as the rich whose blessed key
               Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
               The which he will not ev'ry 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 carcanet.
               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 imprisoned pride.
                  Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,
                  Being had, to triumph, being lacked, to hope.

          YA - kak bogach, chej blagoslovennyj klyuch
          mozhet privesti ego k zavetnomu zapertomu sokrovishchu,
          kotoroe on ne stanet sozercat' kazhdyj chas,
          chtoby ne prituplyalas' ostrota redkostnogo udovol'stviya.
          Poetomu _i_ prazdniki tak torzhestvenny i tak isklyuchitel'ny,
          poskol'ku, nastupaya redko, oni v dolgom godu
          raspredeleny skupo, kak cennye kamni
          ili krupnye bril'yanty v ozherel'e.
          Tak i vremya, kotoroe hranit tebya podobno moemu sunduku {*}
          ili chulanu, skryvayushchemu plat'e,
          chtoby sdelat' kakoj-to osobyj moment osobenno schastlivym,
          snova otkryv zatochennyj predmet gordosti.
             Blagosloven ty, ch'i dostoinstva dayut svobodu:
             kogda _oni mne_ dostupny - torzhestvovat', kogda ya ih
                                                  lishen - nadeyat'sya.

     {*  V  podlinnike,  vozmozhno,  igra  na  slove  "chest",  kotoroe mozhet
oznachat' i "sunduk", i "grud'".}

                     V rukah blagoslovennyj klyuch derzha,
                     Bogach ne stanet k zlatu toropit'sya.
                     Tak ya, svoej lyubov'yu dorozha,
                     Ne pozvolyayu chuvstvu pritupit'sya;
                     Ne chasty prazdniki, i kazhdyj raz
                     Moya dusha vozlikovat' gotova,
                     Tak v ozherel'e redkostnyj almaz -
                     Prichina voshishcheniya lyudskogo.
                     Skupoe Vremya pryachet vse v sunduk,
                     Razlukoj on zovetsya - lyudi rady
                     Laskat' ego prikosnoven'em ruk.
                     O, kak velikolepny v nem naryady!
                        Nadezhdoj vstrech ya v dni razluk bogat,
                        A v mig svidan'ya - radost'yu ob®yat!

                     Perevod I. Fradkina

                     Kak bogachu, i mne dostupno schast'e
                     Sokrovishche svoe obozrevat',
                     No ya larec ne otkryvayu chasto,
                     CHtob ostrotu blazhenstva ne teryat'.

                     Sred' budnej prazdnik - redkoe yavlen'e,
                     Poetomu tak yarko torzhestvo;
                     I v ozherel'e luchshie kamen'ya
                     CHered imeyut mezh kamnej ego.

                     Ty Vremenem hranim, - ubor bogatyj
                     Tak v sunduke soderzhat pod zamkom;
                     No blizok mig! - naznachit Vremya datu
                     I schast'e yavit v obraze tvoem.

                     Blazhenstvo probuzhdaesh' ty - pri vstreche,
                     Nadezhdu na nego - kogda daleche.

                     Perevod S. SHestakova




               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.

            CHto eto za substanciya, iz kotoroj ty sozdan,
            esli milliony chuzhih tenej u tebya v usluzhenii, -
            ved' u kazhdogo _sozdaniya_ tol'ko odna ten',
            a ty, odin, mozhesh' dat' lyubuyu ten'? {*}
            Opishi Adonisa, i etot _slovesnyj_ portret
            okazhetsya plohim podrazhaniem tebe;
            primeni vse iskusstvo _izobrazheniya_ krasoty k _licu_ [shcheke]
                                                                  Eleny,
            i _poluchitsya, chto_ snova napisan ty, v grecheskih odeyaniyah.
            Zagovori o vesne i pore urozhaya v godu,
            _i_ odna pokazhetsya ten'yu tvoej krasoty,
            a drugaya predstanet tvoej shchedrost'yu, -
            v lyuboj blagoslovennoj forme my uznaem tebya.
            Vo vsyakoj vneshnej krasote est' tvoya dolya,
            no ty, kak nikto, _obladaesh'_, i nikto _ne obladaet_, kak
                                                 ty, postoyanstvom serdca.

     {*  "Substanciya"  (substance)  i  "ten'"  (shadow,  shade)  -  terminy,
zaimstvovannye  iz  filosofskogo  ucheniya, voshodyashchego k ideyam Platona o tom,
chto  besplotnaya  sushchnost'  veshchej,  a  takzhe  krasoty yavlyaetsya osnovoj vsego,
"substanciej",   a   real'nye   predmety   tol'ko  otrazheniya  ("teni")  etoj
substancii.}

                     V chem sut' tvoya, materiya, sostav,
                     CH'i teni lyubyat nad toboj kruzhit'?
                     My na dve teni ne imeem prav,
                     A ty gotov hot' sotnyu odolzhit'.

                     Adonisa prilezhno opishi -
                     I budet gruboj kopiej tvoej,
                     I pust' cherty Eleny horoshi,
                     Ty sovershennyj obraz nashih dnej.

                     Vesna i zhatva ukrashayut god,
                     Vesna, kak ty, prekrasna i chista,
                     A zhatva - eto ten' tvoih shchedrot,
                     I vsyudu ty, gde svet i krasota.

                     Kak luchshij oblik mira, ty prigozh,
                     No vernost'yu na mir ty ne pohozh.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      V chem sut' tvoya i kem zhe sozdana
                      Nesmetnost' neobychnyh otrazhenij?
                      Za kazhdym ostaetsya lish' odna,
                      Ne million emu podobnyh tenej.
                      Izobrazim Adonisa, i vot -
                      On zhalok po sravneniyu s toboj,
                      V Elene prelest' drevnosti zhivet,
                      V tebe iskusstvo bleshchet noviznoj.
                      Rascvet vesny i urozhajnyj god
                      V tvoih tenyah, prekrasnoe sozdan'e,
                      V tvoih tenyah potok tvoih shchedrot
                      My vidim vmeste s milym ochertan'em.
                         Ty dlya dostoinstv vneshnih obrazec,
                         A serdce - ideal dlya vseh serdec.

                      Perevod A. Kuznecova




                 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 unwooed, 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 vade, by verse distils your truth.

            O, naskol'ko krasivee kazhetsya krasota
            blagodarya etomu dragocennomu ukrasheniyu - dobrodeteli
                                                      [vernosti]! {*}
            Roza prekrasna na vid, no my schitaem ee eshche bolee prekrasnoj
            iz-za sladostnogo aromata, kotoryj v nej zhivet.
            U cvetov shipovnika {**} gustaya okraska,
            ne ustupayushchaya koloritu aromatnyh roz;
            oni _rastut_ [visyat] na takih zhe shipah i trepeshchut tak zhe
                                                                 igrivo,
            kogda dyhanie leta raskryvaet ih spryatannye butony;
            odnako ih vneshnost' sushchestvuet tol'ko dlya nih,
            oni zhivut ne znaya vnimaniya i uvyadayut v bezvestnosti -
            umirayut, _prozhiv_ sami dlya sebya. Ne to sladostnye rozy:
            iz ih sladostnoj smerti delayutsya sladchajshie aromaty.
               Tak ot tebya, prekrasnyj i milyj yunosha,
               kogda eto _vneshnee ocharovanie_ projdet {***}, v stihah
                                  ostanetsya essenciya tvoej dobrodeteli.

     {*  Po  povodu  sushchestvitel'nogo  "truth"  sm.  primechanie 2 k perevodu
soneta 14.
     **   Zdes'   slovosochetanie   "canker   bloom"   (shipovnik),  veroyatno,
upotrebleno s igroj na znacheniyah slova "canker" (porcha, cherv').
     ***  Po  mneniyu  kommentatorov,  v etom meste originala "vade" yavlyaetsya
variantom  napisaniya  glagola "fade"; krome togo, vozmozhna svyaz' s latinskim
"vadere" (uhodit').}

                      Kak vozrastaet sila krasoty,
                      Kogda v nej pravda yasno govorit!
                      I pust' nam zren'e raduyut cvety,
                      No luchshee v nih zapah, a ne vid.

                      SHipovnik rozam, kazhetsya, srodni.
                      V ego butonah vse ottenki cveta,
                      I v svoj chered kolyshutsya oni,
                      Kogda raskroet ih dyhan'e leta.

                      No vsya ih krasota, uvy, obman,
                      Ih lepestki besslavno obletyat,
                      A svezhim rozam luchshij zhrebij dan:
                      Ih smert' rozhdaet tonkij aromat.

                      Tak pravdu dragocennuyu tvoyu,
                      Kak zapah roz, v stihi ya perel'yu.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Naskol'ko zhe prelestnej krasota,
                      Kogda ej vernost' sluzhit ukrashen'em!
                      Prekrasny rozy, no prekrasnej ta,
                      Gde aromat sosedstvuet s cveten'em.

                      Hotya u roz, iz®edennyh vnutri,
                      I cvet, i stebli, i shipy vse te zhe,
                      I tanec lepestkov u nih igriv,
                      Edva poveet leto vetrom svezhim.

                      No dobrodetel' ih - odno pritvorstvo,
                      I vse oni v zabvenii umrut.
                      Drugim zhe znat' zabven'e ne pridetsya -
                      V duhi ih sladkij zapah perel'yut.

                      Kogda tvoej krasy promchatsya sroki,
                      Vsya vernost' perel'etsya v eti stroki.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva




               Not marble nor the gilded monuments
               Of princes shall outlive this pow'rful rhyme,
               But you shall shine more bright in these contents
               Than unswept stone, besmeared 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 Judgement that yourself arise,
                  You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

               Ni mramor, ni pozolochennye monumenty
               gosudarej ne perezhivut etih moguchih stihov,
               no ty v nih budesh' siyat' yarche,
               chem zapushchennyj kamen', zagryaznennyj neryashlivym vremenem.
               Kogda opustoshitel'naya vojna oprokinet statui
               i raspri unichtozhat _do osnovaniya_ trud kamenshchikov,
               ni mech Marsa _ne pogubit_, ni bystryj ogon' vojny ne sozhzhet
               zhivuyu zapis' pamyati o tebe.
               Vopreki smerti i bespamyatnoj vrazhde
               ty pojdesh' vpered; hvala tebe vsegda najdet mesto
               v glazah vsego potomstva,
               kotoroe izzhivet etot mir do rokovogo konca.
                  Tak, do Strashnogo suda, kogda ty sam vosstanesh',
                  zhivi v etih _stihah_ i prebud' v glazah vlyublennyh.

                     Iz mramora i zolota nadgrob'ya
                     Zemnyh knyazej moj stih perezhivet,
                     I budesh' ty blistat' vse toj zhe nov'yu,
                     Kogda davno pobleknet mramor tot.

                     Kogda vojna ih statui razrushit
                     I oprokinet kamni stariny,
                     Tvoyu zhivuyu pamyat' ne narushat
                     Ni Marsa mech i ni ogon' vojny.

                     Ne bojsya zhe ni smerti, ni zabven'ya -
                     Ty budesh' slaven dazhe i v glazah
                     Poslednego zemnogo pokolen'ya,
                     Kotoroe iznosit mir vo prah.

                     Vplot' do Suda, chto zhizn' tebe vernet,
                     V moih stihah puskaj tvoj duh zhivet.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Nadgrobij carskih mramornaya stat'
                     Ne dolgovechnej strof, s ih nezhnoj siloj.
                     Zdes' budet yarche obraz tvoj siyat',
                     CHem v zapylennom kamne nad mogiloj.

                     Vojna povalit statui, kak smerch,
                     Na kamne kamnya ne ostavit smuta,
                     No ne pogubyat ni ogon', ni mech
                     Stiha zhivogo - pamyati sosuda.

                     Ni smerti, ni bespamyatnoj vrazhde
                     Tebe ne stat' predelom. Budet lira
                     Tebe hvalu rozhdat' v serdcah vezde,
                     Vo vsem potomstve, do skonchan'ya mira.

                     Tak, do Suda, chto ozhivit tvoj prah,
                     Prebud' v stihah i v lyubyashchih glazah!

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said
                Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
                Which but today by feeding is allayed,
                Tomorrow sharp'ned in his former might.
                So, love, be thou: although today thou fill
                Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
                Tomorrow see again, and do not kill
                The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness:
                Let this sad int'rim 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;
                   As call it winter, which being full of care,
                   Makes summers welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.

           Sladostnaya lyubov', vozobnovi svoyu silu, pust' ne govoryat,
           chto ty ne tak ostra, kak appetit,
           kotoryj, _hotya_ lish' segodnya utolen edoj,
           zavtra usilivaetsya do prezhnej ostroty.
           Bud' takoj i ty, lyubov': hotya segodnya ty nasyshchaesh'
           svoi golodnye glaza do togo, chto oni slipayutsya ot sytosti,
           zavtra smotri _ostrym vzglyadom_ snova, ne ubivaj
           duha lyubvi postoyannoj vyalost'yu.
           Pust' etot pechal'nyj period _presyshcheniya_ budet kak okean,
           razdelyayushchij berega, na kotorye novoobruchennye
           prihodyat kazhdyj den', chtoby kogda oni uvidyat
           vozvrashchenie lyubvi, tem schastlivee bylo zrelishche;
              ili nazovi eto zimoj, kotoraya, buduchi polna goresti,
              delaet leto blagoslovennym, vtrojne zhelannym,
                                                    redkostnym.

                   O duh lyubvi, vospryan'! Pust' appetit,
                   Ne prituplyayas', vnov' ko mne vernetsya:
                   Ved' kak by ni byl ya segodnya syt,
                   Vovsyu nazavtra golod razov'etsya.
                   Bud' ty takim zhe! Nynche pust' tvoi
                   Glaza slipayutsya ot presyshchen'ya,
                   No zavtra zapylaj, moj duh lyubvi,
                   Tupoe odolej ocepenen'e!
                   Podobnyj zhar dvum obruchennym dan:
                   CHrez okean drug k drugu tyanut ruki -
                   Ih razluchil pritihshij okean,
                   Veshchaya vstrechu i konec razluki.
                      Razluka slovno stuzha, chto zimoj
                      Gotovitsya utroit' letnij znoj.

                   Perevod I. Fradkina

                     Lyubov', okrepni! Razve v nas silen
                     Odin lish' appetit, chto vechno s nami, -
                     CHto, hot' segodnya pishchej utolen,
                     Uzh zavtra glozhet ostrymi zubami?

                     Takoj zhe bud', lyubov': nasytish' glad
                     Ochej svoih segodnya do dremoty,
                     No zavtra snova alchet pust' tvoj vzglyad,
                     CHtob ne lishilas' duha svoego ty.

                     Pust' budet pereryv, kak shir' morej
                     Mezh beregov, kuda vlyublennyh dvoe
                     Prihodyat kazhdyj den', chtob tem ostrej,
                     Vernuvshis', bylo schast'e molodoe.

                     Il' kak zima, - ona surova k nam,
                     Zato vtrojne my rady letnim dnyam.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                Being 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.


            Buduchi tvoim slugoj [rabom], chto mne delat', kak ne
                                                         prisluzhivat'
            _tebe_ v chasy i momenty tvoego zhelaniya?
            Vremya ne imeet dlya menya cennosti, mne ne na chto ego tratit',
            i net _dlya menya_ nikakoj sluzhby, poka ty _ee_ ne trebuesh'.
            YA ne smeyu ni setovat' na beskonechno tyanushchiesya chasy,
            kogda ya, moj gospodin, ozhidayu tebya [sledya za chasami],
            ni dumat' o gorechi tosklivoj razluki,
            kogda ty otoslal slugu proch'.
            Ne smeyu ya i voproshat', v svoih revnivyh myslyah,
            gde ty mozhesh' byt', ili gadat' o tvoih zanyatiyah,
            no, kak pechal'nyj rab, _mogu tol'ko_ zhdat', ne dumaya ni o chem,
            krome kak o tom, kakimi schastlivymi ty delaesh' teh, _kto
                                                               s toboj_.
               Lyubov' tak glupa, chto v tvoej prihoti,
               chto by ty ni delal, ne vidit nichego durnogo.

                     Vsem slugam polagaetsya vsechasno
                     Hozyainu bezmolvno ugozhdat'.
                     YA povinuyus' iskrenne i strastno:
                     Ty dlya menya i vlast', i blagodat'.
                     YA ne hochu roptat' il' zhit' bespechno.
                     Dni bez tebya - kak nenavistnyj plen.
                     No ne skazhi "Proshchaj!" mne besserdechno,
                     Ne otluchaj menya, moj suveren.
                     Ne smeyu ya, ot revnosti sgoraya,
                     Sprosit', v kakoj brodil ty storone.
                     Po-rabski ya molchu, podozrevaya,
                     CHto schast'e darish' ty ne tol'ko mne.
                        Lyubov' glupa, kol' dumaet v nevole,
                        CHto ty ne smozhesh' prichinit' ej boli.

                     Perevod V. Rozova

                   CHto delat' mne, rabu, kak ne sluzhit',
                   Ne zhdat' gospodskoj voli iz®yavlen'ya?
                   Na chto mne vremya - dlya chego mne zhit',
                   Poka toboj ne vyzvan iz zabven'ya?

                   YA ne ropshchu, kol' chas za chasom bitym
                   Tomit'sya na postu uzhe nevmoch';
                   Ne smeyu gor'koj chuvstvovat' obidy,
                   Kogda slugu ty otsylaesh' proch'.

                   I v revnosti gadat' ya ne mogu,
                   Gde ty i s kem, kakie ryadom lica.
                   ZHdu, zhalkij rab, i mysli net v mozgu
                   Inoj, kak ob udele teh schastlivcev.

                   Lyubov' glupa, ona ne myslit zla,
                   Kakimi b ni byli tvoi dela.

                   Perevod A. SHarakshane




              That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
              I should in thought control your time of pleasure,
              Or at your hand th'account of hours to crave,
              Being your vassal bound to stay your leasure.
              O let me suffer (being at your beck)
              Th'imprisoned absence of your liberty,
              And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,
              Without accusing you of injury.
              Be where you list, your charter is so strong
              That you yourself may priviledge 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.

           Da izbavit bog {*}, sdelavshij menya tvoim rabom,
           chtoby ya v myslyah sledil za momentami tvoih razvlechenij
           ili zhelal poluchit' iz tvoih ruk otchet o _provedennyh_ chasah,
           buduchi tvoim slugoj, obyazannym dozhidat'sya, kogda u tebya
                                                    budet dosug _dlya menya_.
           O, pust' ya budu, ozhidaya, chto ty pomanish', terpet'
           eto tyuremnoe zaklyuchenie - razluku po tvoej prihoti {**},
           i pust' terpenie, poslushnoe stradaniyu, snosit lyuboj otkaz,
           ne obvinyaya tebya v obide.
           Bud' gde pozhelaesh'; tvoi privilegii tak veliki,
           chto ty mozhesh' svobodno otdavat' svoe vremya
           chemu zahochesh', _i_ tebe prinadlezhit pravo
           proshchat' sebya za sobstvennye pregresheniya.
              Mne ostaetsya zhdat', hotya takoe ozhidanie - ad,
              ne osuzhdaya tvoi razvlecheniya, bud' oni durny ili horoshi.

     {* Kupidon.
     **  V  podlinnike  - stilisticheskaya figura: "imprisoned absence of your
liberty", bukval'no: "zaklyuchennaya v tyur'mu razluka tvoej voli".}

                    I v myslyah bog, nadevshij mne okovy,
                    Mne zapretil v dosug vtorgat'sya tvoj
                    I trebovat' otcheta v nem surovo -
                    Vassal ya, zhdu, vsegda ya pod rukoj.

                    V okovah, ya - okovy, - ponimayu,
                    Zovi - primchat'sya ya ne preminu,
                    Gotov ya zhdat', upreki prinimayu
                    I nikogda tebya ne upreknu.

                    Gde hochesh' bud'. Ty obladaesh' pravom
                    Raspisyvat' scheta svoih minut
                    I sud vershit' svoim delam nepravym,
                    I ne yavlyat'sya v etot strogij sud.

                    Tvoih zabav, bud' horoshi il' plohi,
                    Ne osuzhdayu, sderzhivaya vzdohi.

                    Perevod S. Stepanova

                      Bog, sdelavshij menya tvoim rabom,
                      Da upaset, chtob ya tvoim dosugam
                      Uchet vesti pytalsya il' umom
                      V nih pronikat', - ya tvoj vassal k uslugam!

                      Pust' budu ya, stradaya, zhdat' tebya,
                      Kak uznik ozhidaet vysshej voli,
                      Privychno unizheniya terpya,
                      Tebya v svoej ne uprekaya boli.

                      Gde hochesh' bud' i trat' na vse lady
                      CHasy svoi - vol'ny tvoi reshen'ya.
                      CHto hochesh' delaj - mozhesh' tol'ko ty
                      Sebe prostit' svoi zhe pregreshen'ya.

                      YA budu zhdat', hot' ozhidan'e - ad,
                      Tebya prostiv zaranee stokrat.

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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 burthen 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 whe'er better they,
                 Or whether revolution be the same.
                    O sure I am the wits of former days
                    To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

               Esli v _mire_ net nichego novogo, a to, chto est',
               bylo prezhde {*}, to kak obmanyvaetsya nash um,
               kotoryj, v tvorcheskih mukah, zabluzhdayas', daet
               vtoroe rozhdenie uzhe byvshemu rebenku!
               O, esli by arhivy, oziraya proshloe
               hot' za pyat'sot vitkov solnca,
               pokazali mne tvoj obraz v kakoj-nibud' drevnej knige,
               _napisannoj_ s teh por, kak vpervye mysl' byla vyrazhena
                                                           v pis'menah,
               chtoby ya mog uvidet', chto drevnij mir smog skazat'
               ob etom chude - tvoem slozhenii:
               my li usovershenstvovalis', oni li _byli_ luchshe,
               ili zhe krugooborot _vsego sushchego_ nichego ne menyaet.
                  O, ya uveren, chto umy prezhnih dnej
                  voznosili voshishchennuyu hvalu hudshim predmetam.

     {* V sonete otrazilis' idushchie ot Knigi Ekklesiasta i antichnyh filosofov
predstavleniya   o  ciklicheskih  izmeneniyah  vsego  v  prirode,  privodyashchih k
beskonechnym povtoreniyam, bez kakogo-libo razvitiya.}

                    Obmanut razum mira noviznoj,
                    Votshche stremyas' rodit' nepovtorimost',
                    Vse, chto sluchilos' nekogda so mnoj,
                    V inyh sobyt'yah obretaet zrimost'.
                    YA siloj mysli v glub' vekov pronik,
                    Ih mudrost' nam v soznan'e perelita,
                    Tam obraz tvoj v odnu iz drevnih knig
                    Voshel s izobreten'em alfavita.
                    No vremennaya sheluha zemli
                    Tesna ej, kak iznoshennoe plat'e,
                    Tvoi cherty stolet'ya pronesli
                    CHerez inoe zhizni vospriyat'e.
                       Ne veryu ya, chto proshlogo umy
                       Lyubili tak zhe sil'no, kak i my!

                    Perevod L. Gavrilovoj

                      Kol' mir lish' povtorenie vremen
                      I nichego net novogo, vse bylo,
                      I um nash, mnimoj vydumkoj prel'shchen,
                      Na to, chto rozhdeno, zrya tratit sily, -

                      Togda pust' vzor moj, ishchushchij v vekah,
                      Na sotni solnc obratno vozvratitsya,
                      Pust' obraz tvoj v starinnyh pis'menah
                      Najdu, listaya pervyh knig stranicy.

                      Uznal by ya, kak peli v vek byloj
                      Tvoj chudnyj lik, kakim glagolom nezhnym;
                      CH'e luchshe: nashe ili ih stilo?
                      Il' v samom dele mir ostalsya prezhnim?

                      O, veryu: slaven drevnij ideal -
                      I vse zh tebe vo vsem on ustupal!

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




             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 crowned,
             Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
             And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
             Time does 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 tomu kak volny, napiraya, dvizhutsya k kamenistomu
                                                          beregu,
          tak nashi minuty speshat k svoemu koncu,
          kazhdaya smenyaya tu, chto ej predshestvuet, -
          upornoj cheredoj vse stremyatsya vpered.
          Rozhdenie, edva poyavivshis' na svet,
          polzet, _kak ditya_, k zrelosti, a lish' tol'ko uvenchaetsya eyu,
          krivye zatmeniya opolchayutsya na ego velikolepie
          i Vremya, kotoroe darilo, teper' gubit svoj dar.
          Vremya pronzaet cvet yunosti
          i roet borozdy na lbu krasoty,
          kormitsya vsem redkostnym i podlinnym v prirode,
          i vse zhivet lish' dlya togo, chtoby byt' skoshennym ego kosoj.
             I vse zhe do gryadushchih vremen dozhivut moi stihi,
             voshvalyayushchie tvoyu krasotu vopreki ego zhestokoj ruke.

                      Kak volny na skalistye ustupy
                      Begut, tesnyas', tak chereda minut
                      Speshit k koncu, gde kazhdaya ustupit
                      Svoi prava drugoj, i vse ujdut.

                      Rozhdenie, chut' svet uvidev Bozhij,
                      Stremitsya k zrelosti, no s toj pory
                      Nimb sovershenstva ten' krivaya glozhet,
                      I Vremya gubit vse svoi dary:

                      Cvetushchih let naryad isportit bresh'yu,
                      Izborozdit chelo samoj krasy,
                      Redchajshie plody pozhnet nebrezhno -
                      Vse lish' pozhiva dlya ego kosy.

                      No vopreki ruke ego zhestokoj
                      Moj stih tebya vospel dlya slavy dolgoj!

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane

                      Kak volnam, nabegayushchim na breg,
                      Tak i minutam nashim bystrotechnym
                      Okonchit' suzhdeno svoj trudnyj beg,
                      Poocheredno udalyayas' v vechnost'.

                      Rodivshis' v more sveta i potom
                      Dostignuv polnoj zrelosti, svetilo
                      Utratit blesk v zatmenii krivom, -
                      Pogubit Vremya to, chem odarilo.

                      Izborozdit ono chelo krasy,
                      Cvet yunosti ub'et sebe v ugodu, -
                      Bezzhalostnoj ne izbezhit kosy
                      Vse luchshee, chto sozdano prirodoj.

                      No ne vsevlastna Vremeni ruka,
                      V stihah moih ty budesh' zhit' veka.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




                 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 tenure 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.

              Po tvoej li vole tvoj obraz ne daet zakryt'sya
              moim tyazhelym vekam v tomitel'noj nochi?
              Ty li zhelaesh', chtoby moya drema obryvalas',
              kogda teni, pohozhie na tebya, obmanyvayut moe zrenie?
              Tvoj li eto duh, poslannyj toboj
              tak daleko ot doma podglyadyvat' za moimi delami,
              chtoby obnaruzhit' u menya postydnye postupki i chasy
                                                        prazdnosti,
              _v chem sostoit_ cel' i smysl {*} tvoej revnosti?
              O net: tvoya lyubov', hotya i sil'na, vse zhe ne tak velika;
              eto moya lyubov' ne daet moim glazam zakryt'sya,
              moya sobstvennaya istinnaya lyubov' pobezhdaet moj otdyh,
              chtoby _mne_ byt' v roli strazha dlya tebya.
                 Za toboj ya slezhu, kogda ty bodrstvuesh' v drugom meste,
                 daleko ot menya, slishkom blizko k drugim.

     {* V originale -"tenure", chto, po mneniyu issledovatelej, sleduet chitat'
kak "teno(u)r" (smysl, soderzhanie).}

                    Il' ty nisposylaesh' utomlen'e -
                    Glaz ne mogu somknut' poroj nochnoj?
                    Il' eto teni, vestniki muchen'ya,
                    S toboj druzhny, smeyutsya nado mnoj?
                    Il' eto duh tvoj, poslannyj toboyu,
                    CHtob revnostno vsegda za mnoj sledit' -
                    Zametiv pregreshenie lyuboe,
                    V nevernosti menya izoblichit'?
                    O net, menya ne lyubish' ty nastol'ko,
                    CHtob moj pokoj narushit' v pozdnij chas, -
                    To ya lyublyu! I do togo mne gor'ko,
                    CHto vnov' ya, strazh tvoj, ne smykayu glaz.
                       Lyubov' stoit na strazhe v tishine,
                       Poka k drugim ty blizhe, chem ko mne.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina

                      Tvoej li volej mne nochami dolgo
                      Glaz ne dayut somknut' tvoi cherty
                      I drema obryvaetsya, lish' tol'ko
                      V igre tenej prividish'sya mne ty?

                      Il' eto duh tvoj priletel bez tela
                      Sledit' za mnoyu, chtob k ishodu dnya
                      V delah postydnyh i chasah bezdel'ya,
                      Pitaya revnost', ulichat' menya?

                      O net! Lyubvi tvoej by ne hvatilo,
                      CHtob sna lishit'. Moya zhe tak sil'na,
                      Tak velika, chto otdyh pobedila,
                      Velev na strazhe byt', ne znaya sna.

                      I vidit strazh tvoj neusypnym vzglyadom:
                      Ty daleko, ne spish', i kto-to ryadom.

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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 chopped with tanned antiquity,
                 Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
                 Self so self-loving were iniquity.
                    Tis thee (my self) that for myself I praise,
                    Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

             Greh sebyalyubiya celikom vladeet moimi glazami
             i vsej moej dushoj i vsem mnoj bezrazdel'no,
             i ot etogo greha net isceleniya,
             tak gluboko on ukorenilsya v moem serdce.
             Mne kazhetsya, chto ni u kogo net takogo ocharovatel'nogo lica,
                                                              kak u menya,
             takoj sovershennoj formy, takoj bol'shoj dobrodeteli,
             i ya sam opredelyayu sobstvennoe dostoinstvo,
             poskol'ku ya vseh drugih po vsem dostoinstvam prevoshozhu.
             No kogda moe zerkalo pokazyvaet mne menya _takim, kakov_
             ya na samom dele,
             potaskannogo, v glubokih morshchinah {*}, zadublennogo ot
                                                              vremeni,
             svoyu lyubov' k sebe ya ponimayu naoborot:
             tak lyubit' sebya bylo by chudovishchno;
                eto tebya - to est' sebya - ya voshvalyayu v sebe,
                ukrashaya svoyu starost' krasotoj tvoih dnej.

     {*   Po  mneniyu  kommentatorov,  "chopped"  zdes'  sleduet  chitat'  kak
"chapped" (potreskavshijsya, v glubokih morshchinah).}

                     Greh samomneniya vladeet mnoj -
                     Umom, glazami, kazhdoj chast'yu tela,
                     Vsej sokrovennoj serdca glubinoj, -
                     Lyublyu sebya bezmerno i vsecelo.

                     Mne kazhetsya, chto v mire net lica
                     Prekrasnee, strojnej teloslozhen'ya.
                     I net moim dostoinstvam konca -
                     YA vseh prevoshozhu, bez isklyuchen'ya.

                     No stoit zerkalu sorvat' pokrov
                     I chestno otrazit' moj vid iskonnyj,
                     Samoobman svoj vizhu, hot' darov
                     CHuzhih ya ne hvatayu bezzakonno:

                     YA vozrast svoj i vse, chto mne dano,
                     Sveryayu po tebe. Ved' my - odno.

                     Perevod O. Dudoladovoj

                       Greh sebyalyub'ya zaslonyaet svet
                       I napolnyaet vzor i dushu mne.
                       Ot etogo greha lekarstva net -
                       On zaklyuchen u serdca v glubine.

                       Mne kazhetsya, prekrasnej net lica,
                       I obraza milej ne nahozhu.
                       Sebya ya uveryayu bez konca,
                       CHto ya vo vsem drugih prevoshozhu.

                       No zerkalo pokazhet mne, kak est',
                       Poblekshee ot vozrasta chelo,
                       CHtob mog ya vozrazhenie prochest',
                       Uznat', chto sebyalyub'e - eto zlo.

                       Tebya hvalil ya, a ne oblik svoj,
                       Sebya tvoej spasaya krasotoj.

                       Perevod V. Nikolaeva




              Against my love shall be as I am now,
              With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn;
              When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow
              With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
              Hath travelled on to age's steepy night,
              And all those beauties whereof now he's king
              Are vanishing, or vanished 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.

         Protiv _togo vremeni, kogda_ moj vozlyublennyj stanet takim,
         kak ya sejchas -
         razbitym i potrepannym gubitel'noj rukoj Vremeni, -
         kogda chasy istoshchat ego krov' i pokroyut ego lob
         liniyami i morshchinami; kogda ego yunoe utro
         poedet po krutoj _doroge k_ nochi starosti
         i vse te krasoty, korolem kotoryh on yavlyaetsya sejchas,
         budut ischezat' ili _uzhe_ ischeznut s glaz,
         pohishchaya sokrovishche ego vesny, -
         dlya takogo vremeni ya sejchas stroyu ukrepleniya
         protiv zhestokogo nozha gubitel'noj starosti,
         chtoby on ne vyrezal iz pamyati
         krasotu moego vozlyublennogo, hotya _etot nozh unichtozhit_ ego
                                                               zhizn'.
         Ego krasota budet vidna v etih chernyh strokah, -
         oni budut zhit', i on v nih _prebudet_ cvetushchim.

                      YA sohranyu v vekah moyu lyubov';
                      Kogda goda bezzhalostnoj rukoyu
                      Izrezhut lob, a v staryh zhilah krov'
                      Poholodeet; utro molodoe
                      Nezhdanno perejdet v gluhuyu noch',
                      A prelest' molodogo korolya
                      Sojdet na net, ujdet ot vzorov proch',
                      Vesnoj tvoya ne zacvetet zemlya;
                      K tem vremenam gotovlyus' ya sejchas
                      Bezzhalostnomu Vremeni nazlo,
                      Ne vyrezat' iz pamyati u nas
                      Vsego, chto bylo milo i svetlo.
                         V strokah stihov ot Vremeni tayu
                         Lyubov', krasu i molodost' tvoyu.

                      Perevod A. Kuznecova

                     Dlya toj pory, kogda lyubimyj budet,
                     Kak ya, potrepan Vremeni rukoj,
                     I gody v zhilah krov' ego ostudyat,
                     Lob ischertiv, i po trope krutoj

                     Ego mladoe utro k nochi s®edet,
                     I prelestyami, chto emu dany,
                     Kak korolyu - strana, on stanet beden,
                     Vse rasteryav sokrovishcha vesny,

                     Dlya toj pory ya oboronu stroyu, -
                     Hot' ot kosy smertel'noj ne ujdesh', -
                     Ne dam emu, s takoyu krasotoyu,
                     Iz pamyati propast', popav pod nozh.

                     V strokah chernil'nyh yavitsya zhivushchim
                     On v polnoj krasote, vsegda cvetushchim.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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 rased,
                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 wat'ry 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 obezobrazheno besposhchadnoj rukoj Vremeni
          to, chto bylo bogatstvom i gordost'yu izzhitogo
                                            i pohoronennogo veka;
          kogda ya vizhu poroj, chto srovneny s zemlej velichestvennye
                                                              bashni
          i vechnaya bronza vo vlasti smertel'noj stihii _razrusheniya_;
          kogda ya vizhu, kak golodnyj okean
          nastupaet na carstvo sushi,
          a tverdaya pochva oderzhivaet pobedu nad vodami,
          uvelichivaya izobilie za schet poter' i poteri za schet izobiliya;
          kogda ya vizhu takie peremeny v sostoyanii
          ili to, kak vysshee sostoyanie prihodit k krahu, -
          vse eto razrushenie uchit menya dumat':
          takoe Vremya pridet i zaberet moyu lyubov'.
             |ta mysl' podobna smerti, s nej ostaetsya tol'ko
             rydat' o tom, chto imeesh', no boish'sya poteryat'.

                     Kogda ya vizhu, kak smetaet Vremya
                     Vse to, chemu prishla pora istlet',
                     Kak bashni valit v prah stoletij bremya
                     I gnev svergaet monumentov med'.

                     Kogda ya vizhu, kak vstupayut v spor
                     Golodnyj okean i berega,
                     Utratam tyagostnym naperekor
                     Trofei zabiraya u vraga,

                     Kogda ya vizhu strannyj hod veshchej,
                     Neizlechimo portyashchij stranu,
                     Vse govorit, chto i lyubvi moej
                     Ne sdobrovat' u Vremeni v plenu.

                     Mysl' eta - smert', i bol'no povtoryat',
                     CHto ya vladeyu, chtoby poteryat'.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Kogda sedogo vremeni svirepost'
                      Krushit pompeznost' gorduyu epoh,
                      I v pyl' drobit nezyblemuyu krepost',
                      I med' lituyu odevaet v moh;
                      Kogda u sushi okean golodnyj
                      Pribrezh'e pozhiraet kazhdyj chas,
                      A tverd' zemnaya u stihii vodnoj
                      Beret svoe i grabit pro zapas;
                      Kogda vetshayut strany-ispoliny
                      I gosudarstv kolebletsya oplot,
                      Mne govoryat upavshie ruiny -
                      Prohodit vse. Tak i lyubov' projdet.
                      A s nej i zhizn'. Smert' vybirat' ne mozhet
                      I to ub'et, chto nam vsego dorozhe.

                      Perevod V. Savina




              Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
              But sad mortality o'ersways 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 wrackful siege of batt'ring days,
              When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
              Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
              O fearful meditation! Where, alack,
              Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
              Or what strong hand can hold this 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.

             Raz bronzu, i kamen', i zemlyu, i beskrajnee more -
             _vse_ peresilivaet priskorbnaya brennost',
             kak zhe protiv etoj stihii _vystupat'_ [sudit'sya] krasote,
             ch'i pozicii ne sil'nee, chem u cvetka?
             O kak medovomu dyhaniyu leta ustoyat'
             protiv unichtozhayushchej osady sokrushitel'nyh dnej,
             kogda nepristupnye skaly ne tak krepki
             i stal'nye vorota ne tak prochny, chtoby izbezhat'
                                                razrusheniya Vremenem?
             O pugayushchaya mysl'! Uvy, gde _zhe_
             luchshij dragocennyj kamen' Vremeni ukroetsya ot sunduka
                                                          Vremeni? {*}
             Ili - kakaya sil'naya ruka mozhet uderzhat' ego (_Vremeni_)
                                                          bystrye nogi,
             ili - kto mozhet zapretit' emu porchu krasoty?
                O, nikto, esli tol'ko ne sovershitsya to chudo,
                chto v moih chernilah moya lyubov' budet vechno yarko siyat'.

     {*  Smysl  metafory  "sunduk  vremeni"  (Time's  chest) ne vpolne yasen;
vozmozhno,  imeetsya  v  vidu,  chto  Vremya v konechnom itoge vseh pryachet, kak v
sunduk,  v  nebytie  i  zabvenie;  s  drugoj  storony,  vozmozhno, eto prosto
evfemizm, oznachayushchij "grob".}

                     No tshchetno more, susha, kamen', med'
                     Gordyatsya moshch'yu - im naznachen srok.
                     Kak krasote togda ne umeret',
                     Kogda ona nezhnee, chem cvetok?
                     Kak tronut' smert' bessiliem cvetka,
                     Kakoj najti ot vremeni zaslon,
                     Kogda krushat bezzhalostno veka
                     I stal' mechej, i gordyj stroj kolonn?
                     O, krik dushi! Gde krasotu ukryt'?
                     Kto strelki otodvinet na chasah
                     I vremeni prikazhet otstupit',
                     CHtob cvet vremen ne obratilsya v prah?
                        Uvy, nikto. No yarche vseh svetil
                        Ty zasiyaesh' iz moih chernil.

                     Perevod B. Kushnera

                     I med', i kamen', i zemlya, i more
                     V pechal'noj smerti obretut itog.
                     A krasote chto delat' v etom spore -
                     Bezvrednoj i bessil'noj, kak cvetok?
                     Kak proderzhat'sya zolotomu letu
                     V osade nadvigayushchihsya dnej?
                     Ved' dazhe skal nesokrushimyh netu,
                     A Vremya - stali kovanoj prochnej.
                     Mne strashno. Znachit, Vremya poteryalo
                     Svoj nerazmennyj slitok zolotoj.
                     Kto Vremeni velit nachat' snachala?
                     Kto zapretit torgovlyu krasotoj?
                        Nikto. I vot na chernye chernila
                        Moya lyubov' ves' belyj svet smenila.

                     Perevod V. Orla




                 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:
                 As to behold desert a beggar born,
                 And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
                 And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
                 And gilded 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 miscalled simplicity,
                 And captive good attending captain ill:
                    Tired with all these, from these would I he gone,
                    Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

              Ustav ot vsego etogo, ya vzyvayu k smerti, -
              _ustav_ videt' dostoinstvo ot rodu nishchim,
              i zhalkoe nichtozhestvo, naryazhennoe v roskosh',
              i chistejshuyu veru, ot kotoroj zlobno otreklis',
              i pozolochennye pochesti, pozorno vozdavaemye ne po zaslugam,
              i devstvennuyu dobrodetel', kotoruyu grubo prostituiruyut,
              i istinnoe sovershenstvo, nepravedno opozorennoe,
              i silu, kotoruyu shatkoe pravlenie sdelalo nemoshchnoj,
              i iskusstvo, kotoromu vlast' svyazala yazyk,
              i blazh', s uchenym vidom rukovodyashchuyu znaniem,
              i bezyskusnuyu chestnost', kotoruyu prozvali glupost'yu,
              i poraboshchennoe dobro v usluzhenii u glavenstvuyushchego zla, -
                 ustav ot vsego etogo, ya by ot etogo ushel,
                 no _menya ostanavlivaet_, chto, umerev, ya ostavlyu svoyu
                                                      lyubov' v odinochestve.

                    Izmotan vsem, gotov prosit' konca -
                    Ujti ot obezdolennyh zaslug,
                    Ot nishchenskoj veselosti slepca,
                    Ot very, slishkom pravednoj dlya muk,

                    Ot mnimoj chesti, alchushchej nagrad,
                    Ot sovershenstv, oslavlennyh vezde,
                    Ot chistoty, soglasnoj na razvrat,
                    Ot sil, u vlastnoj nemoshchi v uzde,

                    Ot mysli, v unizhenii nemoj,
                    Ot masterstva, sudimogo glupcom,
                    Ot pravdy, chto zovetsya prostotoj,
                    Ot dobroty, smirennoj pered zlom, -

                    Izmotan vsem, i smert' menya manit,
                    I lish' lyubov' utraty ne prostit.

                    Perevod I. Asterman

                     Zovu ya smert'. Tak videt' ya ustal
                     Zaslugi v rubishche na sklone let,
                     Nichtozhestv, podnyatyh na p'edestal,
                     I vernosti narushennyj obet,

                     I chest', chto kak stydlivaya raba,
                     I devstvennost', chto v zhertvu prinesli,
                     I mudrost' u pozornogo stolba,
                     I moshch', kotoroj nuzhny kostyli,

                     I muzu, u kotoroj klyap vo rtu,
                     I um, chto glupost' cep'yu oplela,
                     I pravdu, chto slyvet za prostotu,
                     I plennoe dobro v zastenkah zla.

                     Ustal... I v zemlyu leg by ne skorbya,
                     No kak, moj drug, ostavlyu zdes' tebya?

                     Perevod A. Vasil'chikova

                     Dushoj ustav, ya plachu o konchine.
                     Net sily videt' muki nishchety,
                     I pustotu v likuyushchej lichine,
                     I sovershenstvo - zhertvoj klevety,
                     I devstvennost', chto prodana razvratu,
                     I prostotu, chto prevratilas' v sram,
                     I very povsemestnuyu utratu,
                     I neumestnoj slavy fimiam,
                     I glupost', pouchayushchuyu vechno,
                     I vlast', ostanovivshuyu pero,
                     I moshch' v plenu u merzkogo uvech'ya,
                     I zlom poraboshchennoe dobro.

                     Dushoj ustav, usnul by ya sovsem,
                     No kak tebya ostavit' s etim vsem?

                     Perevod B. Kushnera

                      Izmuchen vsem, "Pridi zhe, smert'!" - krichu:
                      YA vizhu chest', chto nishchej rozhdena,
                      I pustotu, odetuyu v parchu,
                      I veru, chto davno oskvernena,

                      I styd, i neumestnost' vozvyshen'ya,
                      I devstvennost', chto vtyanuta v razvrat,
                      I sovershenstvo v polnom unizhen'e,
                      I silu, chto bolezni tyagotyat,

                      I Muzu, chej vlastyami skovan rot,
                      I glupost', chto kak mentor - remeslu,
                      I pravdu, chto naivnost'yu slyvet,
                      I plennoe dobro na sluzhbe zlu.

                      Izmuchen vsem, ushel by ot vsego,
                      No kak tebya ostavit' odnogo?

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     YA smert' zovu. YA do smerti ustal -
                     Ot gordosti, idushchej v prizhivalki,
                     Ot pustoty, zanyavshej p'edestal,
                     Ot vymuchennoj very iz-pod palki,
                     Ot srama ordenov i galunov,
                     Ot zhenshchin teh, chto smolodu propali,
                     Ot sily pod pyatoyu boltunov,
                     Ot mudrogo velichiya v opale,
                     Ot vdohnoveniya ispodtishka,
                     Ot prostoty, v kotoroj netu proka,
                     Ot znaniya v rukah u duraka,
                     Ot dobroty v podruchnyh u poroka...
                     YA tak ustal.. No esli smert' primu,
                     Kuda tebe devat'sya odnomu?

                     Perevod V. Orla

                      YA smert' zovu, mne v tyagost' etot svet,
                      Gde maetsya dostoinstvo v nuzhde,
                      I gde nichtozhestvo zhivet bez bed,
                      I chistoj very ne syskat' nigde,

                      I pochesti dayutsya bez zaslug,
                      I chest' devich'yu treplyut na torgah,
                      I sovershenstvu strashen podlyj sluh,
                      I chahnet moshch' u nemoshchi v rukah,

                      I vlast' iskusstvu zaperla usta,
                      I blazh' v upravu znanie vzyala,
                      I iskrennost' zovetsya "prostota",
                      I pod pyatoj dobro zhivet u zla, -

                      Ustal ya i bezhal by ot vsego,
                      No kak ya broshu druga svoego?

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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 seeming 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,
                Beggared 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.

             O pochemu zhe on dolzhen zhit' _v odno vremya_ s porokom
             i svoim prisutstviem skrashivat' nechestivost',
             chtoby greh blagodarya emu poluchil preimushchestvo
             i prochno svyazal sebya s ego obshchestvom?
             Pochemu fal'shivaya kraska dolzhna podrazhat' ego shcheke
             i krast' mertvoe podobie u ego zhivogo cveta _lica_?
             Pochemu dolzhna ubogaya krasota obmannym putem dobyvat'
             podobiya roz, poskol'ku ego roza istinna? {*}
             Pochemu on dolzhen zhit' sejchas, kogda Priroda obankrotilas',
             obnishchav krov'yu, sposobnoj napolnit' kraskoj zhivye veny,
             tak kak u nee ne ostalos' drugoj kazny, krome ego _krasoty_,
             i, gordyas' mnogimi _svoimi tvoreniyami_, ona zhivet tol'ko za
                                                                 ego schet?
                O, ona hranit ego, chtoby pokazat', kakim bogatstvom ona
                                                                  obladala
                v dni davno proshedshie, do etih poslednih, takih plohih.

     {*  S  uchetom filosofskoj frazeologii (sm. primechanie k perevodu soneta
53),  stroki 7-8 mozhno istolkovat' takim obrazom: "Pochemu poddel'naya krasota
dolzhna   imet'   vozmozhnost'   imitirovat'  ego  krasotu,  kotoraya  yavlyaetsya
voploshchennym idealom?"}

                      Zachem on ot zarazy ne bezhit
                      I terpit lozh', caryashchuyu vokrug?
                      Ved' greh ego povsyudu storozhit
                      I l'net k nemu, kak samyj luchshij drug.

                      Zachem pod cvet ego rumyanyh shchek
                      Speshit nepravda kraski podgonyat',
                      Iskat' dlya krasoty krivyh dorog
                      I ten'yu rozy rozu zamenyat'?

                      Zachem on nuzhen v nashi vremena,
                      Kogda koncov Priroda ne svedet?
                      Zatem, chto on teper' - ee kazna.
                      Gordyas' drugimi, im ona zhivet.

                      Ona zapoluchila etot klad
                      Ne v dni poter', a mnogo let nazad.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Zachem soboj mir gryaznyj ukrashaya,
                      Okazyvaet on beschest'yu chest',
                      Porochnost' milostivo priglashaya
                      S Dobrom i Krasotoyu ryadom sest'?
                      Zachem fal'sh' pribegaet k lozhnoj kraske,
                      Rumyanec pohishchaya s yunyh shchek?
                      Zachem potrebny bednym rozam maski?
                      Zachem ego krasu berut na srok?
                      Zatem, chto obankrotilas' Priroda -
                      Ne ta segodnya, chto byla vchera:
                      Kazna pusta, bylogo net dohoda
                      I zhit' dolzhna za schet ego dobra.
                         Hranit Priroda prezhnej moshchi sled,
                         Kotoroj u nee segodnya net.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina




                 Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
                 When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
                 Before these bastard signs of fair were borne,
                 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.

          Takim obrazom, ego _lico_ [shcheka] - obrazec minuvshih dnej,
          kogda krasota zhila i umirala, kak teper' - cvety,
          do togo, kak eti nezakonnye simvoly krasoty stali nosit'sya
          lyud'mi
          i posmeli poselit'sya na zhivom lbu;
          do togo, kak zolotistye lokony mertvyh -
          dostoyanie mogil - stali otstrigat'sya,
          chtoby poluchit' druguyu zhizn' na drugoj golove,
          prezhde chem mertvaya shevelyura krasoty stala ukrashat' drugogo.
          V nem vidny eti blagoslovennye starye vremena -
          _krasota_ bez priukrashivanij, podlinnaya i istinnaya,
          kogda ne tvorili sebe leto iz chuzhogo cveteniya,
          ne ograblyali starogo, chtoby dat' svoej krasote novyj naryad.
             I Priroda ego hranit kak obrazec,
             chtoby pokazat' fal'shivomu Iskusstvu, kakoj krasota
                                                        byla prezhde.


                     I potomu on - obraz prezhnih dnej,
                     Kogda svobodno krasota zhila,
                     Poka pozor iskusstvennyh zatej
                     Eshche nam ne nadelal stol'ko zla,

                     Kogda s umershih zoloto volos
                     Eshche ne vozvrashchala nam zemlya,
                     CHtob mertvyj lokon snova sluzhbu nes,
                     Vladelicu zhivuyu veselya.

                     V nem viden otsvet teh vremen svyatyh,
                     Kogda vo vsem hranili chistotu
                     I dlya zaemnyh prelestej svoih
                     Ne grabili chuzhuyu krasotu.

                     Na nem Priroda hochet nas uchit',
                     Kak pravdu ot poddelki otlichit'.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Ego lico est' pamyat' o bylom:
                      V tu poru, kak cvetok, zhila v prirode
                      Krasa, a ne blestela nad chelom,
                      Kak dnes' - ee vnebrachnye otrod'ya:
                      V te dni vlasy zlatye mertveca
                      ZHivym ne otdavali, sostrigaya
                      Dlya uvenchan'ya novogo lica,
                      CHtob smert'yu ukrashalas' zhizn' drugaya.
                      V nem ozhil vek antichnosti svyatoj,
                      Tot mir, chto byl kogda-to prost i celen:
                      Cvela vesna svoeyu krasotoj,
                      Ni u kogo ne pohishchaya zelen'.

                      Sej obrazec Priroda sohranila -
                      I fal'sh' iskusstva s krasotoj sravnila.

                      Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo




             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,
             Utt'ring bare truth, even so as foes commend,
             Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned,
             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 soil is this, that thou dost common grow.

         Ta chast' tebya, kotoraya vidna glazam mira,
         ne lishena nichego, chto mogla by pozhelat' sokrovennaya mysl';
         vse yazyki, vyraziteli dushi, otdayut tebe v etom dolzhnoe,
         govorya goluyu pravdu, i dazhe vragi _tebya_ hvalyat.
         Tvoya vneshnost', takim obrazom, uvenchana vneshnej hvaloj,
         no te zhe yazyki, kotorye vozdayut tebe to, chto tebe prichitaetsya,
         v drugih slovah etu hvalu oprovergayut,
         kogda glyadyat dal'she, chem pokazyvaet glaz.
         Oni smotryat na krasotu tvoej dushi
         i, v _svoih_ dogadkah, izmeryayut ee tvoimi postupkami;
         togda v svoih myslyah eti skryagi - hotya by ih glaza byli
                                                         dobrymi, -
         k tvoemu prekrasnomu cvetku dobavlyayut zlovonie sornyakov.
            No pochemu tvoj zapah ne sootvetstvuet tvoemu vidu?
            Prichina {*} v tom, chto ty cvetesh', dostupnyj vsem.

     {* V originale Torpa zdes' stoyalo nesushchestvuyushchee slovo "solye", kotoroe
bol'shinstvo    pozdnejshih    izdatelej   sochli   iskazhennym   "soyle",   chto
sootvetstvuem   sovremennomu   "soil".   Odnako  interpretacii  etogo  slova
predlagalis'  raznye,  v  tom  chisle  "pochva  (na kotoroj vyrastaet porok)",
"pyatno (moral'noe)", "reshenie (voprosa)".}

                     To vneshnee v tebe, chto vidit svet,
                     Schitat' za sovershenstvo on gotov,
                     I v etom hore nesoglasnyh net,
                     V nem dazhe golosa tvoih vragov.

                     Tak vneshnost' hvalyat vneshneyu hvaloj.
                     No te zhe obozhateli kak raz
                     Utrachivayut ves' vostorg byloj,
                     Proniknuv glubzhe, chem sposoben glaz.

                     Tvoej dushi kosnuvshis' lish' slegka,
                     Zato postupki strogo razobrav,
                     Oni divyatsya obliku cvetka,
                     No yasno slyshat zapah sornyh trav.

                     Otkuda on, skazat' tebe mogu:
                     Ty s etimi lyud'mi, ty v ih krugu.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Vo vneshnosti tvoej, chto vidit mir,
                     Ni glaz, ni serdce ne najdut shtrihov
                     Nesovershenstva. Ty - dlya vseh kumir,
                     I dlya druzej tvoih, i dlya vragov.
                     Za vneshnost' - vneshnyaya i pohvala,
                     No s yazykov inyh uzhe ne raz
                     Sletala zlorechivaya molva
                     O tom, chego ne mozhet videt' glaz.
                     No vnutr' dushi tvoej proniknul vzglyad,
                     Za nim - drugoj, i zlye yazyki
                     Tvoih cvetov zaglushat aromat,
                     Sred' nih rasseyav shchedro sornyaki.
                        Tvoe blagouhanie, uvy,
                        Isporcheno vliyaniem molvy.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova




               That thou are 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 wooed of time,
               For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
               And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
               Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days,
               Either not assailed, or victor being charged,
               Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise
               To tie up envy, evermore enlarged:
                  If some suspect of ill masked not thy show,
                  Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

         To, chto tebya poricayut, ne dolzhno schitat'sya tvoim iz®yanom,
         tak kak prekrasnoe vsegda bylo mishen'yu klevety;
         ornamentom krasoty yavlyaetsya podozrenie -
         vorona, letayushchaya v chistejshem vozduhe nebes.
         Tak chto, bud' ty horoshim, kleveta tem bolee podtverdit
         tvoe dostoinstvo, podvergayushcheesya soblaznam vremeni {*},
         tak kak porcha lyubit samye sladostnye butony,
         a ty predstavlyaesh' soboj chistyj, nezapyatnannyj rascvet.
         Ty minoval _opasnosti_ [zasadu] yunyh dnej,
         ili ne podvergshis' napadeniyu, ili atakovannyj, no vyjdya
         pobeditelem;
         eto pohval'no, no etogo nedostatochno,
         chtoby _sderzhat'_ [svyazat'] vechno rastushchuyu zavist'.
            Esli by podozrenie v poroke ne brosalo ten' na tvoyu
                                                         krasotu,
            togda ty odin vladel {**} by korolevstvami serdec.

     {* Temnoe mesto, vyzyvayushchee spory kommentatorov.
     **  Soglasno  kommentatoram,  "owe"  zdes'  sleduet  chitat'  kak  "own"
(vladet', obladat').}

                      To, chto tebya porochat, ne porok.
                      Spokojno ne zhivetsya krasote,
                      I podozrenie - ee venok,
                      Vorona v samoj chistoj vysote.

                      Usiliyami dolgoj klevety
                      Ty tol'ko podnimaesh'sya v cene.
                      CHerv' zapolzaet v luchshie cvety,
                      A pyaten ne najdesh' v tvoej vesne.

                      Ty izbezhal zasady yunyh dnej,
                      Podsteregavshij sam popal v bedu,
                      Hotya hvala nevinnosti tvoej
                      Na zavist' ne nabrosila uzdu.

                      Gluhoj namek tebya ogovoril,
                      Ne to by vse serdca ty pokoril.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     To, chto i ty podvergsya klevete, -
                     Ne tvoj porok, - krasy izvechnyj zhrebij,
                     I podozren'ya ten' na krasote -
                     Ornament, voron chernyj v yasnom nebe.

                     Ty vsem horosh. Lish' podtverdit navet,
                     CHto ty dushoyu chist i neporochen;
                     CHerv' nailuchshij vybiraet cvet,
                     No tvoj cvetok ne znaet chervotochin.

                     Vse iskushen'ya molodosti ty
                     Il' pobedil, il' oboshel iskusno;
                     I vse zhe pravdoj ne zavyazhesh' rty
                     Zavistnikam i lzhi tysyacheustoj.

                     Kogda b ne ten' na like, ty by mog
                     Odin vladet' serdcami - car' i bog.

                     Perevod S. SHestakova




                 No longer mourn for me when I am dead
                 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
                 Give warning to the world that I am fled
                 From this vile world with vildest 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.
                 Or if (I say) you look upon this verse,
                 When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay,
                 Do not as 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.

               Kogda ya umru, oplakivaj menya ne dol'she,
               chem budesh' slyshat' ugryumyj kolokol,
               opoveshchayushchij mir, chto ya bezhal
               iz etogo nizkogo [podlogo, merzkogo] mira, chtoby poselit'sya
                                                     s nizhajshimi chervyami.
               Dazhe esli prochitaesh' etu stroku, ne vspominaj
               ruki, kotoraya ee napisala, ibo ya lyublyu tebya tak,
               chto hotel by byt' zabytym toboyu _i_ v sokrovennyh myslyah,
               esli mysli obo mne prichinyat tebe stradanie.
               Ili esli, govoryu ya, ty vzglyanesh' na eti stihi,
               kogda, vozmozhno, ya _uzhe_ smeshayus' s glinoj,
               ty dazhe moego bednogo imeni ne povtoryaj,
               no pust' tvoya lyubov' pogibnet s moej zhizn'yu,
                  chtoby vsevedushchij mir ne zametil tvoego placha
                  i ne osmeyal tebya iz-za menya, kogda menya ne budet.


                   Nedolgo plach' po mne, pust' slez ischeznet sled,
                   Lish' kolokol vdali prob'et tosklivyj,
                   CHto ya ostavil etot nizkij svet,
                   Spustivshis' nizhe - v chernyj mir chervivyj.
                   I nad strokoj zaplakat' ne speshi
                   V soznanii moej neschastnoj doli -
                   YA tak lyubil, chto dlya tvoej dushi
                   YA ne zhelal by dazhe etoj boli.
                   I esli ty uvidish' etot stih,
                   Kogda moj prah smeshaetsya s zemleyu,
                   Ne prizyvaj togda imen moih -
                   Puskaj lyubov' tvoya umret so mnoyu.

                   CHtob etot mir, uslyshav golos tvoj,
                   Ne osmeyal nas za tvoej spinoj.

                   Perevod B. Kushnera

                     Kogda umru ya, ty skorbi ne dolee,
                     CHem budet vozveshchat' unylyj zvon,
                     CHto ya bezhal iz nizkoj sej yudoli
                     I v nizshij mir chervej pereselen.

                     I ruku, chto pisala eti strochki,
                     Ne vspominaj. YA tak tebya lyublyu,
                     CHto predpochtu zabven'e bez otsrochki,
                     CHem pamyat'yu pokoj tvoj otravlyu.

                     Perechitav sonet moj v chas dosuga,
                     Kogda menya poglotit prah zemnoj,
                     Ne povtoryaj pustoe imya druga -
                     Puskaj tvoya lyubov' umret so mnoj,

                     CHtob, slysha vzdoh tvoj obo mne poslednij,
                     Premudryj mir tebya ne ranil spletnej.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                 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.

         CHtoby mir ne zastavil tebya rasskazyvat',
         kakie vo mne byli dostoinstva, zasluzhivavshie tvoej lyubvi,
         posle moej smerti, lyubov' moya, zabud' menya sovsem,
         tak kak ty ne smozhesh' dokazat', chto vo mne bylo chto-to
                                                            cennoe,
         esli tol'ko ne izobretesh' kakuyu-nibud' blagorodnuyu lozh',
         chtoby sdelat' dlya menya bol'she, chem ya zasluzhivayu,
         i _vozdat'_ [navesit'] bol'she hvaly mne, pokojnomu,
         chem skupaya pravda soobshchila by po svoej vole.
         O, chtoby tvoya podlinnaya lyubov' ne pokazalos' fal'shivoj
                                                          ottogo,
         chto ty, iz lyubvi menya hvalya, govorish' nepravdu,
         pust' moe imya budet pohoroneno tam zhe, gde moe telo,
         i ne budet bol'she zhit', chtoby ne pozorit' ni tebya, ni menya,
            tak kak mne stydno za to, chto ya proizvozhu na svet,
            i tebe dolzhno byt' stydno za svoyu lyubov' k nikchemnym
                                                            predmetam.

                     CHtob mir voprosami ne donimal,
                     Za chto pri zhizni ty menya primetil,
                     Zabud' menya - ne stoyu ya pohval:
                     Zabud', kak budto ne zhil ya na svete.
                     K chemu dobroporyadochnaya Lozh',
                     Kogda skupaya Pravda hodit ryadom?
                     Nichem ya ne byl dlya tebya horosh:
                     Umru - i vspominat' menya ne nado;
                     I ne pripisyvaj ty mne zaslug,
                     Dan' otdavaya druzhbe nashej nezhnoj,
                     Zaroj so mnoyu moe imya, drug:
                     Neset mne i tebe styd neizbezhnyj.
                        Moj styd - moi nichtozhnye tvoren'ya,
                        Tvoj styd - ko mne, nichtozhnomu, vlechen'e.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina

                     O, chtob ne priviral ty vsyakij raz,
                     Za chto ko mne lyubov'yu vospylal, -
                     Kogda umru, zabud' menya totchas,
                     Sovsem zabud', kak budto i ne znal.

                     Voznosit dobrodetel'naya lozh'
                     Hvalu bogatstvam, chto tait dusha;
                     Tak ty menya, lyubimyj, voznesesh'
                     Do neba, protiv istiny gresha.

                     O, chtob iz-za pristrastnyh teh rechej
                     Tvoyu lyubov' ne zapyatnal obman,
                     Pust' pohoronyat plot' moyu i s nej
                     Pozor nash - imya, koim byl ya zvan.

                     Mne stydno, chto vo vsem nichtozhen ya;
                     I ty stydish'sya, polyubiv menya.

                     Perevod S. SHestakova




              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 ruined 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 seest 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 nourished by.
              This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
              To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

         Vo mne ty vidish' to vremya goda,
         kogda zheltye list'ya - ih ili net sovsem, ili malo - visyat
         na tryasushchihsya ot holoda vetvyah, -
         ogolennyh razrushennyh horah, gde nedavno peli sladkogolosye
                                                               pticy.
         Vo mne ty vidish' sumerki dnya,
         kotoryj posle zahoda solnca ugasaet na zapade;
         ego bystro zabiraet chernaya noch' -
         vtoroe "ya" Smerti, vse opechatyvayushchaya pokoem.
         Vo mne ty vidish' siyanie takogo ognya,
         kotoryj pokoitsya na zole svoej yunosti,
         kak na smertnom lozhe, gde on dolzhen ugasnut',
         pogloshchennyj tem, chto ego pitalo.
            Ty eto osoznaesh', i eto delaet tvoyu lyubov' sil'nee,
            _zastavlyaya_ lyubit' predanno to, chto ty dolzhen vskore
                                                           poteryat'.

                      Vo mne ty vidish' pasmurnuyu poru,
                      Kogda v vetvyah drozhit zasohshij list,
                      I razorennye lesnye hory
                      Ne oglashaet milyj ptichij svist;
                      Vo mne ty vidish' etot sumrak seryj,
                      Kogda zakat na zapade ugas,
                      I, pyad' za pyad'yu zapolnyaya sfery,
                      Pokoem noch', kak smert', smiryaet nas;
                      Vo mne ty vidish' tot ogon', chto glozhet
                      Poslednie ostatki yunyh sil
                      I ugasaet, kak na smertnom lozhe,
                      Na mertvom peple, chto ego vskormil;

                      I znaya eto, dorozhish' sil'nej
                      Lyubov'yu uskol'zayushchej svoej.

                      Perevod I. Asterman

                     Vo mne to vremya goda vidish' ty,
                     Kogda s derev spadaet ih ubor,
                     Kogda drozhat zamerzshie listy
                     Tam, gde zvenel nedavno ptichij hor.

                     Vo mne ty vidish' tusklyj sumrak dnya,
                     Kogda zakat na zapade ugas,
                     I son nochnoj, vtoroe smerti "ya",
                     Kladet, kak ten', pechat' svoyu na nas.

                     Vo mne ty vidish' otbleski kostra,
                     CHto polyhal i radoval soboj,
                     No, otgorev, kogda prishla pora,
                     Byl pogreben svoeyu zhe zoloj.

                     I ottogo lyubov' tvoya sil'nej
                     Pri mysli, chto prostish'sya skoro s nej.

                     Perevod A. Vasil'chikova

                      YA dlya tebya - ta pozdnyaya pora,
                      Kogda sletayut list'ya s vyshiny,
                      I tam, na horah, slyshnye vchera,
                      Segodnya pticy bol'she ne slyshny.

                      Vo mne ty vidish' slabyj otsvet dnya,
                      Na zapad uhodyashchij dogorat',
                      Gde na nego, vse kraski horonya,
                      Noch', slovno smert', kladet svoyu pechat'.

                      Vo mne ty vidish' blednyj ogonek,
                      Mercayushchij nad peplom yunyh let.
                      Na etot smertnyj odr on tiho leg,
                      Pogublen tem, chem porozhden na svet.

                      No vizhu ya, ty lyubish' tem sil'nej,
                      CHem men'she u lyubvi poslednih dnej.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Vo mne ty poru goda vidish' tu,
                     Kogda poslednij zheltyj list ponik
                     I holod svodit such'ev chernotu
                     Na horah, gde ne slyshen ptichij krik.
                     Vo mne ty vidish' chas, kogda nevmoch'
                     V zakate den' pomerkshij raspoznat',
                     I smerti ten' - s nebes spolzaet noch'
                     I stavit pogrebal'nuyu pechat'.
                     Vo mne ty vidish' tot poslednij pyl,
                     Kogda ogon' sverknet iz pepla vdrug,
                     No to, chto prezhde on szhigat' lyubil,
                     Teper' samo szhimaet smertnyj krug.

                     Ty vidish' vse. Lyubov' obrechena.
                     No tem sil'nej stanovitsya ona.

                     Perevod B. Kushnera

                      Vo mne tu poru tvoj nahodit vzglyad,
                      Kogda pochti vse list'ya obleteli
                      I vetvi lish' na holode drozhat,
                      Pustye hory tam, gde pticy peli.

                      Vo mne ty vidish' zavershen'e dnya,
                      Kogda zakat uzh nachal dogorat'
                      I, postepenno proch' ego gonya,
                      Noch', budto Smert', kladet na vse pechat'.

                      Vo mne ty vidish' blesk ognya togo,
                      CHto tleet v peple yunosti svoej,
                      I lozhe pogrebal'noe ego
                      Ostatki pogloshchaet prezhnih dnej.

                      I dlya tebya togda eshche dorozhe
                      Vse to, chto poteryat' ty skoro mozhesh'.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Ty zastaesh' vo mne takuyu poru,
                     Kogda drozhat poslednie listy
                     Na teh vetvyah, chto byli domom horu
                     Ptic sladkoglasyh, a teper' pusty.

                     Ty vidish' den', chto, na zakate taya,
                     Temneet bystro, - noch' ego kradet
                     I, budto Smert', sestra ee rodnaya,
                     Na vse pechat' nedvizhnosti kladet.

                     Svet plameni ty vidish', gde ostalsya
                     Ogon' na peple yunosti byloj.
                     No, pogloshchennyj tem zhe, chem pitalsya,
                     Na lozhe smerti stanet on zoloj.

                     Ty vidish' vse. No lish' sil'nej vo vzore
                     Lyubov' k tomu, s chem rasstavat'sya vskore!

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




                   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.

            No ne goryuj, kogda etot zhestokij arest
            bez prava osvobozhdeniya zaberet menya otsyuda;
            moya zhizn' _prodolzhaetsya_ [imeet dolyu] v etih strochkah,
            kotorye dlya pamyati navsegda ostanutsya s toboj.
            CHitaya snova eto _stihotvorenie_, ty budesh' videt'
            tu samuyu chast' _menya_, kotoraya byla posvyashchena tebe;
            zemlya mozhet poluchit' tol'ko zemlyu {*}, kotoraya ej prichitaetsya,
            a moj duh - luchshaya chast' menya - prinadlezhit tebe.
            Tak chto ty poteryaesh' ne bolee chem otbrosy zhizni,
            dobychu chervej, - umret moe telo,
            beschestnaya dobycha nozha negodyaya {**},
            slishkom nizmennoe, chtoby ego pomnili.
               Ego cennost' v tom, chto ono soderzhit v sebe,
               to est' eto _moe tvorchestvo_, a eto ostanetsya s toboj.

     {* Sm. primechanie k sonetu 44.
     **  Spornoe  mesto.  Soglasno odnomu iz tolkovanij, pod "nozhom negodyaya"
zdes' nuzhno ponimat' kosu Smerti.}

                      No ne terzajsya, i kogda za mnoj
                      Pridut, chtob vzyat' bez lishnej kaniteli,
                      Pust' eti stroki sohranyat zhivoj
                      Tu pamyat', chto u nas otnyat' hoteli.
                      I esli vmeste byt' nam ne dano,
                      Moj vysshij duh otyshchesh' za strokoyu -
                      Zemlya voz'met, chto ej obrecheno.
                      Moya dusha ostanetsya s toboyu.
                      I potomu lish' musor bytiya,
                      CHervej dobychu, zhalkij plod razboya,
                      Utratish' ty, kogda pogibnu ya, -
                      Prostuyu plot', chto pamyati ne stoit.

                      Puskaj v zemle istleet nizkij prah, -
                      Moya dusha s toboj - v moih stihah.

                      Perevod B. Kushnera

                    No bud' dovolen. Pust' mne pod arest
                    Ujti bez poruchitel'stva pridetsya,
                    Sud'ba moya probudit interes
                    Tem slovom, chto na pamyat' ostaetsya.

                    Najdesh', kosnuvshis' vzglyadom etih strok,
                    Vse, chto tebe hochu ya posvyatit'.
                    Zemlya poluchit prah - zakonnyj dolg.
                    No lish' tvoim moj duh obyazan byt'.

                    Ty poteryaesh' tol'ko zhizni shlak
                    I trup, chto stal dobycheyu chervej,
                    Kuda kinzhal vonzil truslivyj vrag, -
                    Ne stoit eto pamyati tvoej.

                    I tol'ko stih ee dostoin moj,
                    CHto navsegda ostanetsya s toboj.

                    Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                 So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
                 Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground;
                 And for the peace of you I hold such strife
                 As 'twixt a miser and has 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 bettered 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.

             Dlya moih myslej ty - kak pishcha dlya zhizni
             ili kak svezhie blagouhannye livni - dlya zemli,
             i radi tvoego spokojstviya {*} ya vedu takuyu bor'bu,
             kakaya byvaet mezhdu skupcom i ego bogatstvom:
             to on gord, naslazhdayas' _im_, a to
             opasaetsya, chto vorovatyj vek ukradet ego sokrovishche;
             to ya schitayu, chto luchshe vsego byt' s toboj naedine,
             to _polagayu, chto_ eshche luchshe, chtoby mir videl moyu radost';
             poroj presyshchen pirshestvom - sozercaniem tebya,
             no skoro _snova_ sovsem izgolodayus' po vzglyadu _na tebya_,
             ne imeya i ne ishcha drugih udovol'stvij,
             krome togo, chto ya poluchil ili dolzhen poluchit' ot tebya.
                Tak ya chahnu i predayus' izlishestvam izo dnya v den' -
                ili obzhirayus' vsem, ili lishen vsego.

     {*  Neyasnoe  mesto; "for the peace of you" mozhno istolkovat' tak zhe kak
"radi (moego) udovletvoreniya, kotoroe mne dostavlyaet tvoya druzhba".}

                     Ty dlya dushi, kak pishcha, chtoby zhit',
                     Kak svezhij liven' - dlya zemli vesnoj.
                     Boryus' ya, chtob pokoj tvoj sohranit',
                     Kak so svoim sokrovishchem - skupoj.

                     Gorzhus' ya obladan'em, no potom
                     Boyus', chto vek ukrast' sposoben klad;
                     To ya hochu s toboyu byt' vdvoem,
                     To miru ya tebya predstavit' rad.

                     Poroj ya syt ot vida tvoego,
                     No vskore vzor moj goloden opyat'.
                     Ne dast mne obladan'e nichego
                     Poverh togo, chto ty mne mozhesh' dat':

                     Tak den' za dnem piruyu, golodaya,
                     To pogloshchaya vse, to Izvergaya.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Ty dlya menya kak hleb dlya bednyaka,
                     Kak zhivotvornyj liven' dlya pustyni,
                     A ya kak tot skupec u sunduka -
                     Net dragocennej dlya nego svyatyni,
                     Kogda on vorozhit nad sundukom:
                     To zolotom v otkrytuyu gorditsya,
                     To kladom naslazhdaetsya tajkom,
                     To spryachet - pohititelya boitsya.
                     Tak ya - to ob®edayus' za troih,
                     To golodayu, zhdu podachki-vzglyada;
                     YA schast'e poluchil iz ruk tvoih,
                     I nichego inogo mne ne nado:
                        Ty ryadom - ya v tri gorla em i em,
                        A ty vdali - lishen edy sovsem.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




                  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.

               Pochemu moi stihi nastol'ko lisheny novomodnogo
                                                    velikolepiya -
               Tak daleki ot raznoobraziya i bystryh peremen?
               Pochemu ya ne obrashchayus', vmeste s vremenem,
               k novoobretennym metodam i strannym sochetaniyam? {*}
               Pochemu ya pishu postoyanno odno i to zhe, vsegda odinakovo,
               i odevayu voobrazhenie v tu zhe znakomuyu odezhdu,
               tak chto kazhdoe slovo pochti nazyvaet moe imya,
               obnaruzhivaya svoe rozhdenie i proishozhdenie?
               O, znaj, lyubov' moya, ya vsegda pishu o tebe,
               i ty i lyubov' - moya postoyannaya tema,
               tak chto luchshee, chto ya mogu, - eto naryadit' starye slova
                                                               po-novomu,
               tratya opyat' to, chto uzhe potracheno.
                  Ved' solnce kazhdyj den' i novo i staro,
                  tak i moya lyubov' postoyanno govorit to, chto uzhe skazano.

     {*   Vozmozhno,   rech'   idet   o  novyh  stilisticheskih  priemah  ili o
slovotvorchestve, shiroko rasprostranennom v epohu SHekspira.}

                     Ty govorish', tebe ne nov moj stih,
                     CHto u menya povtorov slishkom mnogo.
                     Nu chto by mne ne brat' v primer drugih
                     S ih strannym smyslom i svobodoj sloga,

                     A ne tverdit' odno den' oto dnya,
                     Vse obrazy svoi toboj pitaya.
                     Uzh po uporstvu, verno, na menya
                     Tam kazhdaya pohozha zapyataya.

                     Ne sporyu, no kogda v dushe odna
                     Lyubov' k tebe poet, ne utihaya,
                     Moya edinstvennaya novizna -
                     Venchat' ee vse novymi stihami.

                     Kak solnce vechno l'et vse tot zhe svet,
                     Tak u lyubvi - vsegda odin syuzhet.

                     Perevod O. Dudoladovoj

                     Zachem moj stih tak skup na noviznu
                     I tak dalek ot peremen vnezapnyh?
                     Zachem ya vmeste s vekom ne vzglyanu
                     Na novyj sposob sochetanij strannyh?

                     Zachem vsegda pishu odno i to zhe,
                     Ne priodev svoe voobrazhen'e?
                     Menya nazvat' lyuboe slovo mozhet
                     I ob®yavit' svoe proishozhden'e.

                     Znaj, milyj drug, ya o tebe pishu,
                     I u menya odin syuzhet - lyubov'.
                     Obnovki prezhnim strochkam nahozhu
                     I to, chto ya istratil, trachu vnov'.

                     Kak solnce nado mnoj staro i novo,
                     Tak ya opyat' tverzhu vse to zhe slovo.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva




              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 the dial's shady stealth mayst know
              Time's thievish progress to eternity;
              Look what thy memory cannot contain
              Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
              Those children nursed, delivered 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.

         Tvoe zerkalo pokazhet tebe, kak iznashivayutsya tvoi prelesti,
         chasy - kak istekayut dragocennye minuty,
         _a_ chistye listy budut hranit' otpechatok tvoej dushi,
         i iz etoj knigi {*} ty mozhesh' vkusit' takoe znanie:
         morshchiny, kotorye tvoe zerkalo tebe pravdivo pokazhet,
         napomnyat tebe o raskrytom zeve mogily;
         po tomu, kak ukradkoj dvizhetsya ten' v chasah {**}, ty mozhesh'
                                                                 postich'
         vorovatoe dvizhenie vremeni k vechnosti;
         a vse, chto tvoya pamyat' ne mozhet uderzhat',
         dover' etim pustym stranicam, i _potom_ ty obnaruzhish'
         vzrashchennymi etih detej, rozhdennyh tvoim umom,
         chtoby s nimi snova poznakomilas' tvoya dusha.
            |ti uslugi _zerkala_ i _chasov_ - v toj mere, naskol'ko
                                         chasto ty budesh' smotret', -
            prinesut tebe pol'zu i sil'no obogatyat tvoyu knigu.

     {*  Zdes'  "kniga"  (book), veroyatno, oznachaet kakogo-to roda knigu dlya
zapisej.  Po mneniyu nekotoryh kommentatorov, poet podaril Drugu takuyu knigu,
i  dannyj sonet soprovozhdal podarok. Sm. sonet 122, gde rech' idet o podobnom
podarke Druga poetu.
     ** Veroyatno, rech' idet o solnechnyh chasah.}

                     Svoj vozrast v zerkale uvidish' ty,
                     V chasah - minuty, chto nel'zya vernut'.
                     Lozhitsya zhizn' na chistye listy -
                     Iz etoj kniga ty postignesh' sut'.

                     Napomnit besposhchadnoe steklo
                     Morshchinami, chto past' mogily zhdet;
                     A vremya-vor mgnoven'em proteklo
                     V teni chasov i k vechnosti vedet.

                     Dover' zavetnym pis'menam skorej
                     Vse to, chto pamyati ne uderzhat', -
                     Kogda-nibud' plody svoih idej
                     Pozhnesh' i smozhesh' ty sebya poznat'.

                     I ty, chitaya mudrost' etih strok,
                     Ves'ma bogatyj izvlechesh' urok.

                     Perevod A. Vasil'chikova

                     CHasy pokazhut bystrotu minuty,
                     A zerkalo - utratu krasoty:
                     Pust' myslej sokrovennye marshruty
                     Zapolnyat eti chistye listy.
                     Lenivo v vechnost' ten'yu vorovskoyu
                     Kradetsya strelka - v zerkalo smotret'
                     Bez grusti nevozmozhno, i s toskoyu
                     Glyadim na podstupayushchuyu Smert'.
                     Pust' mysli - vskormlennye mozgom deti -
                     Najdut v zavetnom dnevnike priyut:
                     V nem "ya" tvoe rodnye chada eti
                     Nadolgo dlya tebya zhe sberegut.
                     Kogda v dnevnik poroj ty brosish' vzglyad,
                     Pered toboj sverknet bescennyj klad.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




                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.

             YA tak chasto prizyval tebya kak svoyu Muzu
             i nahodil _v tebe_ takuyu dobruyu pomoshch' dlya svoih stihov,
             chto kazhdoe chuzhoe pero prisvoilo moj obychaj
             i, prikryvayas' toboj, rasprostranyaet svoyu poeziyu.
             Tvoi glaza, kotorye nauchili nemogo pet' vo ves' golos,
             a tyazhkoe nevezhestvo - letat' v vyshine,
             _teper'_ dobavili per'ev k kryl'yam uchenyh
             i pridali izyashchestvu dvojnoe velikolepie.
             I vse zhe gordis' bolee vsego tem, chto slagayu ya,
             u kotorogo vse vliyanie - tvoe i rozhdeno ot tebya {*};
             v proizvedeniyah drugih ty vsego lish' uluchshaesh' stil',
             i iskusstva _lish'_ ukrashayutsya tvoej dragocennoj krasoj.
                No _dlya menya_ ty - vse moe iskusstvo i vozvyshaesh'
                do uchenosti moe gruboe nevezhestvo.

     {*   Soglasno  rashozhim  predstavleniyam  togo  vremeni,  zhizn'  kazhdogo
cheloveka  prohodila  pod  postoyannym  vliyaniem  teh  ili  inyh  zvezd.  Poet
zayavlyaet,  chto  u  nego vse vliyanie - ot Druga, tem samym kosvenno ocherednoj
raz upodoblyaya ego zvezde.}

                     K tebe kak k Muze stol'ko ya vzyval
                     I pomoshch' poluchal tvoyu pri etom,
                     CHto, kak i mne, vzyvat' k tebe nastal
                     CHered drugim zavistlivym poetam.

                     Nemomu mne tvoj vzor usta raskryl,
                     Nevezhestvo ucha letat' po-ptich'i,
                     A im, uchenym, ne daval on kryl,
                     No ih poletu lish' pridal velich'ya.

                     I vse zhe ty stihom gordis' moim -
                     On duh ot duha tvoj i plot' ot ploti,
                     Ved' tol'ko slog podpravil ty drugim
                     I pridal sovershenstvo ih rabote.

                     Ty - vse moe iskusstvo, neuch ya,
                     I vsya nauka u menya - tvoya!

                     Perevod S. Stepanova

                      Ty Muzoj, vdohnoven'em byl moim,
                      Volshebnoj siloj napolnyaya stroki,
                      I kazhdyj, kto poeziej tomim,
                      Provorno perenyal moi uroki.
                      Tebya uzrev, nemoj zagovoril,
                      Lishennyj kryl'ev poletel, kak ptica,
                      A kto letal, tot vyshe vosparil,
                      Stal graciej stiha vdvojne gordit'sya;
                      No ty, proshu, gordis' moim stihom:
                      Ty darish' tol'ko blesk chuzhim tvoren'yam,
                      V moih zhe - sam zhivesh' ves' celikom:
                      Tebe obyazan stih svoim rozhden'em.
                         V stih vzyav tebya - poeziyu, moshch', svet -
                         Nevezhda v proshlom, nyne ya - poet.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina




                  Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
                  My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
                  But now my gracious numbers are decayed,
                  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 behaviour; 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 ya odin vzyval k tvoej pomoshchi,
              moi stihi odni voploshchali vse tvoe izyashchestvo {*},
              no teper' moi izyashchnye stihi v upadke,
              i moya bol'naya Muza ustupaet mesto drugomu.
              YA priznayu, lyubov' moya, chto tvoya milaya tema
              zasluzhivaet truda bolee dostojnogo pera,
              i vse zhe chto by o tebe ni sochinil poet,
              on vse voruet u tebya, a potom vozmeshchaet tebe zhe:
              on nadelyaet tebya dobrodetel'yu, no _samo_ eto slovo on ukral
              u tvoego povedeniya; on pridaet _tebe_ krasotu,
              no _on lish'_ nashel ee v tvoem _lice_ [shcheke]; on ne mozhet vozdat'
              tebe nikakoj hvaly, krome _povtoreniya_ togo, chto _uzhe_ v tebe
                                                                       zhivet.
                 Poetomu ne blagodari ego za to, chto on govorit,
                 poskol'ku to, chto on dolzhen _vozdat'_ tebe, ty platish' sam.

     {*    Drugoe   vozmozhnoe   prochtenie:   "...odni   pol'zovalis'   tvoej
blagosklonnost'yu".}

                     Pokuda ya vzyval k tebe odin,
                     V moj stih vlivalos' vse tvoe iskusstvo:
                     Teper' zhe ty stal mnogim gospodin,
                     I moj neduzhnyj stih teryaet chuvstvo.

                     Dostoin ty, ob etom sporu net,
                     I luchshego pera, i vdohnoven'ya,
                     No vse, chto v dar tebe neset poet,
                     Im vzyato u tebya s soizvolen'ya.

                     Ty osoznaj darov ego tshchetu:
                     Tebe tvoyu neset on dobrodetel',
                     Tvoyu zhe prepodnosit krasotu,
                     Kotorym on v tebe prostoj svidetel'.

                     Ty platish' sam za vse, i ottogo
                     Blagodarit' ne dolzhen nikogo.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova

                      Poka tebya odin ya vospeval,
                      Vse gracii tvoi vmeshchal moj stih;
                      Teper' zhe on bespomoshchen i vyal,
                      A Muza predpochla, uvy, drugih.

                      O, nesomnenno, chudnyj tvoj portret
                      Dostoin luchshego, chem ya, tvorca;
                      No chto by ni daril tebe poet,
                      Iz tvoego ukradeno larca.

                      Tebya on grabit, a ne sam tvorit:
                      Vot slavit dobrodetel' - tak ona
                      V delah tvoih; vot u tvoih lanit
                      Krasu kradet, - vse est' v tebe spolna.

                      I ne blagodari ego! - soboj
                      Za pohvalu ty platish' - i s lihvoj.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




                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 wracked) 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.

           O, kak menya lishaet sil, kogda ya pishu o tebe,
           znanie, chto prevoshodyashchij menya duh ispol'zuet tvoe imya
           i na hvalu tebe rashoduet vsyu svoyu silu,
           tak chto skovyvaet moj yazyk, kogda ya govoryu o tvoej slave.
           No poskol'ku tvoi dostoinstva, obshirnye, kak okean,
           nesut na sebe _ravno_ skromnyj i samyj gordyj parus,
           moya derzkaya lad'ya, mnogo ustupayushchaya ego _korablyu_,
           svoevol'no poyavlyaetsya na tvoej morskoj shiri.
           Tvoya samaya melkaya pomoshch' uderzhit menya na plavu,
           togda kak on poplyvet po tvoej bezdonnoj glubine,
           ili, poterpev krushenie, ya stanu nikchemnoj lodkoj,
           _a_ on _ostanetsya korablem_ velichestvennoj i prekrasnoj
                                                            postrojki.
              Togda, esli on budet preuspevat', a ya budu vybroshen
                                                            na bereg,
              to hudshee budet v tom, chto moya lyubov' stala moim krahom.

                    Kak mne vospet' tebya! Moj um nishchaet
                    Pri mysli, skol' mogushchestvennyj duh
                    Tebe hvaly v poemah rastochaet,
                    YAzyk bessilen slovo molvit' vsluh.

                    No ty - kak okean, na ch'em prostore
                    Svoj ishchet put' i legkaya lad'ya,
                    I brig, no vot v otchayannom zadore
                    Pokoj tvoj vskolyhnut' puskayus' ya.

                    Mne dazhe mel' i rify tvoi v radost'.
                    On zhe stremit k nevedomym glubinam!
                    I ya bez pomoshchi tvoej ne spravlyus'
                    Ni s valom, chto on gonit, ni s puchinoj.

                    Pust' v buryu ne spasu ya i vesla,
                    Ne on - lyubov' mne gibel' prinesla.

                    Perevod O. Dudoladovoj

                      O, kak ya slab, kogda tebya poyu
                      I znayu: luchshij duh tebya poet,
                      CHto, v pohvalu vsyu moshch' vlozhiv svoyu,
                      Mne slavoslov'em zazhimaet rot.

                      No esli mezh tvoih beskrajnih voln
                      Lyuboe sudno mozhet uderzhat'sya,
                      To dazhe ryadom s nim moj derzkij cheln
                      Na teh prostorah volen pokazat'sya.

                      YA uderzhus' - pri pomoshchi tvoej,
                      Poka on reet nad puchinoj vodnoj.
                      Il' budu mezh razbityh korablej,
                      Poka plyvet on gordo i svobodno.

                      I esli on v chesti i broshen ya,
                      To krahom stala mne lyubov' moya.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                 Or shall I 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 intombed 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.

            YA li dozhivu do togo, chtoby sostavit' tebe epitafiyu,
            ili ty eshche budesh' zhiv, kogda ya sgniyu v zemle,
            otsyuda {*} tvoyu pamyat' smert' ne smozhet zabrat',
            hotya ya budu vsecelo zabyt.
            Tvoe imya otsyuda poluchit bessmertnuyu zhizn',
            hotya ya, skonchavshis', dolzhen budu dlya vsego mira umeret'.
            Zemlya mozhet predostavit' mne tol'ko prostuyu mogilu,
            togda kak ty prebudesh' v grobnice lyudskih glaz;
            pamyatnikom tebe stanut moi nezhnye stihi,
            kotorye budut perechityvat' glaza _lyudej_, eshche ne rozhdennyh
                                                                na svet,
            i budushchie yazyki budut zanovo rasskazyvat' o tvoem _zhivom_
                                                                 sushchestve,
            kogda vse, kto _sejchas_ dyshit v etom mire, _uzhe_ umrut.
            Ty vsegda budesh' zhit' - takoe svojstvo imeet moe pero -
            tam, gde dyhan'e _zhizni_ bolee vsego dyshit _zhizn'yu_, -
                                                      v ustah lyudej.

     {* Zdes' "hence" (otsyuda) mozhet oznachat' libo "iz etogo mira", libo "iz
etih stihov".}

                    Il' mne tebe nadgrobnyj stih slagat',
                    Il' ty menya provodish' do mogily,
                    Tebya otsyuda smert' ne v silah vzyat',
                    Hot' vzyat' menya u nej dostanet sily.

                    Zdes' imya sohranish' ty na veka.
                    Bez imeni ya kanu v tenyah nochi,
                    V prostoj mogile pishchej chervyaka,
                    Tebya zh uzret' zhivye smogut ochi.

                    Tvoj pamyatnik - moj stih, ego uzryat
                    I prochitayut ochi let gryadushchih,
                    I yazykom gryadushchim povtoryat,
                    Kogda umolknut yazyki zhivushchih.

                    Ty budesh' vechno zhit' v moih stihah
                    ZHivym dyhan'em duha na ustah.

                    Perevod S. Stepanova

                     Mne l' plakat' nad mogiloyu tvoej,
                     Il' ran'she ya otpravlyus' v mir inoj, -
                     No ty prebudesh' v pamyati lyudej,
                     I navsegda zabudut obraz moj.

                     Togda kak ty bessmert'e zasluzhil,
                     YA bezymyannym dolzhen umeret';
                     Moj holmik ne zametyat sred' mogil,
                     Tvoe zh nadgrob'e kazhdyj smozhet zret'.

                     Tvoj pamyatnik - moj stih; ego prochtut
                     Glaza potomkov nashih, i, pover',
                     Ne kanet v vechnost' sej dostojnyj trud,
                     Kogda umolknut vse, kto zhiv teper'.

                     Ty budesh' zhit', proslavlennyj v stihah,
                     Tam, gde dyhan'e duha, - na ustah!

                     Perevod S. SHestakova




                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 subjects, blessing every book.
                Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
                Finding thy worth a limit past my praise,
                And therefore art inforced 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 sympathised
                In true plain words by the true-telling friend;
                   And their gross painting might be better used
                   Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused.

             YA priznayu, chto ty ne svyazan brakom s moej Muzoj
             i, znachit, mozhesh' bez pozora _dlya sebya_ prochityvat'
             slova posvyashchenij, kotorye pishushchie upotreblyayut,
             govorya o svoih prekrasnyh predmetah, chtoby blagoslovit'
                                                          kazhduyu knigu.
             Ty tak zhe sovershenen umom, kak i vneshnost'yu {*},
             i, nahodya, chto tvoi dostoinstva prevoshodyat moyu hvalu,
             ty vynuzhden poetomu iskat' snova
             kakuyu-to bolee svezhuyu _hvalu, nesushchuyu_ pechat' etogo
                                           usovershenstvovannogo vremeni.
             Tak i delaj, lyubov' moya; no vse zhe, poka oni pridumyvali,
             kakie neestestvennye priemy mozhet dat' ritorika,
             ty, istinno prekrasnyj, byl istinno otobrazhen
             v prostyh istinnyh slovah _svoego_ istinnogo druga;
                a ih gruboe hudozhestvo luchshe by primenyat' tam,
                gde shchekam nedostaet krovi; dlya tebya ona neumestna.

     {* Sm. primechanie 1 k perevodu soneta 20.}

                      Ty s Muzoyu moeyu, k sozhalen'yu,
                      Ne obruchen. Kogda tebe nesut
                      So vseh storon Poety posvyashchen'ya,
                      Ty vyshe moego ih stavish' trud -
                      Poyu krasu, - ty nedovolen mnoyu,
                      A tem, kto hvalit um, otkaza net,
                      I ty speshish' upit'sya pohvaloyu,
                      Uvidet' eshche yarche svoj portret.
                      Schitaj nagradoyu - hulit' ne smeyu! -
                      Ritoriku lyubezno-pyshnyh strok,
                      No ya vsegda byl Pravdoyu tvoeyu
                      I iskrenne hvalil v tebe, chto mog.
                         Ne greet krov' - togda kladut rumyana,
                         A u tebya - net etogo iz®yana.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina

                       Moej ty Muze klyatvu ne daval,
                       I potomu ne budet pregreshen'ya,
                       Kogda, chitaya chej-to madrigal,
                       Ot stihotvorca primesh' voshvalen'ya.

                       Prekrasen ty i likom i umom,
                       Tvoj shchedryj dar pohval moih prevyshe;
                       I potomu ty mnish': drugim perom,
                       Byt' mozhet, i vernej tebya opishut.

                       CHto zh, tesh' sebya nadezhdoj! Vse ravno,
                       Poslushav ih ritoriki pustye,
                       Pojmesh': lish' mne dejstvitel'no dano
                       Krase tvoej najti slova prostye.

                       Rumyana pryachut blednyj cvet lanit,
                       Tebe zhe kraska tol'ko povredit.

                       Perevod S. SHestakova




                  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.

          YA nikogda ne videl, chtoby ty nuzhdalsya v priukrashivanii,
          i poetomu k tvoej krasote nikakogo priukrashivaniya
                                                   ne primenyal;
          ya obnaruzhival - ili dumal, CHto obnaruzhival, - chto ty vyshe
          togo pustogo _slavosloviya_, kotoroe poety predlagayut v uplatu
                                                       svoego dolga.
          YA potomu _nichego ne delal_ [spal] dlya tvoego proslavleniya,
          chto ty sam, zhivoj, byl svidetel'stvom tomu,
          naskol'ko sovremennoe pero ne spravlyaetsya,
          govorya o dostoinstvah, s _opisaniem_ dostoinstv, kotorye
                                                   procvetayut v tebe.
          |to molchanie ty mne vmenil v greh,
          togda kak ostavat'sya besslovesnym - moya samaya bol'shaya
                                                           zasluga,
          ved', buduchi nemym, ya ne nanoshu vreda krasote,
          kogda drugie zhelali by dat' ej zhizn', a prinosyat mogilu.
             V kazhdom iz tvoih prekrasnyh glaz bol'she zhizni,
             chem oba tvoih poeta mogut izobresti dlya hvaly.

                      Ne nadobno prikras dlya krasoty -
                      Rumyan i pudry vsyakoj lesti vzdornoj;
                      V sravnen'i s tem, chego dostoin ty,
                      Nichtozhna lepta slavy stihotvornoj.
                      YA i vo sne tyagat'sya ne mechtal
                      S pevcami - masterami licemer'ya:
                      YA znayu, chto vysok predmet pohval
                      I slishkom kucy nyneshnie per'ya.
                      Ty schel moe molchanie vinoj? -
                      O net, v zaslugu mne dolzhno vmenit'sya,
                      CHto ya zamknul usta, poka inoj
                      Sulit bessmert'e, a tvorit grobnicu.
                      Odin tvoj vzglyad zhivee, milyj drug,
                      Vseh nashih poeticheskih potug!

                      Perevod G. Kruzhkova

                    Ne znaesh' ty rumyan, krasy podlozhnoj,
                    I ya, tebya risuya, ih ne bral;
                    Moi stihi - patronu dar nichtozhnyj:
                    Tak syuzerenu dar neset vassal.
                    Ty - krasoty zhivoe voploshchen'e,
                    Nel'zya ee zapechatlet' v stihah,
                    I ya pero ronyayu v voshishchen'e:
                    Bespomoshchno ono v moih rukah!
                    Schitaesh' ty grehom usta nemye,
                    A ya blagoslovlyayu nemotu
                    I nichego ne porchu - pust' drugie
                    Koryavym slovom gubyat krasotu.
                       Tvoj kazhdyj glaz daruet bol'she sveta,
                       CHem daryat miru dva tvoih poeta.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




              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 of praise, which makes your praises worse.

           Kto skazhet luchshe vsego - kto mozhet skazat' bol'she {*},
           chem eta dragocennaya hvala: chto ty odin - _takoj, kak_ ty,
           zaklyuchayushchij v sebe zapas _krasoty i dushevnyh kachestv_,
           kotoryj dolzhen byl by stat' primerom, esli by gde-to
           rascvetal ravnyj tebe? {**}
           Toshchaya skudost' zhivet v tom pere,
           kotoroe ne pridaet svoemu predmetu _hotya by_ nebol'shoj slavy,
           no tot, kto pishet o tebe - esli on smozhet _tol'ko_ skazat',
           chto ty est' ty, - oblagorodit svoe opisanie.
           Pust' on skopiruet to, chto v tebe napisano _prirodoj_,
           ne uhudshiv togo, chto priroda sdelala takim sovershennym,
           i takaya _tochnaya_ kopiya proslavit ego um,
           zastaviv vseh voshishchat'sya ego stilem.
              Ty k svoej blagoslovennoj krasote dobavlyaesh' proklyat'e
              tem, chto lyubish' hvalu, otchego hvala tebe stanovitsya huzhe.

     {*  Sbivchivyj  sintaksis  pervoj  stroki  dal  kommentatoram  pishchu  dlya
razlichnyh  tolkovanij;  vprochem,  razlichiya mezhdu tolkovaniyami zdes' ne ochen'
sushchestvenny dlya ponimaniya obshchego smysla.
     **  Drugimi  slovami: nikto ne mozhet prevzojti tebya krasotoj; esli est'
na svete kto-to stol' zhe prekrasnyj, to on tol'ko tvoya kopiya.}

                      Kto skazhet v pohvalu tebe slova,
                      Bogache etih: ty est' ty i tol'ko?
                      Vnimat' im u kogo eshche prava?
                      I v ch'ej eshche kazne sokrovishch stol'ko?

                      Ne vylezet tot stih iz nishchety,
                      CHto pohvaloyu ne dobavit chesti,
                      No tot, chto prosto skazhet: ty est' ty,
                      Ukrasit i sebya s toboyu vmeste.

                      Vse, chto tebe prirodoyu dano,
                      Kopiruya, nichut' on ne pribavit,
                      Pravdivoe risuya polotno,
                      I tem sebya povsyudu on proslavit.

                      No blaga ne vo vsem tvoi mily:
                      Ot toj hvaly tvoi gorchat hvaly.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova

                      Kto skazhet luchshe? "Ty est' tol'ko ty", -
                      Vozmozhno li prevyshe voshvalen'e?
                      CHej obrazec prirodnoj krasoty
                      S tvoim bogatstvom vyderzhit sravnen'e?

                      Bezdaren stihoplet, i stih ubog,
                      Kol' adresatu ne pribavit slavy;
                      Kto peredat' perom iskusnym smog,
                      CHto ty est' ty, - lish' tot Poet po pravu.

                      Pust' kopiyu s tebya napishet on -
                      To, chto prirodoj sozdano kak chudo,
                      I krasoty cvetushchej etalon
                      Ego pero i um vosslavit vsyudu.

                      A ty vnimaesh' lesti, chto pyatnom
                      Legla na chudnom oblike tvoem.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




              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 unlettered clerk still cry 'Amen'
              To every hymn that every spirit affords
              In polished 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.

          Moya Muza, u kotoroj svyazan yazyk, vezhlivo molchit,
          v to vremya kak hvalebnye rechi tebe, pyshno sostavlennye,
          zapechatlevayutsya v pis'menah {*} zolotym perom,
          v dragocennyh vyrazheniyah, ottochennyh vsemi Muzami.
          U menya horoshie mysli, togda kak drugie pishut horoshie slova,
          i, kak negramotnyj klirik, ya vse vremya vosklicayu "Amin'!"
          na kazhdyj gimn, kotoryj sposobnyj duh rozhdaet
          v izyskannoj forme, utonchennym perom!
          Slysha, kak tebya voshvalyayut, ya govoryu: "|to tak, eto verno",
          i k samoj bol'shoj hvale ya dobavlyayu chto-to eshche,
          no eto - v myslyah, gde lyubov' k tebe
          stoit v pervom ryadu, hotya _moi_ slova okazyvayutsya poslednimi.
             Poetomu uvazhaj drugih za vozduh slov,
             _a_ menya - za nemye mysli, kotorye govoryat po-nastoyashchemu.

     {*   Po   mneniyu   nekotoryh   kommentatorov,  "their"  v  etoj  stroke
original'nogo  izdaniya yavlyaetsya opechatkoj i dolzhno byt' ispravleno na "thy";
v takom sluchae vozmozhno prochtenie: "zapechatlevayut tvoyu naturu".}

                       Moya nemaya Muza vse molchit,
                       A tolki o tebe slyshny krugom,
                       I prevoshodno pohvala zvuchit,
                       Napisannaya zolotym perom.

                       Mne mysli po nutru, drugim - slova,
                       Na vse, chto slyshu, ya "Amin'" tverzhu,
                       Kak sluzhka, gramotnyj edva-edva,
                       I sladostnogo gimna ne slozhu.

                       Poddakivayu: "Tak i est'", "Vot-vot",
                       Kogda tebya rashvalivayut vslast',
                       No v glubine dushi lyubov' zhivet,
                       Kotoraya zatmit lyubuyu strast'.

                       Ty v nih ceni umenie blesnut',
                       A v nemote moej - naguyu sut'.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Kosnoyazychna Muza u menya,
                     I net vo mne talanta, kak v inom,
                     Kotoryj, obraz divnyj sohranya,
                     Tebya voshvalit zolotym perom.
                     On chudno pishet, ya lish' polon dum,
                     Skazhu "Amin'", kak podojdet pora
                     V tom gimne, chto sozdal velikij um
                     V shlifovke utonchennogo pera.
                     "Konechno", "|to tak" - slova moi,
                     Kogda zvuchit velichestvennyj stih,
                     No skol'ko myslej v chuvstvah o lyubvi
                     I skol'ko chuvstva v pomyslah moih;
                        Ego stihi ceni za krasotu,
                        Menya za myslej tihih nemotu.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova




               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 astonishnd.
               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 filled up his line,
                  Then lacked I matter, that infeebled mine.

              Ego li gordyj napolnennyj parus velikih stihov,
              derzhashchih kurs k etomu bescennomu trofeyu - tebe,
              zaper moi sozrevshie mysli v moem mozgu,
              prevrashchaya dlya nih v grobnicu chrevo, v kotorom oni vyrosli?
              Ego li duh, kotoryj duhi nauchili pisat' {*}
              tak, kak smertnym ne dano, lishil menya dara rechi?
              Net, eto ne on i ne ego nochnye sotovarishchi,
              pomogayushchie emu, priveli v zameshatel'stvo moj stih.
              Ni on, ni _ego_ lyubeznyj znakomyj duh,
              kotoryj ezhenoshchno pichkaet {**} ego znaniem,
              ne mogut, kak pobediteli, pohvalit'sya moim molchaniem,
              ya vovse ne byl obessilen strahom iz-za nih;
                 No kogda tvoya vneshnost' napolnila ego stroki,
                 togda ya lishilsya predmeta, _i_ eto obessililo moi stihi.

     {*  Po  mneniyu  chasti kommentatorov, zdes' soderzhitsya namek na CHapmena,
yakoby utverzhdavshego, chto ego uchil pisat' duh Gomera.
     **  V  originale - "gulls", proizvodnoe ot ustarevshego sushchestvitel'nogo
"gull" (glotka).}

                     Byt' mozhet stih ego, chto galeonom
                     Moguchim yarostno k tebe stremitsya,
                     Moj prevrashchaet um - zhivoe lono
                     Edva rozhdennyh myslej - v ih grobnicu?

                     Il' duh ego, ot demonov polnochi
                     Takoyu vlast'yu slova nadelennyj,
                     CHto smertnym prevzojti ego net mochi,
                     Srazhaet v prah moj stih oshelomlennyj?

                     Net, ni on sam, ni demon, chto lukavya
                     Emu nochnye obrazy vnushaet,
                     Pobedoj legkoj nado mnoj ne vprave
                     Pohvastat'sya - ne to menya smushchaet.

                     Ne v silah ty sderzhat' emu pohval!
                     Vot otchego v dushe moej obval.

                     Perevod O. Dudoladoeoj

                       Ego l' stihov moguchih parusa
                       Menya velikolepiem srazili,
                       Dum robkih zaglushili golosa
                       I v grob ih kolybel' preobrazili?
                       Ego li duh, chto s duhami privyk
                       Obshchat'sya, k vechnoj priobshchayas' muze,
                       Skoval zaklyat'em bednyj moj yazyk?
                       Otnyud'! ni on, ni te, chto s nim v soyuze.
                       Puskaj ego durachit gost' nochnoj
                       Lyubeznoyu i vkradchivoj besedoj,
                       YA nem ne ot vostorga, - nado mnoj
                       Oni ne mogut hvastat'sya pobedoj.
                       Poka tebya on slavit, ya molchu:
                       Pet' horom ne mogu i ne hochu.

                       Perevod G. Kruzhkova

                       Ego l' stihov moguchee vetrilo,
                       CHto, kak za prizom, za toboj stremitsya,
                       Utrobu myslej sdelalo mogiloj?
                       I mozg dlya zrelyh myslej - kak grobnica.

                       Ego li duh, chto duhami pisat'
                       Obuchen mnogo luchshe, chem drugie,
                       Srazil menya? Ne mogut ispugat'
                       Menya ego pomoshchniki nochnye.

                       Ni on, ni prizrak tot, emu rodnoj,
                       CHto noch'yu znan'em pichkaet ego,
                       Pust' ne trubyat pobedu nado mnoj -
                       Iz nih ne ustrashus' ya nikogo.

                       No stih ego soboj napolnil ty -
                       Vot v chem moej prichina nemoty.

                       Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                       Neuzhto parusnik ego stihov,
                       Pustivshis' v put' k tebe, bescennoj celi,
                       Lishil menya neobhodimyh slov
                       I mysl' moyu prikonchil v kolybeli?
                       Neuzhto duh ego slomil menya,
                       S drugimi sgovorivshis' potaenno?
                       Net, vsya ego polnochnaya rodnya
                       Ne naneset moim stiham urona!
                       Ni on, ni dobrodushnyj domovoj,
                       Kotoryj po nocham ego durachit,
                       Ne vlastny nad moeyu golovoj,
                       Ne etot strah peredo mnoj mayachit.
                       V ego stihah tvoe lico vstaet.
                       Mne tvoego lica nedostaet.

                       Perevod V. Orla

                       Ne stih ego, na gordyh parusah
                       Derzhashchij kurs k tebe, zavetnoj celi,
                       Vinoj tomu, chto razum moj zachah
                       I mysli gibnut v nem, sozrevshi ele.

                       Ne duh ego, chto duhami uchen
                       Pisat', kak smertnym nedostanet mochi,
                       Vinoj, chto dara rechi ya lishen, -
                       Ni on i nikakie teni nochi.

                       I pust' k nemu lyubezen prizrak tot,
                       Komu v nochi pero ego vnimalo,
                       Ne ih soyuz mne zapechatal rot,
                       Iskusstva ih ya ne boyus' nimalo.

                       No on stal pet' o prelestyah tvoih,
                       I, ih lishas', moj obessilel stih.

                       Perevod A. SHarakshane

                      Ego l' podnyavshij parus gordyj stih,
                      K tvoim bogatstvam povernuv kormilo,
                      Horonit zrelost' zamyslov moih,
                      Moj mozg-utrobu delaya mogiloj?

                      Ego li duh bessmertnoyu strokoj
                      Zavetnyj dar moj predaet zabven'yu?
                      O net! Ni on, ni drug ego nochnoj
                      Ubit' vo mne ne mogut vdohnoven'ya.

                      Ni on, ni tot, kto tajno pri svechah
                      Peru ego diktuet predpisan'ya,
                      Verh nado mnoyu ne voz'mut; i strah
                      Ne est' prichina moego molchan'ya.

                      Kogda ego sozdan'ya ty hvalil,
                      Togda lish' ya umolk, lishennyj sil.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




               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.
               Thy self thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
               Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
               So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
               Comes home again, on better judgement making.
                  Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,
                  In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

              Proshchaj, ty slishkom dorog, chtoby ya toboj vladel,
              I, veroyatno, tebe izvestna tvoya cena.
              Privilegiya tvoih dostoinstv daet tebe svobodu,
              _togda kak_ moi prava na tebya ogranicheny,
              ibo kak ya mogu obladat' toboj inache, nezheli s tvoego
                                                         soizvoleniya,
              i chem ya zasluzhivayu takoe bogatstvo?
              Osnovanij dlya takogo prekrasnogo dara vo mne net,
              poetomu moj patent _na obladanie toboj_ othodit nazad.
              Ty daril sebya, ne znaya svoej cennosti
              ili zhe oshibayas' vo mne - _tom_, komu ty _sebya_ daril;
              poetomu tvoj velikij dar, pererosshij takuyu nedoocenku,
              vozvrashchaetsya obratno [domoj] _teper'_, kogda ty prishel
                                             k bolee pravil'nomu suzhdeniyu.
                 Tak ya vladel toboj - kak v priyatnom sne:
                 mne snilos', chto ya Korol', a prosnuvshis', _ya uvidel, chto net_
                                                            nichego podobnogo.

                   Proshchaj! Ty slishkom dorog dlya vladen'ya.
                   Ty cenu znaesh' sam svoyu otlichno,
                   Imeesh' l'gotu na osvobozhden'e,
                   Ved' pravo na tebya ne bezgranichno.

                   Mogu l' tebya uderzhivat' ya dole?
                   I razve klad takoj mne po zaslugam?
                   Ty mne daril sebya po dobroj vole -
                   YA otdayu patent rukoyu druga.

                   Sebya ty otdaval, ceny ne znaya,
                   Il' oshibalsya ty vo mne, byt' mozhet;
                   No dar tvoj, iz oshibok vyrastaya,
                   Vnov' doma - nyne ty rassudish' strozhe.

                   CHto moj ty, son sheptal mne pryamo v ushi.
                   Vo sne - korol', nikem ya stal, prosnuvshis'.

                   Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                      Proshchaj! YA slishkom dorozhu toboyu,
                      CHtob klad takoj derzhat' v svoem vladen'e;
                      Tvoe bogatstvo vozroslo s lihvoyu;
                      I sam zhelaesh' ty osvobozhden'ya.

                      Uderzhivat'? - staraniya naprasny,
                      Kol' ne imeesh' ni zaslug, ni zvan'ya;
                      Net, ne dostoin ya shchedrot prekrasnyh,
                      Ty vprave vozvratit' svoi dayan'ya.

                      Svoej ceny ne znaya, bezrassudno
                      Vruchil ty bednyaku podarok znatnyj;
                      I chtoby ne rastratit' dar tvoj chudnyj,
                      Teper' ego ya otdayu obratno.

                      Mne snilos': ya korol', v moej ty vlasti;
                      No eto bylo lish' vo sne, k neschast'yu.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




                When thou shalt 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 concealed 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.

               Kogda ty voznamerish'sya menya prinizit'
               i vystavit' moi dostoinstva na osmeyanie,
               ya vystuplyu na tvoej storone protiv sebya
               i budu dokazyvat', chto ty dobrodetelen, hotya ty narushil
                                                               klyatvu;
               luchshe vseh znakomyj s sobstvennymi slabostyami,
               _vystupaya_ na tvoej storone, ya mogu rasskazat'
               o skrytyh porokah, kotorye menya beschestyat,
               _tak_ chtoby, rasstavshis' so mnoj, ty poluchil vseobshchee
                                                             odobrenie.
               I ya ot etogo tozhe budu v vyigryshe,
               tak kak vse moi mysli - s lyubov'yu o tebe,
               _i_ obidy, kotorye ya nanoshu sam sebe, -
               esli oni blago dlya tebya, - vdvojne blago dlya menya.
                  Moya lyubov' takova - ya tak _vsecelo_ prinadlezhu tebe, -
                  chto radi tvoej pravoty snesu lyubuyu obidu
                                                 [nespravedlivost'].

                      Kogda sebya, presytyas', opravdat'
                      Zahochesh', brosiv na menya pyatno,
                      YA sam sebya zlosloviyu predat'
                      Gotov, chtob byt' s toboyu zaodno.

                      Svoi poroki dostovernej vseh
                      Mogu izobrazit', i nash razryv
                      Tebe posluzhit k chesti, a ne v greh,
                      Opasnye podrobnosti prikryv.

                      Tvoyu pobedu vstrechu, ne skorbya,
                      Vdvojne ya stanu radovat'sya ej:
                      CHto udalos' mne zashchitit' tebya
                      I sdelat' vse po prihoti tvoej.

                      YA ne boyus' ostat'sya ne v chesti -
                      Lish' ot beschest'ya by tebya spasti.

                      Perevod O. Dudoladovoj

                       Kogda menya posmeshishchem na sud
                       Ty vystavish', smeyas' so vsemi vmeste,
                       YA storonu tvoyu primu i tut
                       V zashchitu pravoty tvoej i chesti.

                       Skazhu, mol, eto ya vsemu vinoj
                       I, mol, nikto tebya vinit' ne vprave -
                       I v rezul'tate tvoj razryv so mnoj
                       Okazhetsya tebe lish' k vyashchej slave.

                       Tebya svoim pozorom obelyu,
                       Sebe pri etom vygodu imeya:
                       Hot' broshen ya, no ya tebya lyublyu,
                       Ty budesh' prav - i budu prav vdvojne ya.

                       I daby ne postig tebya pozor,
                       Lyuboj gotov prinyat' ya prigovor.

                       Perevod S. Stepanova




               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.

          Skazhi, chto otkazalsya ot menya iz-za kakogo-to prostupka,
          i ya _sam_ budu govorit' _osuzhdayushche_ ob etom pregreshenii;
          zagovori o moej hromote {*}, i ya srazu nachnu spotykat'sya
                                                       [zapinat'sya],
          protiv tvoih dovodov nikak ne zashchishchayas'.
          Ty ne mozhesh', lyubov' moya, oporochit' menya vpolovinu tak zlo,
          chtoby pridat' _blagovidnuyu_ formu zhelaemoj peremene,
          kak ya sam oporochu sebya, znaya tvoyu volyu:
          ya _skroyu_ [podavlyu] znakomstvo s _toboj_ i budu vesti sebya kak
                                                                  chuzhoj,
          budu storonit'sya mest, gde ty byvaesh', i na moem yazyke
          tvoego sladostnogo, vozlyublennogo imeni bol'she ne budet,
          chtoby ya, po svoej prostote, ne sovershil oshibki
          i sluchajno ne vydal nashego starogo znakomstva.
             Radi tebya ya klyanus' sporit' s samim soboj,
             tak kak ya ne dolzhen lyubit' togo, kogo ty nenavidish'.

     {* Po mneniyu bol'shinstva kommentatorov, zdes' rech' idet ne o fizicheskoj
hromote, a o moral'noj slabosti ili iz®yanah tvorchestva.}

                     CHtob opravdat' razryv, ty obolgi,
                     Najdi vo mne iz®yan - ya podygrayu:
                     Skazhi, mol, hrom na obe ya nogi,
                     Bezropotno ya tut zhe zahromayu.

                     Skol' nizkim ty menya ni nazovi,
                     CHtob vyglyadet' v svoej izmene krashe,
                     Sebya sil'nej unizhu, iz lyubvi,
                     I v korne preseku znakomstvo nashe.

                     Ne popadus' ya vzoru tvoemu
                     I nezhnoe tvoe zabudu imya,
                     CHtob nashego znakomstva nikomu
                     Ne vydal golos zvukami svoimi.

                     S soboj borot'sya stanu chto est' sil -
                     Ne mil tebe, ya i sebe ne mil.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova

                     Ty prav vo vsem - ne sporyu ya s toboj:
                     Vinish' v poroke - ya ne otricayu,
                     I esli mne vnushish', chto ya hromoj,
                     To ya i v samom dele zahromayu.
                     Zahochesh' ssory - ne ishchi predlog,
                     Sam gruz viny vzvalyu sebe na plechi:
                     Ne ty - ya broshu sam sebe uprek,
                     Sam stanu izbegat' zhelannoj vstrechi
                     I otvernus'! Da, raz mne dorog ty,
                     Tvoe voveki imya ne otkroyu,
                     CHtob pishchi ne davat' dlya klevety -
                     Kak budto vvek chuzhie my s toboyu.
                        Kto vrag tebe, togo ne poterplyu:
                        Tebe ne mil - sebya ne vozlyublyu!

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




               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 has scaped 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.

          CHto zh, otvernis' ot menya, kogda pozhelaesh', no luchshe sejchas -
          sejchas, kogda mir voznamerilsya byt' vo vsem protiv menya;
          ob®edinis' so zloboj Fortuny, zastav' menya sognut'sya,
          a ne stan' poslednej poterej.
          Ne pridi, kogda moe serdce izbezhit etoj _nyneshnej_ pechali,
          v ar'ergarde pobezhdennogo gorya;
          ne dobav' k burnoj nochi dozhdlivoe utro,
          ottyagivaya zadumannuyu pogibel'.
          Esli zhelaesh' brosit' menya, ne brosaj menya v poslednyuyu
                                                             ochered',
          kogda drugie, melkie bedstviya _uzhe_ nanesut svoj ushcherb,
          no pridi s pervym natiskom _bed_, - tak ya isprobuyu
          srazu naihudshuyu silu Fortuny,
             i drugie goresti - kotorye teper' kazhutsya gorem -
             po sravneniyu s poterej tebya uzhe ne pokazhutsya takovymi.

                     Porvi so mnoj, no v eti dni porvi,
                     Kogda ves' mir presleduet menya.
                     Segodnya stan' vragom moej lyubvi,
                     Ne zadevaya zavtrashnego dnya.

                     Vse tyazhkie udary otraziv,
                     Poslednego udara my ne zhdem.
                     Ne zamenyaj zhe mne, poka ya zhiv,
                     Nochnuyu buryu utrennim dozhdem.

                     Ostav' menya, no ne potom, kogda
                     Ot melkih bed ya budu sam ne svoj,
                     A nynche, chtoby glavnaya beda
                     Byla mne srazu poslana sud'boj.

                     Tebya lishit'sya - hudshaya iz bed,
                     V sravnen'ya s nej drugih kak budto net.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Uzh esli tak - voznenavid' skorej,
                     Pokuda mir navis svincovoj tuchej.
                     Obrush' udar so zloj sud'boj moej,
                     No tol'ko posle - ya proshu - ne muchaj.
                     I esli kak-to spravlyus' ya s bedoj,
                     Ne stan' togda posledneyu nevzgodoj -
                     Pust' ne utihnet uragan nochnoj
                     V obychnom serom utre bez ishoda.
                     I kol' razryv, to srazu - ne potom,
                     Kogda vse sgubit melkaya moroka.
                     Ujdi sejchas, chtob tvoj uhod, kak grom,
                     Otkryl mne sut' svirepoj moshchi roka.

                     CHtob ponyal ya skvoz' gorech' proshlyh bed,
                     CHto zhizn' lish' v tom, so mnoj ty ili net.

                     Perevod B. Kushnera

                     Da, razlyubi, kol' hochesh'; no - sejchas,
                     Kogda ves' mir gotov menya raspyat'.
                     Ob®edinis' s Fortunoj v etot raz,
                     CHtob pozdneyu utratoyu ne stat'.

                     I esli ya izbavlyus' ot pechali,
                     Razbitomu vragu ne pomogaj;
                     Noch' burnuyu dozhdlivym dnem venchaya,
                     Pogibeli moej ne otdalyaj.

                     I kol' ostavish', to ne v pozdnij srok,
                     Kogda projdut vse bedy cheredoj;
                     Ostav' sejchas, chtob ya izvedat' mog
                     Neistovuyu moshch' Fortuny zloj.

                     Pomerknet vse, o chem tomlyus', skorbya,
                     V sravnenii s potereyu tebya.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Kol' ty reshil ujti, to v eti dni,
                     Kogda derzhus' ya iz poslednih sil.
                     S Fortunoj zaodno menya sogni,
                     No v spinu mne udar ne nanosi.

                     I esli ustoyu v srazhen'i trudnom,
                     Ne podmenyaj poverzhennyh vragov;
                     Noch' groznuyu zakonchiv hmurym utrom,
                     Kogda ya k porazhen'yu ne gotov.

                     Ostav' menya, no Ne poslednim, net!
                     Idi smelee pervym v etot boj,
                     CHtob ya uznal eshche do melkih bed
                     Vsyu zlobu, zataennuyu sud'boj.

                     I to, chto dlya menya teper' beda,
                     Bedoyu ne pokazhetsya togda.

                     Perevod V. Skvorcova

                     I esli brosish', bros' menya teper',
                     Teper', kogda ya predan strashnym karam;
                     Ne bud' poslednej iz moih poter',
                     Porvi so mnoj - i ne tyani s udarom.

                     Porvi teper', a ne kogda-nibud',
                     Kogda iz bed ya vyjdu bezmyatezhnym;
                     Ty livnem posle buri v noch' ne bud'
                     I ne tyani s razryvom neizbezhnym.

                     I esli brosish', to ne nado zhdat',
                     Poka vsyu gorech' bed svoih izmeryu:
                     Porvi so mnoj teper' i daj poznat'
                     Sperva naigorchajshuyu poteryu.

                     I skol' uzhasna nyne zhizn' moya,
                     Tebya utrativ, ne zamechu ya.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova

                     Kol' byt' otvergnutym mne suzhdeno,
                     Tak pust' - teper', kogda krugom neschast'e.
                     Sogni, s Fortunoj zlobnoj zaodno,
                     Menya svoim prezren'em v odnochas'e.

                     Dav serdcu s gorem spravit'sya svoim,
                     Ne nasylaj vosled drugogo gorya.
                     Za noch'yu burnoj utrom grozovym
                     Ne razrazis' nezhdanno, nochi vtorya.

                     Kol' hochesh' brosit' - tak brosaj, ne zhdi,
                     Kogda vse melkie sluchatsya bedy.
                     Vpered drugih napastej napadi,
                     CHtob hudshij zhrebij srazu ya izvedal.

                     I ryadom s etim bol' drugih utrat
                     Pokazhetsya mne men'she vo sto krat.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane




              Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
              Some in their wealth, some in their body's 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 that wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
              Of more delight than hawks and 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.

             Nekotorye gordyatsya svoim rozhdeniem, nekotorye -
                                                         masterstvom,
             nekotorye - bogatstvom, nekotorye - siloj svoego tela,
             nekotorye - naryadami, hotya i durnymi, _sshitymi_ po novoj
                                                                   mode,
             nekotorye - sokolami i gonchimi, nekotorye - loshad'yu,
             i kazhdomu nravu sootvetstvuet svoya otrada,
             v kotoroj on nahodit naslazhdenie prevyshe vsego;
             no eti chastnosti - ne moya merka;
             vse eto ya prevoshozhu v odnom, nailuchshem:
             tvoya lyubov' dlya menya luchshe vysokogo rozhdeniya,
             cennee bogatstva, velikolepnee dorogih naryadov,
             dostavlyaet bol'shee udovol'stvie, chem sokoly i loshadi, -
             i, obladaya toboj, ya hvalyus' vsem, chem gordyatsya lyudi,
                neschastnyj tol'ko tem, chto ty mozhesh' zabrat' _u menya_
                vse eto, sdelav menya samym neschastnym.

                      Inoj tak gord rozhdeniem svoim,
                      Inoj - bogatstvom, siloj i umom,
                      Inoj - odezhdoj, modoj oderzhim,
                      Inoj - borzymi, sokolom, konem.

                      CHto zh, kazhdomu svoe: kto v chem nahodit
                      I schastie, i radost' bytiya.
                      Menya zhe eto vse s uma ne svodit,
                      Sovsem v drugom velich'e vizhu ya.

                      Tvoya lyubov' vazhnej, chem znatnyj rod,
                      Dorozhe zolota, zabav milej,
                      Naryadnej prihoti kapriznyh mod,
                      I s neyu ya - bogache korolej.

                      No mozhesh' ty lishit' menya vseh blag,
                      I v tot zhe mig ya stanu nishch i nag.

                      Perevod A. Vasil'chikova

                     Kto hvalitsya rozhden'em, kto - umen'em,
                     Kto - zolotom, a kto - telesnoj siloj,
                     Kto - ploho sshitym modnym oblachen'em,
                     Kto - psami, sokolami il' kobyloj.

                     Svoya est' radost' v sklonnosti lyuboj,
                     Ona drugie v chem-to prevoshodit,
                     No chastnosti ne vlastny nado mnoj,
                     Kto luchshee i celoe nahodit.

                     Tvoya lyubov' mne znatnosti vazhnej,
                     Dorozhe zlata i odezhd glavnee,
                     Milee sokolov, sobak, konej,
                     I ya, toboj vladeya, vse imeyu.

                     No eto vse sposoben ty otnyat',
                     I ya nichtozhnym sdelayus' opyat'.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                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 that 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.

            No sovershi hudshee - ukradi sebya _u menya_;
            _vse ravno_ na srok _moej_ zhizni ty verno [garantirovanno] moj,
            i moya zhizn' prodlitsya ne dol'she, chem tvoya lyubov',
            tak kak ona zavisit ot etoj tvoej lyubvi.
            Znachit, mne net nuzhdy opasat'sya hudshego iz zol,
            kogda v naimen'shem iz nih moya zhizn' najdet svoj konec;
            ya vizhu, chto moe polozhenie luchshe, _chem kazalos'_, -
            ono ne opredelyaetsya tvoim nastroeniem.
            Ty ne mozhesh' muchit' menya nepostoyanstvom dushi,
            tak kak _sama_ moya zhizn' zavisit ot tvoej peremeny.
            O, kakoe pravo na schast'e ya nahozhu -
            schast'e imet' tvoyu lyubov', schast'e umeret'!
                No est' li chto-to nastol'ko blagoslovenno prekrasnoe,
                                                  chto ne boitsya pyatna?
                Ty mozhesh' byt' neveren, a ya - ne znat' ob etom.

                     Rasstat'sya mne s toboj ne suzhdeno,
                     I v zhizni ya ne budu odinok,
                     Lyubov' i zhizn', kak celoe odno,
                     Zakonchatsya v odin i tot zhe srok.
                     Ne poboyus' ya naihudshih zol,
                     Mne men'shee opasnee vsego;
                     YA vizhu - bezvozvratno ya voshel
                     V zavisimost' ot nrava tvoego.
                     Nepostoyannaya dusha tvoya,
                     Nadeyus', ne reshitsya mne solgat'.
                     Kakoj schastlivyj zhrebij vybral ya,
                     Schastlivym byt' i v schast'e umirat'.
                        No schastie moe pyatnaet strah:
                        Vdrug ya ne vizhu lzhi v tvoih slovah?

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova

                       Tebe ne skryt'sya ot moih ochej,
                       Poka ya zhiv, - sud'ba svyazala nas;
                       No net mne zhizni bez lyubvi tvoej;
                       Razlyubish' ty - i ya umru totchas.

                       Strashna li naihudshaya beda,
                       Kol' men'shee iz zol menya ub'et?
                       YA luchshego dostoin, chem vsegda
                       Tvoi prichudy prinimat' v raschet

                       Izmenoj ty ne mozhesh' dosadit' -
                       V moment srazit menya takoj udar.
                       O, schastliv ya toboj lyubimym byt'
                       I schastliv budu smert' prinyat' kak dar!

                       No est' li gde blazhenstvo bez pyatna?
                       Boyus', ty lzhesh', i lozh' mne ne vidna.

                       Perevod S. SHestakova




               So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
               Like a deceived husband; so love's face
               May still seem love to me, though altered 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;
               What e'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!

         Tak ya budu zhit', polagaya, chto ty veren,
         pohozhij na obmanutogo muzha; poetomu _vidimost'_ [lico] lyubvi
         mozhet po-prezhnemu kazat'sya mne lyubov'yu, hotya ona
                                                   peremenilas',
         i _tol'ko_ tvoya vneshnost' so mnoj, _a_ tvoe serdce v drugom
                                                              meste, -
         ved' v tvoih glazah ne mozhet zhit' nenavist',
         znachit, po nim ya ne mogu uznat' o peremene v tebe.
         Vo vneshnosti mnogih _lyudej_ istoriya nevernogo serdca
         napisana v nastroeniyah, strannyh grimasah i morshchinah,
         no pri sotvorenii tebya nebo postanovilo,
         chtoby v tvoem lice vsegda zhila sladostnaya lyubov', -
         kakimi by ni byli tvoi mysli ili dvizheniya serdca,
         tvoj vid dolzhen vyrazhat' tol'ko sladost'.
            Kak pohozhe na yabloko Evy proizrastaet tvoya krasota,
            esli tvoya dragocennaya dobrodetel' ne otvechaet tvoemu
                                                            vidu!

                   CHto zh, budu zhit', tebe poveriv vnov',
                   Kak muzh obmanutyj. Ved' tak legko
                   Lyubovnym vzglyadom podmenit' lyubov':
                   Glaza so mnoj, a serdce daleko.

                   Tvoj vzglyad ostalsya yasen i otkryt,
                   On tot zhe, chto i den' nazad, i god.
                   A u drugih ugryumyj strannyj vid
                   Nevol'no ih izmenu vydaet.

                   No nebesa rasporyadilis' tak,
                   CHtoby lyubov' v lice tvoem zhila.
                   Kakoj by v myslyah ni tailsya mrak,
                   Tvoe lico ne vyrazhaet zla.

                   Nesesh' ty krotko krasotu tvoyu,
                   Toch'-v-toch' kak Eva - yabloko v rayu.

                   Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    CHto zh - vidno, rogonoscem mne togda
                    Dni suzhdeno vlachit': lyubov' pochila!
                    No vidimost' ee zhiva vsegda -
                    Tvoj vzor gorit, hotya dusha ostyla;
                    Glaza nevinny, i poprobuj v nih
                    Podmetit' peremenu nastroen'ya -
                    CHitaesh' pravdu na lice drugih:
                    Vzglyad nedovol'nyj, na gubah - prezren'e.
                    No inache reshili nebesa,
                    Kogda tebya iskusno sozdavali:
                    V dushe pogaslo plamya, no glaza
                    Pylayut i ne vidno v nih pechali.
                       Kak Evy yabloko, ty zla zalog:
                       Krasivo razukrashennyj porok.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina


                                   94 {*}

              They that have pow'r 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 flow'r is to the summer sweet,
              Though to itself it only live and die,
              But if that flow'r 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.

         Te, kto obladayut siloj, chtoby ranit', no _nikogo_ ne ranyat,
         ne delaya togo, chto bol'she vsego predpolagaet ih vid;
         kto, privodya v dvizhenie drugih, sami kak kamen' -
         nepodvizhny, holodny i nepodatlivy na iskushenie, -
         te po pravu nasleduyut milosti nebes
         i sberegayut bogatstva prirody ot rastraty;
         oni - vlasteliny i sobstvenniki svoej vneshnosti,
         _togda kak_ drugie vsego lish' upraviteli ih sovershenstva {**}.
         Letnij cvetok darit letu sladostnyj zapah,
         hotya by on zhil i umiral tol'ko dlya sebya,
         no esli etot cvetok vstretitsya s nizmennoj zarazoj,
         samyj nizmennyj sornyak prevzojdet ego dostoinstvom,
            tak kak samoe sladostnoe prevrashchaetsya v gorchajshee iz-za svoih
                                                                     deyanij, -
            gniyushchie lilii pahnut huzhe sornyakov.

     {*  Sonet  94  otnositsya  k  chislu  teh, kotorye vyzyvayut bol'shie spory
kommentatorov,  no  ne stol'ko v svyazi s prochteniem otdel'nyh slov ili fraz,
skol'ko  otnositel'no  obshchego  smysla  soneta. Soglasno odnoj versii, stroki
1-10  opisyvayut  nekij  nravstvennyj obrazec, dostojnyj podrazhaniya, a stroki
11-14  preduprezhdayut  ob  opasnostyah,  s  kotorymi  mozhet  stolknut'sya takoe
nravstvennoe  sovershenstvo. Po drugoj versii, soderzhanie pervyh desyati strok
- ironiya, podvodyashchaya k zaklyuchitel'nomu ekspressivnomu osuzhdeniyu.
     **  Smysl  strok  7-8  ne  vpolne  yasen  i  zavisit,  v  chastnosti,  ot
istolkovaniya  togo,  k  komu  otnositsya prityazhatel'noe mestoimenie "their" v
stroke 8, to est' upravitelyami ch'ego sovershenstva yavlyayutsya "drugie" - svoego
ili "vlastelinov i sobstvennikov".}

                     Kto vlastvuet, no ne dopustit zla,
                     Ne priukrasit svoj obychnyj vid,
                     Kto dvigaet drugih, no, kak skala,
                     Nekolebim, nesoblaznim stoit,
                     Tot milosti nebes dobit'sya smog
                     V bogatstvah, rassypaemyh nad nim,
                     Tot - vlastelin, vladyka, car' i bog,
                     No chtit' ego nisposlano drugim.
                     Cvetok prelesten v poru letnih dnej,
                     Hot' zhizn' ego bezmerno korotka,
                     No esli stal dobychej dlya chervej,
                     To cenitsya on nizhe sornyaka;
                        Prekrasnoe stat' mozhet sgustkom gnili,
                        A sornyaki prekrasnej sgnivshih lilij.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova

                    Kto, vlast' imeya, vlastvuet bez zla,
                    Hot' zlo vsegda s mogushchestvom soglasno,
                    Kto, dvigaya drugim, sam, kak skala,
                    Nezyblem, tverd, svoboden ot soblazna, -
                    Tomu daetsya milost'yu bogov
                    Bogatstvo muzha - chest' i blagorodstvo.
                    On gospodin bozhestvennyh darov,
                    I ne priznat' nel'zya ego gospodstvo.
                    Cvetok dlya leta kopit aromat
                    I, srok pridet, zavyanet sam soboyu,
                    No esli v nem dusha vpitala yad,
                    Prostoj sornyak zatmit ego krasoyu.
                       Vedet k urodstvu porcha krasoty,
                       I lilij krashe sornye cvety.

                    Perevod V. Savina




               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 inclose!
               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 turns to fair that eyes can see!
                 Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege:
                 The hardest knife ill used doth lose its edge.

           Kakimi milymi i prelestnymi ty delaesh' pozornye dela,
           kotorye, kak porcha v dushistoj roze,
           pyatnayut krasotu tvoego yunogo imeni!
           O, v kakie prelesti ty oblachaesh' svoi grehi!
           YAzyk, rasskazyvayushchij istoriyu tvoih dnej -
           delayushchij frivol'nye zamechaniya o tvoih razvlecheniyah, -
           ne mozhet osudit' _tebya_ inache kak v vide hvaly,
           _tak kak_ upominanie tvoego imeni delaet blagim durnoj otzyv.
           O, kakoj roskoshnyj dom u etih porokov,
           kotorye v kachestve zhilishcha vybrali tebya, -
           gde zavesa krasoty pokryvaet lyuboe pyatno
           i vse prevrashchaet v prekrasnoe zrelishche dlya glaz!
              Beregi, dorogoe _moe_ serdce, eto velikuyu privilegiyu:
              prochnejshij nozh, esli im zloupotreblyat', teryaet ostrotu.


                    Kak tvoj pozor pripravlen krasotoj!
                    On, slovno cherv' na lozhe lepestkov,
                    Maraet shchedro yunyj obraz tvoj,
                    Pitayas' sladost'yu tvoih grehov.

                    I peresudy, kak oni ni zly,
                    V podspudnom sladostrastii slepom
                    Tebya hulyat lish' v vide pohvaly,
                    Tak mnogo bleska v imeni tvoem.

                    V kakom dvorce krasuetsya porok
                    S teh por, kak on tebya zapolonil!
                    Kak on vse pyatna prelest'yu oblek
                    I lozhnym blagorodstvom podmenil!

                    I vse-taki bespechno ty zhivesh':
                    Zazubrit' mozhno samyj tverdyj nozh.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     O kak prekrasen ty v grehe svoem,
                     Kotoryj, kak chervyak v butone rozy,
                     Na imeni tvoem lezhit pyatnom, -
                     No oblik tvoj otvodit vse ugrozy!

                     Ob igrishchah tvoih molva poshla,
                     Glumyas' nad pohozhden'yami tvoimi,
                     No iz huly vyhodit pohvala,
                     Edva ona tvoe pomyanet imya.

                     Dvorec prekrasnyj oskvernyaesh' ty,
                     YAviv sebya pristanishchem poroka,
                     CH'i pyatna pod prikryt'em krasoty,
                     Kak ni glyadi, nevidimy dlya oka.

                     Hot' v prave ty svoem, podumaj vse zh:
                     Ved' rezat', chto ne rezhut, - portit' nozh.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova




               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 mak'st faults graces that to thee resort.
               As on a finger of a throned queen
               The basest jewel will be well esteemed,
               So are those errors that in thee are seen
               To truths translated, and for true things deemed.
               How many lambs might the stern 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.

            Nekotorye govoryat, chto tvoj nedostatok - molodost',
                                        nekotorye - chto besputstvo,
            nekotorye _zhe_ govoryat, chto molodost' i blagorodnye
                             razvlecheniya sostavlyayut tvoe ocharovanie.

            Tvoi ocharovanie i nedostatki lyubimy lyud'mi vysokogo
                                                i nizkogo polozheniya;
            ty delaesh' ocharovatel'nymi poroki, kotorye v tebe
                                                        poselyayutsya.
            Podobno tomu kak na pal'ce korolevy na trone
            samyj plohoj kamen' budet pochitaem,
            tak pregresheniya, kotorye vidny v tebe,
            prevrashchayutsya v dobrodeteli i pochitayutsya chem-to
                                                  dobrodetel'nym.
            Kak mnogo yagnyat mog by obmanut' svirepyj volk,
            esli by on mog svoj vid menyat' na vid yagnenka!
            Kak mnogo glyadyashchih _na tebya_ ty mog by soblaznit',
            esli by ispol'zoval v polnuyu silu vse, chto tebe dano!
               No ne delaj etogo: ya lyublyu tebya tak,
               chto ty _ves'_ moj i tvoya reputaciya - moya.

                      Te v shalostyah mladyh tebya koryat,
                      A teh plenyaet molodost' shal'naya;
                      No ty v sebya vlyublyaesh' vseh podryad,
                      Svoi grehi pod prelest'yu skryvaya.

                      Fal'shivyj kamen' primut za almaz,
                      Kol' v persten' korolevy on opravlen, -
                      I tvoj porok dlya voshishchennyh glaz
                      Pokazhetsya dostoinstvom obstavlen.

                      Kak mnogo agncev obmanut' by mog
                      O, skol'ko b ty serdec k sebe privlek,
                      Kogda b krasoj svoej reshil uvlech' ih!

                      Ne delaj tak! Ty mnoj eshche lyubim!
                      I chest' moya - pod imenem tvoim.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova

                      Inoj vinit tvoi mladye leta,
                      Inoj v nih vidit prelesti zalog;
                      Po-raznomu glyadyat na to i eto, -
                      A ty ryadish' v dostoinstvo porok.

                      Vot tak almaz my otlichit' ne mozhem
                      Na pal'ce korolevy ot stekla;
                      I tochno tak na istinu pohozhim
                      Poddelkam rodilas' tvoya hvala.

                      O skol'ko agncev volk provel by zlobnyj,
                      Kogda b ovech'yu shkuru on imel!
                      O skol'kih ty krasoyu bespodobnoj
                      Sgubil by, esli b tol'ko zahotel!

                      Ne nado! Ibo vse tvoe - moe.
                      Moe i imya dobroe tvoe.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova




               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 burthen of the prime,
               Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease:
               Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
               But hope of orphans, and unfathered 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 pohozha na zimu byla moya razluka
             s toboj, _o_ radost' mimoletnogo goda!
             Kakoj moroz ya chuvstvoval, kakie temnye dni videl!
             Kakuyu nagotu starogo dekabrya _videl_ krugom!
             A ved' eto vremya razluki bylo letnim vremenem,
             plodovitoj osen'yu, chrevatoj bogatym urozhaem -
             nosyashchej pyshnoe bremya vesny,
             kak utroba vdovy {*} posle konchiny gospodina;
             i vse zhe etot obil'nyj urozhaj kazalsya mne
             ne bolee chem nadezhdoj sirot {**} i plodom bez otcovstva,
             tak kak leto i ego radosti prisluzhivayut tebe,
             a kogda tebya net, sami pticy nemy,
                ili, esli poyut, to izdayut takie unylye zvuki,
                chto list'ya bledneyut, opasayas', chto zima blizka.

     {*  V  originale  -  stilisticheskaya figura: "widowed wombs", bukval'no:
"ovdovevshie utroby".
     **  Trudnoe  mesto.  Vozmozhnoe  istolkovanie:  "...nadezhdoj na rozhdenie
otpryskov, obrechennyh na sirotstvo".}

                     Tak na zimu pohozheyu byla
                     S toboj razluka, drug lyubimyj moj!
                     V dushe takoj moroz, takaya mgla!
                     Takoj Dekabr', otzhivshij i pustoj!

                     A bylo leto, vse v gustoj trave,
                     I osen' shla, nesya tyazhelyj gruz,
                     Podobnaya beremennoj vdove,
                     Oplakavshej schastlivyj svoj soyuz.

                     No shchedrye dary osennih dnej
                     Kazalis' mne podachkoj dlya sirot:
                     Ved' bez tebya, bez prelesti tvoej
                     I ptica ne po-letnemu poet.

                     Ona edva svistit, i vidim my,
                     Kak list bledneet ot shagov zimy.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      O, prelest' uskol'zayushchego goda!
                      Ostalsya bez tebya ya v dekabre
                      Sred' mrachnyh dnej, s moroznoj nepogodoj,
                      Kak broshennyj na zimnem pustyre.
                      A v eto vremya uhodilo leto,
                      I osen' shla, ot bremeni plodov,
                      Vo ispolneny; veshnego obeta,
                      Osvobodivshis', slovno chrevo vdov.
                      No eto izobil'e mne kazalos'
                      Pustoj nadezhdoj gorestnyh sirot.
                      Mne tozhe tol'ko zhdat' tebya ostalos',
                      Kak ptic, letyashchih s pesnej v nebosvod.
                         Ih vyalyj lepet istomil mne dushu.
                         I zhuhnut list'ya, ozhidaya stuzhu.

                      Perevod V. Rozova




                 From you have I been absent in the spring,
                 When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim)
                 Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
                 That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt 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 seemed it winter still, and, you away,
                    As with your shadow I with these did play.

          S toboj ya byl v razluke vesnoj,
          kogda gordelivo-pestryj aprel' - oblachennyj vo ves' svoj
                                                               naryad -
          pridal vsemu duh yunosti,
          _tak_ chto tyazhelyj Saturn {*} smeyalsya i plyasal vmeste s nim,
          no ni pesni ptic, ni sladostnyj aromat
          cvetov, razlichnyh po zapahu i cvetu,
          ne mogli zastavit' menya rasskazat' nikakoj istorii leta
          ili sorvat' ih {**} s velikolepnogo lona, na kotorom oni rosli.
          YA ne voshishchalsya beliznoj lilii,
          ne hvalil gustoj puncovyj ottenok v roze;
          oni byli vsego lish' milymi, vsego lish' simvolami
                                                   ocharovaniya,
          spisannymi s tebya, _togda kak_ ty - obrazec dlya nih vseh.
             Pri etom kazalos', chto vse eshche zima, i v otsutstvie tebya,
             kak s tvoej ten'yu {***}, ya igral s nimi.

     {* Schitalos', chto iz chetyreh chelovecheskih temperamentov melanholicheskij
upravlyaetsya  planetoj Saturn, byvshej simvolom tyazhelovesnosti i letargicheskoj
medlitel'nosti.
     ** Cvety.
     *** Sm. primechanie k sonetu 53.}

                      Kak byl ya odinok vesennim dnem,
                      Kogda naryadom shchegolyal svoim
                      Gordec-aprel'. Duh yunyj byl vo vsem,
                      I sam Saturn smeyalsya vmeste s nim.

                      Ni pen'e ptic, ni aromaty eti,
                      CHto vse cvety tak lyubyat rastochat',
                      Ne navevali mne syuzhet o lete,
                      Ne zvali iz loshchin cvety sryvat'.

                      Ne izumlyalsya beliznoyu lilij
                      I aloj roze ne vozdal pohval.
                      Oni tebya soboyu podmenili,
                      S tebya ih slovno kto-to srisoval.

                      Za zimu prinimal vesennij den' ya,
                      Vsem etim teshas', kak tvoeyu ten'yu.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                   Kogda prishli nezhdanno dni razluk,
                   Pestrel i pel Aprel' - Vesna burlila,
                   Hmel' yunosti darila vsem vokrug
                   I hmurogo Saturna veselila.
                   No ko vsemu ya byl i slep, i gluh:
                   Cvetam navstrechu serdce ne otkrylos',
                   I treli ptic ne uslazhdali sluh,
                   I dazhe Leto v skazku ne prosilos'.
                   Ni kraski roz, ni belizna lilej
                   Menya, uvy, sovsem ne volnovali,
                   Ved' byli blednoj kopiej tvoej
                   I navevali zimnie pechali.
                      V dushe byla Zima - s cvetami ya
                      Igral, grustya: v nih mnilas' ten' tvoya.

                   Perevod I. Fradkina


                                   99 {*}

               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 robb'ry had annexed 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.

          Rannyuyu fialku tak ya branil:
          "Milaya vorovka, otkuda ty ukrala svoj sladostnyj aromat,
          esli ne iz dyhaniya moego vozlyublennogo? Purpurnoe
                                                  velikolepie,
          kotoroe stalo cvetom tvoej nezhnoj shcheki,
          ty slishkom sgustila v venah moego vozlyublennogo" {**}.
          Liliyu ya osuzhdal za _to, chto ona obokrala_ tvoyu ruku,
          a butony majorana ukrali tvoi volosy.
          Rozy byli ot straha kak na igolkah {***},
          odna krasneyushchaya ot styda, drugaya belaya ot otchayaniya,
          a tret'ya, ni belaya ni krasnaya, obokrala obeih
          i k svoej krazhe prisoedinila tvoe dyhanie,
          no za ee vorovstvo vo vsem velikolepii ee rascveta
          mstitel'nyj chervyak poedaet ee nasmert'.
             YA nablyudal i drugie cvety, no ne videl ni odnogo,
             kotoryj by ne ukral sladost' ili cvet u tebya.

     {*  V  sonete  99,  vopreki sonetnoj forme, soderzhitsya pyatnadcat', a ne
chetyrnadcat' strok.
     ** Neyasnoe mesto. Fialka, kotoruyu poet obvinyaet v vorovstve, v stroke 5
okazyvaetsya,  naoborot,  istochnikom  purpura  dlya  ven  Druga, gde etot cvet
slishkom sgushchen. S bol'shej natyazhkoj, no bolee logichno bylo by istolkovat' eto
v  tom  smysle, chto fialka ukrala purpurnyj cvet iz ven Druga, grubo sgustiv
ego.
     ***  V originale: "on thorns did stand" - frazeologizm, sootvetstvuyushchij
russkomu "byt' kak na igolkah". Pri etom imeetsya ochevidnaya igra s bukval'nym
znacheniem slova "thorns" (shipy).}

                       YA rannyuyu fialku uprekal:
                       Otkuda, mol, ukrala aromat,
                       Kak ne iz milyh ust? I esli al
                       Izlishne lepestok, na strogij vzglyad,
                       On ot tebya rumyanec etot vzyal.

                       U majorana - cvet tvoih volos,
                       U lilii - tvoih prekrasnyh ruk,
                       A tam izobrazhayut kraski roz
                       Rumyanyj styd i belyj tvoj ispug.


                       A eta, i rumyana, i bela,
                       Dyhanie pohitila tvoe,
                       I tut zhe za grehovnye dela
                       CHerv' pozhiraet lepestki ee.

                       Cvetki drugie tozhe im srodni:
                       Vse kraski u tebya kradut oni.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Fialku ya vesnoj koril: "Plutovka!
                     Blagouhan'e druga moego
                     Pohitila iz ust sladchajshih lovko;
                     Cvet lepestkov - iz alyh zhil ego
                     Zaimstvovala, milaya vorovka".
                     Za beliznu ya liliyu zhuril:
                     "Vzyala u druga - cvet belejshej dlani".
                     A aromat volos lyubimca byl
                     V blagouhannom, pryanom majorane.
                     Tri rozy szhalis': strashno poblednev,
                     Odna; vtoraya - rdeya ot smushchen'ya;
                     Ukrala tret'ya roza, osmelev,
                     Vse kraski - cherv' poest ee v otmshchen'e.
                        Tvoej krasoyu sad zapolonen,
                        I zhiv tvoim blagouhan'em on.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




             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,
             Dark'ning thy pow'r 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.

            Gde ty _obretaesh'sya_, Muza, chto zabyvaesh' tak nadolgo
            govorit' o tom, chto daet tebe vse tvoe mogushchestvo?
            Tratish' li ty svoe vdohnovenie {*} na kakuyu-nibud'
                                                 nikchemnuyu pesnyu,
            delaya temnoj svoyu silu, chtoby dat' svet nizkim predmetam?
            Vernis', zabyvchivaya Muza, i nemedlenno iskupi
            blagorodnymi stihami vremya, tak prazdno potrachennoe;
            poj dlya togo uha, kotoroe cenit tvoi pesni
            i soobshchaet tvoemu peru i masterstvo, i temu.
            Ochnis', lenivaya Muza, osmotri miloe lico moej lyubvi,
            _prover'_, ne vyrezalo li Vremya na nem morshchin;
            esli da, to stan' satiroj protiv uvyadaniya
            i sdelaj tak, chtoby dobycha Vremeni byla povsemestno
                                                       preziraema.
               Sozdavaj slavu dlya moej lyubvi skoree, chem Vremya
                                                 unichtozhaet zhizn',
               tak ty ostanovish' ego kosu i krivoj nozh.

     {*  Soglasno  rashozhim  predstavleniyam epohi, poety tvorili v sostoyanii
nishodyashchego  na  nih  neistovogo ili dazhe bezumnogo vdohnoveniya (sr. "poet's
rage" v sonete 17, stroka 11).}

                      Gde, Muza, ty? Kak mozhesh' ty molchat'
                      O tom, chem ty vsegda byla sil'na?
                      Ne svetish' li nichtozhestvu opyat',
                      I ottogo-to moshch' tvoya temna?

                      Zabyvchivaya Muza, naverstaj
                      Vse to, chemu upushchena pora,
                      Sluzhi lyubvi i snova obretaj
                      ZHivuyu silu ostrogo pera.

                      A esli po licu moej lyubvi
                      Uzhe proshelsya Vremeni rezec,
                      Nasil'nika satiroj uyazvi,
                      K vostorgu negoduyushchih serdec,

                      Ty poj, i my lyubov' uberezhem
                      Ot Vremeni s ego krivym nozhom.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     O Muza, otchego zabyla ty
                     Svoj istinnyj istochnik vdohnoven'ya
                     I tratish' sily v debryah suety
                     Na pesni nevysokogo znachen'ya?
                     Vernis' k dostojnym temam, iskupi
                     Utrachennoe vremya slogom znatnym,
                     Iskusstvom, chto zhivet ne dlya tolpy,
                     No v istine, i potomu ponyatnym.
                     Vglyadis' v prekrasnyj lik lyubvi moej:
                     Vdrug gody ej chelo izborozdili?
                     Togda satiroj Vremya ty ubej,
                     CHtob zlost' ego povsyudu osudili.
                        Proslav' moyu lyubov', poka ona
                        Vo vlast' smertel'noj t'my ne otdana.

                     Perevod V. Rozova




                  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 fixed,
                  Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
                  But best is best, if never intermixed'?
                  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.

            O lenivaya Muza, chem ty iskupish'
            svoe nevnimanie k istine {*}, rascvechennoj krasotoj?
            I istina i krasota zavisyat ot moego vozlyublennogo,
            i ty tozhe _zavisish'_ i tem vozvyshena.
            V otvet, Muza, ne skazhesh' li ty, vozmozhno:
            "Istina ne nuzhdaetsya v priukrashivanii, imeya sobstvennyj
                                                     postoyannyj cvet;
            krasota _ne nuzhdaetsya_ v kisti, chtoby zamazyvat' istinnuyu
                                                     sushchnost' krasoty;
            luchshee ostaetsya luchshim, esli ne podvergaetsya smesheniyu"?
            Ottogo, chto on ne nuzhdaetsya v hvale, budesh' li ty nemoj?
            Ne opravdyvaj etim molchaniya, tak kak tebe dano
            sdelat' tak, chtoby on nadolgo perezhil _lyubuyu_ pozolochennuyu
                                                               grobnicu
            i byl voshvalyaem v gryadushchie veka.
               Ispolnyaj zhe svoyu sluzhbu, Muza; ya nauchu tebya, kak
               sdelat', chtoby on dolgoe vremya spustya predstavlyalsya
                                         takim, kakim vyglyadit sejchas.

     {* Sm. primechanie 2 k perevodu soneta 14.}

                      O Muza, ne lenis' - krasu vospoj
                      I vernost', chto, krasuyas', ne lukavit:
                      Dostoin pesen drug bescennyj moj -
                      Vosslav' ego, a mir tebya vosslavit.
                      Uzheli ty otvetish', Muza, mne:
                      "Net! Vernost' horosha bez ukrashen'ya,
                      Hvataet krasok u krasy vpolne,
                      Ih smeshivat' - pustoe uprazhnen'e"?
                      Pust' ne nuzhdaetsya krasa v hvale,
                      Ty, Muza, ne molchi, - tvoya zabota,
                      CHtob obraz druga svet daril zemle,
                      Kogda sletit s nadgrob'ya pozolota.
                         YA nauchu tebya - ty dlya lyudej
                         Navek ego krasu zapechatlej.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina

                     O Muza neradivaya! Kak ty
                     Mne ob®yasnish', chto ne poesh' o druge?
                     Ved' bez nego net v mire krasoty,
                     Net istiny - i net tvoej zaslugi.

                     Il' skazhesh', chto u istiny est' svoj
                     Cvet postoyannyj i drugih ne nuzhno,
                     CHto krasote ne nuzhen kraski sloj,
                     CHto uluchshat' ih - tol'ko delat' huzhe?

                     Dolzhna li ty molchat', raz v pohvale
                     On ne nuzhdaetsya? Ved' sdelat' v silah
                     Ty tak, chtob ostavalsya na zemle
                     On dol'she pozoloty na mogilah.

                     Ispolni dolg! YA dam tebe urok,
                     Kak sohranit' krasu na dolgij srok.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane





               My love is strength'ned, though more weak in seeming;
               I love not less, though less the show appear:
               That love is merchandised 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 his 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.

           Moya lyubov' usililas', hotya stala slabee po vidu;
           ya lyublyu ne men'she, hotya eto men'she proyavlyaetsya vneshne;
           ta lyubov' prevrashchaetsya v tovar, ch'yu vysokuyu cennost'
           yazyk vladel'ca obnaroduet povsyudu.
           Nasha lyubov' byla molodoj i tol'ko perezhivala vesnu,
           kogda ya chasto privetstvoval ee svoimi pesnyami,
           kak Filomela {*} poet v nachale leta,
           no ostavlyaet svoyu svirel', kogda nastupaet bolee zrelaya pora
                                                                 rascveta -
           ne potomu, chto leto ne tak priyatno,
           kak _to vremya_, kogda ee {**} pechal'nye gimny zastavlyali noch'
                                                                 zatihnut',
           no _potomu_, chto _teper'_ dikaya muzyka otyagoshchaet kazhduyu vetv',
           a prelesti, cvetushchie povsemestno [dostupno dlya vseh], teryayut
                                                   dragocennoe ocharovanie.
              Poetomu, kak ona, ya inogda priderzhivayu svoj yazyk,
              ne zhelaya naskuchit' tebe svoej pesnej.

     {*  Poeticheskoe  naimenovanie  solov'ya,  proishodyashchee  ot imeni geroini
mificheskogo syuzheta iz "Metamorfoz" Ovidiya.
     **  V  originale,  kogda  rech'  idet  o  Filomele  (solov'e),  putayutsya
mestoimeniya "his" (ego) i "her" (ee).}

                       Moya lyubov' rastet, hotya slabee

                       Teper' vo mne zvuchit ee motiv,
                       No cennost' chuvstva rynochnoj cene ya
                       Ne upodoblyu, vsyudu razglasiv.
                       Edva l' byla lyubov' dlya nas novej,
                       Kogda, v vostorge ot ee rascveta,
                       YA vospeval ee, kak solovej,
                       CHto umolkaet v seredine leta:
                       Edva li nochi prezhnim ne cheta,
                       CHto skorbnym gimnam otdavalis', nemy,
                       No muzyka iz kazhdogo kusta
                       Vsem bujstvom zaglushaet sladost' temy -

                       I ya, kak on, smolkayu to i delo,
                       CHtob pesn' moya tebe ne nadoela.

                       Perevod I. Asterman

                     Lyubov' sil'nej, hot' kazhetsya slabee;
                     Lyublyu ne men'she, hot' slabej na vid:
                     Korystna ta lyubov', ch'e proslavlen'e
                     Povsyudu s ust vlyublennogo zvuchit.

                     Dlya nas lyubov' nova byla vesnoj,
                     YA pesni pel svoj, ee vstrechaya, -
                     Tak Filomela veshneyu poroj
                     Poet, no posle niknet, umolkaya.

                     Ne to chtob leto huzhe stalo vdrug,
                     Ne slysha flejty gorestnoj ee,
                     No muzyka, gremyashchaya vokrug,
                     Teryaet obayanie svoe.

                     I mne poroyu hochetsya molchat',
                     CHtob pesneyu tebya ne utomlyat'.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                Alack, 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 overgoes 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, kakoe ubozhestvo rozhdaet moya Muza,
          imeyushchaya takie _shirokie_ vozmozhnosti blesnut',
          _i pri etom sama_ tema bez vsyakih ukrashenij ostaetsya bolee
                                                               cennoj,
          chem togda, kogda k nej dobavlyaetsya moya hvala!
          O, ne vini menya, esli ya bol'she ne mogu pisat'!
          Posmotri v zerkalo - tam vozniknet lico,
          kotoroe prevoshodit polnost'yu moe tupoe voobrazhenie,
          delaya moi stroki skuchnymi i pozorya menya.
          Ne greshno li bylo by togda, pytayas' uluchshit',
          iskazhat' predmet, kotoryj do togo byl horosh?
          Ved' moi stihi ne stremyatsya k inoj celi,
          kak rasskazyvat' o tvoih prelestyah i darovaniyah,
             i bol'she, gorazdo bol'she, chem mozhet vmestit'sya v moem
                                                              stihe,
             tvoe sobstvennoe zerkalo pokazyvaet tebe, kogda ty
                                                       smotrish' v nego.


                     Uvy, uspehi Muzy tak skudny,
                     CHto blesk i yarkost' krasoty tvoej
                     V prostoj oprave bolee cenny,
                     CHem v pohvale rascvechennoj moej.
                     Ne stav' v uprek, pisat' ya ne mogu,
                     Kol' v zerkale i oblik tvoj, i vzor
                     Sotrut moyu bessil'nuyu stroku
                     I mne ob®yavyat strogij prigovor.
                     Ne greh li to - stihami uluchshat',
                     No iskazhat' tvoj svetlyj obraz v nih?
                     Ved' ya v strokah ne v silah peredat'
                     Hot' chast' dostoinstv i shchedrot tvoih.
                        Namnogo luchshe, chem v moih stihah,
                        Ty vyglyadish' v pravdivyh zerkalah.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova

                      Moya podruga Muza oskudela -
                      Palitry krasok ne hvataet ej,
                      I ya hvalu otbrasyvayu smelo:
                      Prostoj syuzhet vo mnogo raz sil'nej.
                      Menya ne osuzhdaya za molchan'e
                      I glyadya v zerkalo, sumej ponyat':
                      Tebya, stol' sovershennoe sozdan'e,
                      Moj vyalyj stih ne v silah peredat'.
                      Da razve ne pozor, ne greh zhestokij,
                      Meshaya kraski, divo iskazit'?!
                      YA na pero nanizyvayu stroki,
                      Tshchas' divo divnoe izobrazit'.
                         Ved' v zerkale tvoe otobrazhen'e
                         Kuda prekrasnej moego tvoren'ya!

                      Perevod I. Fradkina




              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 turned
              In process of the seasons have I seen,
              Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
              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.

            Dlya menya, prekrasnyj drug, ty ne mozhesh' sostarit'sya,
            ibo kakim ty byl, kogda ya vpervye uzrel tvoi glaza,
            takoj _mne_ po-prezhnemu predstavlyaetsya tvoya krasota.
                                                 Tri holodnye zimy
            otryahnuli s lesov velikolepie treh let,
            _i_ tri prelestnye vesny prevratilas' v zheltuyu osen'
            v hode _cheredovaniya_ sezonov, - _vot chto_ ya nablyudal.
            Tri aprel'skih aromata sgoreli v treh zharkih iyunyah
            s teh por, kak ya vpervye uvidel tebya, kotoryj po-prezhnemu yun.
            I vse zhe krasota, kak strelka chasov,
            ukradkoj udalyaetsya ot svoej cifry {*}, _hotya_ dvizhenie
                                                            nezametno;
            tak i tvoya prelestnaya vneshnost', kotoraya, kak mne kazhetsya,
                                      ostaetsya neizmennoj [nepodvizhnoj],
            na samom dele menyaetsya [nahoditsya v dvizhenii], a moi glaza
                                                     mogut obmanyvat'sya;
               strashas' etogo, _ya skazhu_: poslushaj, vek nerozhdennyj,
               _eshche_ do tvoego rozhdeniya leto krasoty umerlo.

     {* V originale - "figure", chto sozdaet igru slov na znacheniyah "cifra" i
"figura".}

                    Ty ne stareesh' dlya menya, moj drug.
                    S teh por, kak ya pojmal tvoj pervyj vzglyad,
                    Vse tot zhe ty. Pust' pod naporom v'yug
                    Lesa ronyali trizhdy svoj naryad,

                    Preobrazilis' v osen' tri vesny,
                    Obychaj sovershaya godovoj,
                    I tri aprelya znoem sozhzheny -
                    Po-prezhnemu prekrasen oblik tvoj.

                    No krasota, kak strelka na chasah,
                    Mgnoven'ya u sebya samoj kradet,
                    I, mozhet byt', menya, drugim na strah,
                    Obmanyvaet tajnyj etot hod.

                    Kto v zhizn' vojdet, kogda ischeznesh' ty,
                    Tot ne zastanet leto krasoty.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                       Ty dlya menya prebudesh' molodym,
                       Takim, kak v den', kogda vpervye vzor
                       YA tvoj uvidel. Holoda treh zim
                       S lesov sryvali letnij ih ubor.

                       I tri vesny stremitel'no leteli,
                       Osenneyu smenyayas' zheltiznoj,
                       Sgoral v iyunyah aromat aprelej, -
                       Vse tak zhe bezuprechen oblik tvoj.

                       No krasota, kak strelka na chasah,
                       Spolzaet s cifry, gde byla ona,
                       I, hot' ty yun i svezh v moih glazah,
                       Mne peremena prosto ne vidna.

                       Pust' znayut v pokoleniyah inyh,
                       CHto leto krasoty proshlo do nih.

                       Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                  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.

             Pust' moyu lyubov' ne nazovut idolopoklonstvom
             i _pust'_ moj vozlyublennyj ne pokazhetsya idolom,
             ved' vse moi pesni i hvaly ravno
             _posvyashcheny_ odnomu, _poyutsya_ ob odnom, vsegda takovy i vechno
                                                                neizmenny.
             Moj vozlyublennyj dobr segodnya, zavtra dobr,
             vsegda postoyanen v _svoem_ divnom sovershenstve;
             poetomu moi stihi, obrechennye na postoyanstvo,
             vyrazhaya _vsegda_ odno, isklyuchayut raznoobrazie.
             "Prekrasnyj, dobryj i vernyj" - vot vse soderzhanie _moih
                                                                stihov_;
             "prekrasnyj, dobryj i vernyj" - var'iruyu _eto_ drugimi
                                                              slovami,
             i na eti variacii tratitsya vse moe voobrazhenie, -
             tri temy v odnoj, chto daet divnye vozmozhnosti.
                 "Prekrasnyj, dobryj i vernyj" - _eti kachestva_ vsegda
                                              sushchestvovali poodinochke,
                 _vse_ tri nikogda ne pomeshchalis' v odnom _cheloveke_.

                      Moya lyubov' - ne idolopoklonstvo.
                      Ne idolu, a drugu moemu
                      Moya hvala vse vremya vozdaetsya.
                      Vse pesni - ob odnom i odnomu.

                      Ty dobr ko mne v lyuboj iz etih dnej,
                      CHudesnym postoyanstvom porazhaya,
                      I stih, prikovan k vernosti tvoej,
                      Zabyv pro vse, odno lish' vyrazhaet.

                      Mil, veren, dobr - ya vnov' tebe poyu,
                      Mil, veren, dobr - vot sut' vseh slov inyh.
                      YA istoshchayu vydumku moyu,
                      Menyaya vid treh vechnyh tem svoih.

                      "Mil", "veren", "dobr" - tak chasto zhili vroz',
                      Poka v odnom vse eto ne soshlos'.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Pust' idolopoklonstvom preklonen'e
                     Pered toboj ne nazyvaet mir,
                     Hot' vse hvaly, vse pesni, vse tvoren'ya -
                     Vse dlya tebya, i ty odin - kumir.
                     Vsesil'na magiya ocharovan'ya,
                     Odnim toboj dusha moya polna:
                     Ty s kazhdym dnem serdechnej v mig svidan'ya,

                     I pesnya u menya vsegda odna.
                     Poyu odno: "Prekrasen, dobr i veren!",
                     "Prekrasen, dobr i veren!" - noch'yu, dnem
                     Na vse lady ya povtoryat' nameren -
                     Slilis' tri chuda v obraze odnom.
                        "Prekrasen, dobr i veren!" - moj yazyk
                        Kak klyatvu povtoryaet kazhdyj mig.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




                 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 expressed
                 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 looked 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 letopisyah proshedshego vremeni
            ya vizhu opisaniya prekrasnejshih lyudej
            i vospevayushchie krasotu krasivye starinnye stihi,
            voshvalyayushchie umershih ocharovatel'nyh dam i galantnyh
                                                       rycarej,
            togda v etom proslavlenii {*} luchshih obrazcov krasoty -
                                            ruk, nog, gub, glaz, lba -
            ya vizhu, chto drevnee pero stremilos' vyrazit'
            imenno takuyu krasotu, kakoj ty obladaesh' teper'.
            Tak chto vse ih hvaly - ne chto inoe, kak prorochestva
            _o nastuplenii_ nashego vremeni, predvoshishchayushchie tvoj obraz,
            i poskol'ku oni smotreli tol'ko myslennym vzorom,
            u nih ne hvatalo masterstva vospet' tvoe sovershenstvo,
               ved' _dazhe_ my; _voochiyu_ vidyashchie nyneshnee vremya, -
               _hotya_ u nas est' glaza, chtoby voshishchat'sya, - ne imeem
                                            yazyka, chtoby vozdat' hvalu.

     {*  V  originale  - "blazon", chto mozhno perevesti kak "gerb", "emblema"
ili "proslavlenie", "vystavlenie napokaz".}

                      Kogda chitayu v knige dnej bylyh,
                      Ostavshihsya za dal'neyu chertoj,
                      Vo slavu dam prekrasnyj staryj stih,
                      Na svet rozhdennyj yunoj krasotoj,

                      YA dumayu, chto vovse ne staro
                      Izobrazhenie glaz, resnic, brovej,
                      CHto sladilo by drevnee pero,
                      Pozhaluj, dazhe s krasotoj tvoej.

                      I vot kolduyut drevnie slova,
                      Oni predugadat' tebya hotyat.
                      No krasota sil'nee koldovstva,
                      I delo ne idet u nih na lad.

                      Ty zdes', ty s nami, no ved' i u nas

                      YAzyk ne peredast, chto vidit glaz.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    Listaya pozheltevshie stranicy,
                    Na rycarej smotryu, prekrasnyh dam -
                    Ih krasotoj proslavlennye lica
                    Pod stat' samim vozvyshennym stiham.
                    YA ponimayu, chto tvorcy predanij,
                    O prelestyah nevidannyh trubya,
                    Lanity vospevaya, ochi, dlani -
                    Vpolne mogli proslavit' i tebya.
                    Ih pohvaly prorochestvami stali,
                    Predviden'em gryadushchej krasoty,
                    No dazhe im dostalo b slov edva li,
                    CHtob zasverkali vse tvoi cherty.
                       A nyne te, komu glaza dany,
                       Bessil'ny: dara slova lisheny.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




               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 of brass are spent.

            Ni moi sobstvennye strahi, ni prorocheskaya dusha
            vsego mira, voobrazhaya gryadushchee,
            vse zhe ne mogut opredelit' srok moej istinnoj lyubvi,
            polagaya ee ogranichennoj _rokovym_ predelom {*}.
            Smertnaya luna perezhila [ispytala] svoe zatmenie {**},
            i mrachnye avgury smeyutsya nad sobstvennym prorochestvom;
            to, chto bylo neopredelennym, teper' _torzhestvuet_ [venchaetsya
                                                      koronoj], stav nadezhnym,
            i mir provozglashaet olivy na vechnoe vremya {***}.
            Teper', s kaplyami etogo celitel'nejshego vremeni,
            moya lyubov' vyglyadit svezhej, i Smert' mne podchinyaetsya,
            tak kak vopreki ej ya budu zhit' v etih bednyh stihah,
            poka ona zlobno torzhestvuet nad tupymi i bez®yazykimi plemenami.
               I ty v etom _moem tvorchestve_ obretesh' sebe pamyatnik,
               kogda gerby i grobnicy tiranov istleyut.

     {*  Po edinodushnomu mneniyu issledovatelej, sonet 107 soderzhit nameki na
vazhnye  vneshnie  obstoyatel'stva.  Tak,  stroki  3-4,  vozmozhno,  namekayut na
osvobozhdenie  iz  tyur'my  adresata  sonetov,  kotorym  schitaetsya  libo  lord
Sautgempton,  libo  lord  Pembruk  (oba  byli  v  raznoe  vremya  podvergnuty
tyuremnomu zaklyucheniyu po politicheskim prichinam). Otsyuda sleduyut raznye vyvody
otnositel'no  datirovki soneta, poskol'ku Pembruk byl osvobozhden v marte ili
aprele 1601 g., a Sautgempton - v aprele 1603 g.
     **  Pod  "smertnoj  lunoj"  obychno ponimayut korolevu Elizavetu, odnako,
otnositel'no  "zatmeniya"  mneniya kommentatorov rashodyatsya. Vozmozhno, SHekspir
imel  v vidu razgrom ispanskoj Armady, podavlenie zagovora ili vyzdorovlenie
korolevy posle bolezni, s drugoj storony, rech' mogla idti o ee smerti v 1603
g.  (Delo  oslozhnyaetsya  tem,  chto  glagol  "endure"  mozhno  istolkovat'  kak
"perezhila",  "preodolela",  ili  kak  "ispytala",  "poterpela",  i vo vtorom
sluchae  on  mog byt' upotreblen primenitel'no k sobytiyu, imevshemu negativnyj
itog.)
     ***  V  zavisimosti  ot istolkovaniya (sm. predydushchuyu snosku), v strokah
7-8  mozhno  videt'  ukazanie  libo  na  preodolenie  Elizavetoj  kakogo-libo
krizisa,  libo  na  posledovavshee za ee smert'yu vosshestvie na prestol korolya
YAkova  I.  V chem by ni zaklyuchalos' eto sobytie, avtor soneta govorit o nem v
samom  radostnom  i  vozvyshennom duhe, ochevidno svyazyvaya s nim i svoi lichnye
nadezhdy.}

                    Ni strah moj, ni predchuvstviya serdec
                    U mira v grezah i ob®yat'yah sna
                    Ne znayut, budet li lyubvi konec -
                    Lyubvi, ch'ya smert' byla predreshena
                    Svoe zatmen'e smertnaya luna
                    Perezhila prorochestvam nazlo,
                    Korona vnov' nadezhde otdana,
                    Olivam snova mirno i teplo.
                    Lyubov' svezha, i smert' nam ne strashna,
                    Bessmert'e ty nesesh' moim stiham,
                    A smert' - smert' ogranichit vremena
                    Tupym i besslovesnym plemenam.
                       Perezhivesh' ty v vechnosti stihov
                       Gerby carej i zoloto krestov.

                    Perevod A. Kuznecova

                      Ni strah moj, ni vselenskij duh-prorok,
                      CH'e t'mu vremen pronizyvaet oko,
                      Lyubvi moej mne ne ukazhet srok,
                      Hotya ya znayu - ty so mnoj do sroka.

                      Zatmilas' tiho smertnaya luna,
                      Prorochestva avgurov vyshli lzhivy;
                      Uverennost' na tron vozvedena,
                      I vechnye ob®yavleny olivy.

                      I eto vse - bal'zam na rany mne,
                      Lyubov' moya na vid svezhee snova;
                      YA ne umru s drugimi naravne,
                      Kotorye v vekah ne imut slova.

                      V stihah i ty prebudesh' - i skorej
                      Padut grobnicy i vency carej.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova




               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 hallowed 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.

         CHto est' v mozgu _takogo_, chto chernila mogut vyrazit' _na pis'me_,
         chego ne izobrazil tebe _v stihah_ moj vernyj duh?
         CHto novogo mozhno skazat', chto novogo zapisat'
         _takogo_, chto sposobno vyrazit' moyu lyubov' ili tvoe
                                                   dragocennoe dostoinstvo?
         Nichego, milyj mal'chik; i vse zhe, kak bozhestvennye molitvy,
         ya dolzhen kazhdyj den' povtoryat' to zhe samoe,
         ne schitaya nichego starogo starym, _kak, naprimer, to_, chto ty moj|
                                                                 _a_ ya tvoj,
         tak zhe kak togda, kogda ya vpervye blagoslovil tvoe
                                                    prekrasnoe imya.
         Tak chto vechnaya lyubov', v novom odeyanii {*} lyubvi,
         ne prinimaet vo vnimanie prah i ushcherb starosti
         _i_ ne daet mesta neizbezhnym morshchinam,
         no delaet drevnost' navechno svoim slugoj [pazhom],
            nahodya _novoe_ zarozhdenie pervoj lyubvi tam,
            gde iz-za vremeni i _brennoj_ vneshnosti ona pokazalas'
                                                           by mertvoj.

     {*  Upotreblennoe  v  originale  slovosochetanie  "fresh case" dopuskaet
razlichnye   tolkovaniya.   Pomimo   "novogo  odeyaniya",  pod  kotorym  sleduet
ponimat'  novoe  vyrazhenie  lyubvi  v  stihah,  issledovatelyami  predlagalis'
varianty: "novye obstoyatel'stva", "novoe postizhenie lyubvi" i dr.}

                     Kak moj rassudok s pomoshch'yu chernil
                     Tebe prines by novuyu prisyagu
                     I novuyu hvalu prisochinil,
                     A tam ee zanes by na bumagu?

                     Nikak, moj mal'chik. Vse - v stroke odnoj,
                     I, kak molitvu, ya tverzhu ee,
                     Hot' net v nej novizny: ty moj, ya tvoj
                     S teh por, kak imya proiznes tvoe.

                     Ne hochet priznavat' moih nevzgod
                     Tvoya lyubov', nevinna i svezha,
                     Morshchinam novym mesta ne daet,
                     Moyu gonyaet drevnost', kak pazha.

                     I budet tam ogon' lyubvi goret',
                     Gde ej davno pora by umeret'.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     CHto v myslyah? Kak chernila peredat'
                     Pomogut tvoj pravdivyj, milyj lik?
                     CHto novogo skazat', chtob pokazat'
                     Kakih v lyubvi predelov ty dostig?
                     Net, nichego, rodnoj moj, kazhdyj raz
                     YA, kak molitvu, budu povtoryat',
                     CHto znayut vse, bez slavy i prikras,
                     I imya svetloe blagoslovlyat'.
                     Tak, vechnaya lyubov', rozhdayas' vnov',
                     Ne budet dryahloj smorshchennoj kargoj,
                     YUna, kak yunost', vechnaya lyubov'
                     I drevnost' delaet svoej raboj.
                        Tam novaya lyubov' vozrozhdena,
                        Gde dumayut - lyubov' umershchvlena.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova




                 O never say that I was false of heart,
                 Though absence seemed my flame to qualify;
                 As easy might I from my self 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 reigned
                 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
                 That it could so preposterously be stained
                 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, nikogda ne govori, chto ya byl neveren serdcem,
           hotya razluka, kazalos', umerila vo mne ogon' _strasti_;
           mne legche bylo by rasstat'sya s samim soboj,
           chem s moej dushoj, kotoraya nahoditsya v tvoej grudi.
           Tam dom moej lyubvi. Esli ya _i_ bluzhdal,
           _to_, podobno, tomu kto puteshestvuet, ya vozvrashchayus'
           tochno v srok, ne izmenivshis' s vremenem,
           tak chto _ya_ sam prinoshu vodu dlya _smytiya_ pyatna _izmeny_.
           Nikogda ne ver' - hotya v moej nature carili
           vse slabosti, osazhdayushchie vseh lyudej [vsyakuyu krov'], -
           chto ona mogla byt' tak nelepo isporchena [zapyatnana],
           chtoby promenyat' ni na chto vsyu summu dobra, _voploshchennogo_
                                                               v tebe.
              YA govoryu, chto ves' etot mir - nichto,
              za isklyucheniem tebya, moya roza; v etom _mire_ ty dlya menya vse.

                     O, ne skazhi, chto serdcem ya solgal
                     I strast' razlukoj sozhzhena dotla.
                     Byvalo, o sebe ya zabyval -
                     Moya dusha v tvoej grudi zhila.
                     Ty - hram lyubvi, gde moj hranitsya pyl,
                     I potomu ya vremya prevozmog,
                     I vozvrashchayus' tem zhe, kem i byl,
                     I u dverej smyvayu pyl' dorog.
                     Net, nikogda ne zhdi izmeny ty
                     I, hot' poroki vse vo mne najdesh',
                     Ne ver', chto mog ya svetoch dobroty
                     Otdat' postydno za nichtozhnyj grosh.

                     Ne stal by zhit' ya v etom carstve lzhi,
                     Kogda b ne ty, cvetok moej dushi!

                     Perevod B. Kushnera

                     YA ne izmennik, ne vini menya:
                     Razluka, mol, prichina ohlazhden'ya.
                     Ved', dushu ya v tvoej grudi hranya,
                     Ne broshu sam sebya bez sozhalen'ya.

                     Ved' tut moj dom, i ya vernulsya vnov',
                     I bolee otsyuda ya - ni shagu:
                     Ne iznosilas' po puti lyubov',
                     I pyatna smyt' svoi prines ya vlagu.

                     I pust' porok techet v moej krovi,
                     No vse zh ne stol' moi uzhasny pyatna,
                     CHtob dragocennyj dom svoej lyubvi
                     YA promenyal i ne prishel obratno.

                     Bez miloj rozy, bez tebya, moj drug,
                     Ves' mir - nichto i pusto vse vokrug.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova




                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 looked 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.

           Uvy, eto pravda: ya snoval tuda-syuda
           i delal iz sebya shuta v glazah _lyudej_,
           urodoval {*} sobstvennye mysli, prodaval zadeshevo samoe dorogoe
           tvoril starye grehi iz novyh privyazannostej.
           Istinnaya pravda to, chto ya smotrel na pravdu [vernost']
           s podozreniem i kak chuzhoj; no, _klyanus'_ vsem vysshim,
           eti zabluzhdeniya dali moemu serdcu vtoruyu molodost',
           i hudshie ispytaniya dokazali, chto ty - moya luchshaya lyubov'.
           Teper' s etim pokoncheno; _ty_ imeesh' to, chto ne budet imet' konca;
           svoj appetit ya bol'she ne budu zaostryat'
           novymi ispytaniyami, proveryaya starogo druga,
           boga v lyubvi, k kotoromu ya privyazan [prikovan].
              Tak primi menya, dlya menya ustupayushchij tol'ko nebesam,
              v svoyu chistuyu i samuyu-samuyu lyubyashchuyu grud'.

     {*   V   originale   -  "gored".  Glagol  "gore"  v  sovremennom  yazyke
upotreblyaetsya  glavnym obrazom primenitel'no k zhivotnym, v znacheniyah "bodat'
(rogom)", "pronzat' (klykom)", odnako v epohu SHekspira on imel bolee shirokij
spektr  znachenij:  "pronzat'",  "rezat'",  "rubit'"  (ostrym oruzhiem i pr.).
Drugoj  osnovoj  dlya  interpretacii  mozhet  sluzhit' sushchestvitel'noe "gore" -
"klin",  v  tom  chisle  klin,  vstavlyaemyj v odezhdu dlya rasstavki. Ishodya iz
etogo  znacheniya,  frazu  "gored  mine  own  thoughts"  mozhno istolkovat' kak
"urodoval  sobstvennye  tvoren'ya (chuzherodnymi) vstavkami)" S drugoj storony,
narochito  shirokie,  yarkie  klin'ya  byli harakterny dlya odezhdy shutov, poetomu
vozmozhno eshche prochtenie: "pridaval shutovskoe oblich'e sobstvennym myslyam".}

                    Uvy, vse tak, - ya zhil shutom pustym,
                    Kolpak vezde taskaya za soboyu,
                    Kalechil mysl', i torgoval svyatym,
                    I oskorblyal odnu lyubov' drugoyu.
                    Da, eto tak. YA k pravde zhil spinoj,
                    Vo lzhi podozreval ee, i vse zhe -
                    Vernul mne yunost' gor'kij opyt moj
                    I istinu, chto ty vsego dorozhe.
                    Konec vsemu, no net lyubvi konca!
                    Primi zhe pyl moej voskresshej strasti,
                    K chemu draznit' nezrelye serdca -
                    Ved' ty moj bog vo vsem velich'i vlasti!

                    Na lyubyashchej grudi, gde svet nebes vidnej,
                    Ukroj menya ot zloj sud'by moej.

                    Perevod B. Kushnera

                       Uvy, napyaliv shutovskoj kostyum,
                       To tut, to tam menyaya ubezhden'ya,
                       Sbyval ya chuvstva i nevolil um,
                       I, v novye brosayas' pohozhden'ya,
                       YA starye obidy umnozhal;
                       No umopomrachen'e minovalo,
                       YA, otgreshiv, vnov' molod serdcem stal -
                       Za gody bed pora lyubvi nastala:
                       Tvoim dostoinstvam predela net,
                       I druzhbu staruyu ya ne pozvolyu
                       Ispytyvat' otnyne, hvatit bed!
                       Ty - bog Lyubvi, ya u tebya v nevole!
                          Daj mesto u nebesnogo ognya:
                          Svoej dushoyu otogrej menya.

                       Perevod I. Fradkina




                  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 renewed,
                  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.

         O, za menya brani Fortunu,
         boginyu, vinovnuyu v moih durnyh postupkah,
         kotoraya ne obespechila moyu zhizn' nichem luchshim,
         chem publichnye sredstva, porozhdayushchie publichnoe [vul'garnoe,
         nizkoe] povedenie {*}.
         Otsyuda - to, chto moe imya poluchaet klejmo,
         i v rezul'tate moya natura pochti _pogloshchena_ [podchinena]
         tem, sredi chego ona truditsya, kak ruka krasil'shchika.
         Pozhalej zhe menya i pozhelaj, chtoby ya vozrodilsya,
         a ya, kak poslushnyj pacient, budu pit'
         uksusnye nastojki protiv moego sil'nogo zarazheniya;
         nikakaya gorech' mne ne pokazhetsya gor'koj
         ili dvojnym nakazaniem dlya ispravleniya uzhe ispravlennogo.
            Pozhalej zhe menya, dorogoj drug, i ya uveryayu tebya,
            chto odnoj tvoej zhalosti dostatochno, chtoby izlechit' menya.

     {*  Bol'shinstvo  kommentatorov  interpretiruyut "publichnye sredstva" kak
zarabotok aktera ili dramaturga. Po etoj versii, poet zdes' opravdyvaet svoi
predosuditel'nye  postupki  nizkimi  nravami  publiki,  kotorye  on ponevole
usvaivaet v silu svoej publichnoj professii.}

                      Sud'bu ty spravedlivo upreknesh',
                      Branya moi grehovnye dela,
                      CHto znal ya tol'ko licedejstva lozh',
                      A luchshego sud'ba mne ne dala.

                      I vot klejmo na imeni moem,
                      Da i na oblike, ved' po rukam
                      Krasil'shchika my srazu uznaem.
                      No pozhalej - i vyberus' ya sam.

                      Lyuboe zel'e zhadno proglochu,
                      Mne lish' by odolet' moyu zarazu.
                      Pust' budet gorech' - znat' ya ne hochu,
                      Ne probuyu, a prinimayu srazu.

                      Ty pozhalej, moj drug, menya hot' malost',
                      I moj nedug tvoya izlechit zhalost'.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    Ty prav, moj drug, sud'bu moyu vinya,
                    CHto seti rasstavlyala predo mnoyu,
                    V kotoryh zhar dushi rastratil ya
                    Za sveta podayanie pustoe.
                    Na chest' moyu pozoryashchem pyatnom
                    Leglo moe zanyatie - tak ruki
                    Krasil'shchika my srazu uznaem.
                    Bud' miloserden: otpusti mne muki.
                    Lechit'sya ot neduga ya gotov
                    Hot' uksusom; ya rad lyuboj otrave,
                    Priemlya ot tebya bez lishnih slov
                    Lekarstvo, chto naznachit' ty lish' vprave.
                       Lyubeznyj drug, sochuvstvie tvoe -
                       Iz milyh ust - celebnoe pit'e.

                    Perevod V. Tarzaevoj




                 Your love and pity doth th'impression fill
                 Which vulgar scandal stamped 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 steeled 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 th'are dead.

         Tvoya lyubov' i zhalost' sglazhivayut klejmo,
         kotoroe vul'garnyj skandal otpechatal na moem lbu,
         ibo chto mne za delo, kto govorit obo mne horosho ili durno,
         esli ty maskiruesh' {*} durnoe vo mne i dopuskaesh' horoshee?
         Ty dlya menya - ves' mir, i ya dolzhen starat'sya
         uznat' svoi postydnye i pohval'nye storony s tvoih slov.
         Nikto drugoj dlya menya _ne sushchestvuet_, ni ya ni dlya kogo
                                                       ne sushchestvuyu,
         chtoby izmenit' moe ukorenivsheesya [stavshee stal'nym]
                                 vospriyatie horoshego ili durnogo {**}.
         V takuyu glubokuyu bezdnu ya brosayu vsyakuyu zabotu
         o drugih _mneniyah_ [golosah], chto moj sluh gadyuki
         dlya kritika i l'steca zatvoren {***}.
         Smotri, kak ya opravdyvayu svoe prenebrezhenie:
            ty tak sil'no zapechatlen v moih myslyah,
            chto ves' ostal'noj mir, kazhetsya mne, mertv.

     {*  V  originale  -  "overgreen"; The Oxford English Dictionary tolkuet
etot  glagol  kak "prikryvat', skryvat' defekt" i fiksiruet ego upotreblenie
tol'ko u SHekspira.
     **  Putanoe  sintaksicheski  i  ne sovsem yasnoe po smyslu, predlozhenie v
strokah 7-8 vyzyvaet spory kommentatorov.
     ***  Schitalos',  chto  gadyuka  obladaet  ochen'  ostrym  sluhom, no mozhet
izolirovat'  sebya  ot  zvukov,  lozhas'  odnim uhom na zemlyu i zatykaya drugoe
hvostom, takim obrazom stanovyas' na vremya gluhoj.}

                     Bal'zam mne na klejmenoe chelo
                     Tvoya lyubov' i nezhnoe uchast'e.
                     Kto b ni ryadil menya v dobro i zlo,
                     V tvoej lish' pohvale vzyskuyu schast'ya.

                     Ty dlya menya ves' mir! Glavu sklonya,
                     Stydit' i slavit' nadelyayu pravom,
                     YA mertv dlya vseh, mertvy vse dlya menya,
                     Lish' ty sud'ya delam moim nepravym.

                     Molvu brosayu v bezdnu nemoty,
                     Moj sluh gadyuchij ej teper' ne vnemlet.
                     Ni lesti, ni besstydnoj klevety
                     Moya gluhaya sovest' ne priemlet.

                     YA zhazhdu tol'ko slova tvoego,
                     Vse ostal'noe, mnitsya mne, mertvo.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova

                    Klejmo, zloj klevety pozornyj sled,
                    Tvoya dobrozhelatel'nost' stiraet,
                    Na luchshee vo mne brosaet svet
                    I vse moi iz®yany zatemnyaet.
                    ZHiv tol'ko dlya tebya, ya mertv dlya vseh,
                    Ty - mir ves', lish' tebya ya ponimayu:
                    Ty skazhesh': "greh", ya soglashayus' - "greh",
                    Hvalu ili hulu - vse prinimayu.
                    SHvyrnul ya zvuki mira nakonec
                    V gluhuyu bezdnu: gluh ya, kak gadyuka,
                    Ne strashen mne ni klevetnik, ni l'stec,
                    No ne pechal'sya - ne lishen ya sluha.
                       Mir vymer dlya menya - k nemu ya gluh:
                       Ty dlya menya i zrenie, i sluh.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




                 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 flow'r, 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 rud'st 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 maketh mine eye untrue.

           S teh por kak ya ostavil tebya, moi glaza - v moej dushe,
           a te, kotorye napravlyayut menya v peredvizheniyah,
           rasstalis' so svoej funkciej i otchasti slepy -
           kazhutsya vidyashchimi, no po-nastoyashchemu ne dejstvuyut,
           tak kak oni ne donosyat do serdca nikakoj formy
           pticy, cvetka ili tela, kotoryh oni zapechatlevayut;
           v ih bystryh ob®ektah dusha ne uchastvuet,
           i samo ih zrenie ne uderzhivaet togo, chto ulavlivaet,
           potomu chto, vidyat li oni samoe gruboe ili samoe izyskannoe
                                                                 zrelishche,
           samoe priyatnoe {*} ili samoe urodlivoe sozdanie,
           gory ili more, den' ili noch',
           voronu ili golubya, - oni vsemu pridayut tvoi cherty.
              Nesposobnaya _vmestit'_ bol'she, polnaya toboj,
              moya istinno vernaya dusha delaet moi glaza nevernymi.

     {* Priblizitel'noe istolkovanie. Po mneniyu nekotoryh kommentatorov, eto
opredelenie  v originale sleduet chitat' kak "sweet-favour'd"; vprochem, smysl
pri etom ostaetsya ne vpolne yasnym.}

                    Pust' ty vdali, tvoj lik vo mne zhivet, -
                    V moej dushe prekrasnoe viden'e:
                    Prikazy mozgu glaz ne otdaet,
                    I ya lishen napolovinu zren'ya.
                    Glaz lovit pticu, oblako, cvetok,
                    No chuditsya dushe odno i to zhe,
                    Uvy, drugoe videt' nevdomek,
                    I mnitsya to, chto ej vsego dorozhe.
                    Vorona, golub', gory, i lesa,
                    I svet, i mgla, i merzkie sozdan'ya -
                    Tvoj oblik prinimaet vse i vsya,
                    I vse vokrug polno ocharovan'ya.
                       Kogda lyubov' pronikla gluboko,
                       Vlyublennyj glaz obmanetsya legko.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina

                    Rasstalis' my - i pamyat' okom stala,
                    A oko, chto. vedet menya v puti,
                    Sposobnost' k razlichen'yu poteryalo,
                    Glyadit vokrug, a tolku net pochti.
                    0no do serdca ne donosit vid
                    Ni vstrechnyh lic, ni ptic i ni cvetov:
                    Moj vzglyad po nim bespamyatno skol'zit,
                    CHto ni ulovit - upustit' gotov.
                    Ravno - gora pred nim il' okean,
                    Lik chudnyj il' besformennaya gruda,
                    Svet ili sumrak, golub' ili vran, -
                    Tvoi cherty on uznaet povsyudu.

                    Mne pamyat' odnogo tebya yavlyaet,
                    I etim svetom vzor moj osleplyaet.

                    Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo




               Or whether doth my mind being crowned 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?
               O 'tis the first; 'tis flatt'ry 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 poisoned, 'tis the lesser sin
                  That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

           Moya li dusha, koronovannaya toboj {*},
           _zhadno_ p'et etu chumu monarhov, lest'?
           Ili mne sleduet skazat', chto moi glaza govoryat pravdu
           i eto lyubov' k tebe nauchila ih takoj alhimii,
           chtoby delat' iz chudovishch, i sozdanij besformennyh
           takih heruvimov, kotorye napominayut tvoe miloe sushchestvo,
           sozdavaya iz vsego plohogo nailuchshee,
           kak tol'ko predmety sobirayutsya v ih luchah? {**}
           O, _verno_ pervoe: eto _vinovata_ lest' v moem zrenii,
           i moya velikaya dusha po-korolevski vypivaet ee;
           moi glaza horosho znayut, chto dostavit ej udovol'stvie,
           i prigotovlyayut chashu po vkusu.
              Esli ona otravlena, to eto men'shij greh,
              tak kak glaza lyubyat eto _pit'e_ i nachinayut _vkushat'_
                                                            pervymi.

     {* T. e. vozvyshennaya do korolevskogo dostoinstva tvoej druzhboj.
     ** Sm. primechanie k perevodu soneta 43.}

                     Byt' mozhet, moj rassudok uvenchal
                     Monarshij, lest'yu sozdannyj, venec?
                     Ili moj glaz, blestyashchij ot pohval,
                     Gotov sozdat' chudesnyj obrazec?
                     Toboj obuchen magii lyubvi,
                     Iz monstrov i besformennyh veshchej
                     On angelov - podobiya tvoi -
                     Vossozdaet v siyanii luchej?
                     Net. Vse zhe lest'. V soznanii moem
                     Glaz ugodit' staraetsya umu
                     I, vpityvaya znaniya o nem,
                     Gotovit yad po vkusu moemu.
                        Pit' yad lyubvi ne samyj tyazhkij greh,
                        I glaz moj nachinaet ran'she vseh.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova

                      Uzhel' moya dusha hvaloj tvoej
                      Otravlena, kak koroleva, lest'yu?
                      Il' to Lyubov' - vsesil'nyj charodej! -
                      Vzor udostoila vysokoj chesti?
                      Il' ya alhimik? - moj vlyublennyj glaz
                      Uroda prevrashchaet v heruvima,
                      CHto na tebya pohodit kazhdyj raz,
                      I - eto volshebstvo nepobedimo?
                      Uvy, dogadka pervaya verna:
                      Moej dushe otnyne lest' po nravu,
                      I vzor, kotoromu dusha vidna,
                      Ej predlagaet carskuyu otravu.
                         YAd tonkoj lesti prepodnosit glaz,
                         No pervym sam prigubit vsyakij raz.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina




             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 millioned accidents
             Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
             Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
             Divert strong minds to th'course of alt'ring 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.

         Te stroki, kotorye ya napisal do etogo, lgali -
         _imenno_ te, v kotoryh govorilos', chto ya ne mogu lyubit' tebya
                                                                sil'nee,
         no togda moj um ne znal prichiny, po kotoroj
         moe gorevshee v polnuyu silu plamya dolzhno bylo potom
                                               razgoret'sya _eshche_ yarche
         No, prinimaya vo vnimanie Vremya, ch'i beschislennye
                                       [millionnye] sluchajnosti
         pronikayut mezhdu obetami i menyayut ukazy korolej,
         portyat {*} svyashchennuyu krasotu, prituplyayut samye ostrye
                                                       namereniya,
         sklonyayut samye sil'nye dushi na put' nepostoyanstva, -
         uvy, pochemu, opasayas' tiranii Vremeni,
         ne mog ya togda skazat': "Sejchas ya lyublyu tebya sil'nee vsego",
         kogda ya byl uveren _v etom_ vne vsyakih somnenij,
         _prevoznosya_ [koronuya] nastoyashchee _i_ somnevayas' otnositel'no
                                                             ostal'nogo?
            Lyubov' - ditya; poetomu ya ne mog tak govorit',
            pripisyvaya polnyj rost tomu, chto vechno rastet.

     {*  V originale - "tan", bukval'no: "delat' temnym i grubym, pohozhim na
dublenuyu kozhu".}

                     Vse stroki, mnoj napisannye, lgut,
                     I dazhe ta, chto net lyubvi sil'nee.
                     Ne mog ya znat' - takie dni pridut,
                     CHto zapylaet moj ogon' yasnee.

                     No vremya, v kom sluchajnosti raschet
                     Menyat' gotov ukazy korolej,
                     Ono krasu svyashchennuyu ub'et,
                     Zovya umy razrushit' hod veshchej.

                     YA, tiranii vremeni boyas',
                     Molchal by, chto sil'na lyubov' moya.
                     No dal ya dnyam togdashnim tol'ko vlast',
                     A v ostal'nom tak somnevalsya ya.

                     Lyubov' - malysh. Nel'zya proiznesti
                     Pro vysshij rost, ved' ej eshche rasti.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                   Te stroki, chto pisal ya prezhde, lgali -
                   Ved' o lyubvi moej v nih govoritsya,
                   CHto ej ne stat' sil'nej. YA mog edva li
                   Znat', chto ogon' moj yarche razgoritsya.

                   Tayashchee prevratnostej mil'ony,
                   I korolej dekrety Vremya rushit,
                   Vozvodit vsem nameren'yam zaslony,
                   K izmene sil'nye sklonyaet dushi.

                   Togda, boyas' ego zhestokoj vlasti,
                   Ne vprave li skazat' ya byl: "Teper' ya
                   Sil'nej vsego lyublyu tebya", napasti
                   Predchuvstvuya i lish' mgnoven'yu verya?

                   Lyubov' bol'shoj nazval ya gordelivo,
                   Ona zh - ditya, chto vse rastet na divo.

                   Perevod A. SHarakshane




                  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 wand'ring bark,
                  Whose worth's unknown, although his heighth 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 dajte mne dlya [brachnogo] soyuza vernyh dush
              dopustit' prepyatstviya {*}; ta lyubov' ne lyubov',
              kotoraya menyaetsya, nahodya izmeneniya,
              ili sbivaetsya s puti, podchinyayas' obstoyatel'stvam.
              O net, eto ustanovlennaya navechno veha,
              kotoraya vziraet na buri, vsegda nekolebima;
              dlya vsyakoj bluzhdayushchej lad'i eto zvezda,
              ch'e znachenie neizvestno, hotya by ee vysota byla izmerena.
              Lyubov' - ne shut Vremeni, hotya cvetushchie guby i shcheki
              podpadayut pod vzmah ego krivogo serpa;
              lyubov' ne menyaetsya s bystrotekushchimi chasami i nedelyami,
              no ostaetsya _neizmennoj_ do rokovogo konca.
                 Esli ya zabluzhdayus', i mne eto dokazhut,
                 _to, znachit_, ya nikogda ne pisal i ni odin chelovek
                                                   nikogda ne lyubil.

     {*  Vsyu  nachal'nuyu  frazu soneta mozhno ponyat' dvoyako: "Da ne priznayu ya,
chto  vozmozhny  prepyatstviya  dlya  soyuza  vernyh  dush"  ili  "Pust'  ya ne budu
prepyatstviem dlya soyuza vernyh dush".}

                      CHuzhoj lyubvi ne smeyu ya meshat':
                      Serdec soedinen'e nerazryvno,
                      CHerez veka oni zvuchat prizyvno,
                      I gibel' im ne mozhet ugrozhat'.
                      Lyubov' - mayak, chto serdcu-korablyu
                      Put' istiny vo mgle nevzgod ukazhet,
                      I ta zvezda, chto vam sud'bu predskazhet,
                      Kol' vy netlennym svyazany "lyublyu".
                      Kto vlasten v sohranen'e krasoty?
                      No chuvstva sohranyayut mnogogrannost',
                      Ne nanimayas' k vechnosti v shuty,
                      Hranit lyubov' velich'ya pervozdannost'.
                      I etot soblyudaetsya zakon:
                      Vzglyani vokrug! Nash yunyj mir vlyublen!

                      Perevod L. Gavrilovoj

                       YA vernomu soyuzu dvuh lyudej
                       Pregrad ne vizhu. Kto, obman uznav,
                       Sam ne stanovitsya eshche vernej,
                       Tot ne lyubil i ne byvaet prav.

                       O net! Lyubov' - nezyblemyj mayak
                       I natisk bur' vyderzhivaet chestno.
                       Lyubov' - zvezda, dlya sudna vernyj znak,
                       Hotya ee vliyan'e neizvestno.

                       Lyubov' - ne shut u Vremeni, hotya
                       Surovo gasit Vremya kraski shchek.
                       Lyubov' vse ta zhe den' i god spustya,
                       Do kraya bezdny, gde taitsya rok.

                       A esli net - lzhecom menya zovi.
                       YA ne pisal stihov, i net lyubvi.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    Dlya chistyh dush ne mozhet byt' pregrad
                    K sliyaniyu. Lish' ta lyubov' - Lyubov',
                    Kotoroj ni razluka, ni razlad,
                    Ni peremeny ne ostudyat krov'.

                    Lyubov' - mayak, ego nadezhnej net,
                    Emu ne strashen samyj lyutyj shkval;
                    Lyubov' - zvezda, ee neyasen svet,
                    No bez nego ne stanesh' za shturval.

                    Bessil'no dazhe vremya pered nej,
                    Srezayushchee rozy s gub i shchek, -
                    S techen'em dnej ona eshche vernej,
                    Ne dlya nee prob'et poslednij srok!

                    Kogda zh moya lyubov' - ne takova,
                    To net lyubvi i vzdor - moi slova.

                    Perevod D. Kuz'mina

                     Dlya braka vernyh dush, serdec, umov
                     Ne znayu ya prepyatstvij. Ved' bescenna
                     Lyubov' vsegda, i eto ne lyubov',
                     Kol' mozhet izmenit' ee izmena.

                     Lyubov' - kak veha v temnote bezlyudnoj,
                     CHto nepodvizhna nad morskim smyaten'em,
                     Zaezda, chto v put' vedet lyuboe sudno,
                     CH'ya vys' vidna - nevedomo znachen'e.

                     Lyubvi ne byt' u vremeni v shutah,
                     Hot' serp ego nad neyu zanesen.
                     Ona ne izmenyaetsya v vekah,
                     No budet prezhnej do konca vremen.

                     A esli eto - lozh' i basni, to
                     YA ne pisal i ne lyubil nikto.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Net, ne poveryu ya, chto est' pomehi
                     Soyuzu vernyh dush. To ne lyubov',
                     Kol' mogut na grehi tolknut' ogrehi
                     I na izmenu - suetnaya nov'.

                     Lyubov' - kak veha, net prochnej i luchshe,
                     Nezyblema pred bureyu lyuboj;
                     Zvezda, chto svetit dlya lad'i zabludshej,
                     Nepostizhima, hot' vsegda s toboj.

                     Lyubov' - ne shutka Vremeni pustaya.
                     Hot' yunyj cvet ischeznet bez sleda,
                     Lyubov' peremenit'sya ne zastavyat
                     Ni dni, ni gody - vechno, do Suda.

                     A esli zabluzhden'e rechi eti -
                     YA ne poet, i net lyubvi na svete!

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane

                    Net, ya ne stanu kamnem pretknoven'ya
                    Dlya brachnogo soyuza dvuh umov:
                    Lyubov', chto nam izmenit na mgnoven'e,
                    Uzhe ne nastoyashchaya lyubov'.
                    Lyubov' - mayak, ona, sred' bur' tverda,
                    Gorit vo t'me nezyblemo, vysoko,
                    No hot' plyvushchim vidima zvezda,
                    Ot nih sokryto nachertan'e roka.
                    U vremeni lyubov' - ne zhalkij shut,
                    Pust' gub i shchek socvet'ya Vremya skosit, -
                    Net nad lyubov'yu vlasti u minut,
                    Ona godam svoj prigovor vynosit.

                    A esli ya ot istiny dalek,
                    To ni vlyublennyh net, ni etih strok.

                    Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo




                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 riot at me in your wakened hate;
                   Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
                   The constancy and virtue of your love.

             Obvinyaj menya tak: chto ya prenebreg vsem,
             chem dolzhen _byl_ otplatit' za tvoi velikie zaslugi,
             zabyval vzyvat' k tvoej dragocennoj lyubvi,
             k kotoroj vse uzy privyazyvayut menya den' za dnem;
             chto ya chasto byval s chuzhimi {*}
             i daril vremeni {**} tvoe dorogo kuplennoe pravo _na menya_;
             chto ya podstavlyal parus vsem vetram,
             kotorye unosili menya dal'she vsego s tvoih glaz;
             zapishi _v obvinenie_ i moe svoenravie, i _moi_ zabluzhdeniya,
             i k vernym dokazatel'stvam dobav' dogadki;
             voz'mi menya na pricel svoego neudovol'stviya,
             no ne strelyaj v menya svoej razbuzhennoj nenavist'yu,
                tak kak moya apellyaciya govorit, chto ya _vsem etim_ tol'ko
                                                       staralsya dokazat'
                postoyanstvo i dobrodetel' tvoej lyubvi.

     {*  V  originale  -  "...with unknown minds", chto mozhno istolkovat' kak
"...s  lyud'mi,  ch'i  dushi  mne neizvestny (v otlichie ot tvoej, s kotoroj moya
dusha slita)".
     ** T.e. rastrachival v siyuminutnyh uvlecheniyah.}

                       Menya za neuplatu obvini ty
                       I dolzhnikom nechestnym nazovi
                       Za to, chto mnoyu byli pozabyty
                       Obyazannosti strogie lyubvi,

                       I vremya, chto tvoim po pravu bylo,
                       YA otdaval nichtozhestvam spolna,
                       I vetru podstavlyal svoi vetrila,
                       CHtob unosila proch' menya volna.

                       I, podvedya itog svoim ulikam,
                       V prestupnom nebrezhenii vinya,
                       Ty v gneve nakazhi menya velikom,
                       No nenavist'yu ne kazni menya.

                       No tem svoim promashkam ya obyazan,
                       CHto fakt tvoej lyubvi ko mne dokazan.

                       Perevod S. Stepanova

                     YA prinimayu vse tvoi upreki:
                     YA dolgom neoplatnym prenebreg;
                     Ne te, uvy, ya obival porogi,
                     Zabyvshi tvoj - edinstvennyj - porog.
                     YA zhar dushi rastrachival naprasno,
                     Kogda u nog tvoih byt' mog totchas.
                     YA grud' vetram vsem podstavlyal, neyasno,
                     Zachem, kuda skryvayas' s milyh glaz.
                     O, vzves' vse pregresheniya moi,
                     Vse svoevol'e, i, nasupiv brovi,
                     Svoj vzglyad ispepelyayushchij metni
                     V menya, kaznya bezzhalostno lyubov'yu.

                     CHto vyyasnil, chego dobilsya ya?
                     O, vernyj drug, chista lyubov' tvoya!

                     Perevod V. Tarzaevoj




                 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 full 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, t'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.

            Podobno tomu kak, dlya obostreniya appetita,
            my ostrymi smesyami vozbuzhdaem nebo,
            kak, dlya predotvrashcheniya nevidimyh nedugov,
            my pribegaem k boleznennomu ochishcheniyu, chtoby izbezhat'
                                                           bolezni, -
            tak zhe, napolnivshis' tvoej prelest'yu, kotoroj nel'zya
                                                        presytit'sya,
            ya kormil sebya gor'kimi sousami
            i, ispytyvaya durnotu ot blagopoluchiya, nahodil nekuyu
                                                         soobraznost'
            v tom, chtoby zabolet' prezhde, chem v etom budet nastoyashchaya
                                                              nuzhda {*}.
            Takaya politika v lyubvi - predvoshishchat'
            hvori, kotoryh net, - porodila nastoyashchie iz®yany
            i dovela do _neobhodimosti primeneniya_ mediciny zdorovoe
                                                           sostoyanie,
            kotoroe ot pereedaniya dobra zhelalo lechit'sya zlom.
               No iz etogo ya uznayu i nahozhu urok vernym:
               lekarstva _tol'ko_ otravlyayut togo, kto tak zhestoko bolen
                                                                  toboj.

     {*  Zdes',  v  razvernutoj  metafore,  otrazilas'  medicinskaya praktika
epohi,  v  kotoroj  dlya preduprezhdeniya boleznej shiroko primenyalis' rvotnye i
slabitel'nye sredstva.}

                      Kogda hotim usilit' appetit,
                      My specij dobavlyaem vsyakij raz.
                      My pogloshchaem to, chto nam pretit,
                      CHtoby izvergnut' to, chto gubit nas.

                      Ispolnen prelest'yu tvoeyu nezhnoj,
                      YA gor'kuyu pripravu k nej dobavil.
                      Sebya lishil ya druzhby bezmyatezhnoj
                      I ran'she smerti umirat' zastavil.

                      YA, izbegaya vydumannyh zol,
                      Sam ugodil vo zlo - i podelom.
                      Moj dobryj duh ya do togo dovel,
                      CHto vynuzhden teper' lechit'sya zlom.

                      YA ponyal: esli ty prichina bed,
                      Lekarstva mne prinosyat tol'ko vred.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                       Kogda zhelayut vyzvat' appetit,
                       Upotreblyayut ostrye pripravy,
                       A esli inogda nutro gorit, -
                       Pilyuli prinimayut ili travy.
                       Vot tak i ya: lyubov'yu syt tvoej,
                       YA ot nee reshil osvobodit'sya
                       I obshchestvom nestoyashchih lyudej -
                       Pripravami stal gor'kimi lechit'sya.
                       V strategii lyubvi ya ne silen:
                       Eshche ne nastupilo presyshchen'e,
                       A ya reshil, chto nemoshch'yu srazhen
                       I nachal bespoleznoe lechen'e.
                          YA po zaslugam poluchil urok:
                          Kogda vlyublen - lechenie ne vprok.

                       Perevod I. Fradkina




                 What potions have I drank of Siren tears,
                 Distilled 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 ruined 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.

           Kakie ya pil nastojki iz slez Sireny,
           vydelennye iz peregonnyh kubov, vnutri otvratitel'nyh,
                                                           kak ad,
           primenyaya {*} strahi k nadezhdam i nadezhdy k straham,
           vsegda proigryvaya, kogda predstavlyal sebya vyigryvayushchim!
           O, kakie neschastnye oshibki sovershilo moe serdce,
           poka polagalo sebya schastlivym, kak nikogda!
           Kak moi glaza vylezali iz orbit
           v zabyt'i etoj svodyashchej s uma lihoradki!
           O pol'za vreda! Teper' ya nahozhu vernym,
           chto luchshee posredstvom zla delaetsya eshche luchshe
           i razrushennaya lyubov', kogda ee stroyat zanovo,
           stanovitsya eshche prekrasnee, chem vnachale, - prochnee _i_ gorazdo
                                                                 bol'she.
              Tak ya, pristyzhennyj, vozvrashchayus' k istochniku moego
                                                          dovol'stva
              i priobretayu posredstvom vreda vtroe bol'she, chem
                                                          potratil.

     {*  Smysl  glagola  "apply" (primenyat') zdes' ne sovsem yasen; vozmozhno,
imeetsya v vidu primenenie (strahov i pr.) kak lekarstva.}

                       Kak pil ya slezy sladkie Siren,
                       Ne znaya, chto otravleno pit'e!
                       K nadezhde, k strahu popadal ya v plen
                       I vse teryal, a dumal - vse moe.

                       Kak ot menya oshibki uskol'zali,
                       A ya byl gord, chto odolel napadki,
                       I kak glaza naruzhu vylezali
                       V bezumii lyubovnoj lihoradki!

                       O pol'za Zla! Teper' ya priznayu,
                       CHto zlo dobru podspor'em posluzhilo,
                       I esli voskresit' lyubov' moyu,
                       V nej vozrastet i krasota, i sila.

                       V konce koncov mne vse zhe povezlo:
                       Rashody trizhdy vozmestilo zlo.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Kakoj nastoj ya pil iz slez Sireny,
                     CHto byli merzki, iz geenny vyjdya!
                     Strah i nadezhdu znal poperemenno,
                     Proigryval, svoyu pobedu vidya.

                     CHto za oshibki serdce sovershilo,
                     Kogda vse bylo luchshe kak nel'zya!
                     Menya v oznobe lihoradki bilo,
                     V bezum'i lezli iz orbit glaza!

                     O pol'za zla! YA ubezhdayus' vnov',
                     Kak vozrastaet blago siloj zla.
                     Postroennaya zanovo lyubov'
                     Da budet nerushima i svetla!

                     Priznav vinu, vernul lyubovnyj pyl
                     I trizhdy ya svoj proigrysh pokryl.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                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 hammered steel.
                For if you were by my unkindness shaken
                As I by yours, y'have passed 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 rememb'red
                My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
                And soon to you, as you to me then, tend'red
                The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
                   But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
                   Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

         To, chto ty kogda-to durno oboshelsya _so mnoj_, na pol'zu mne
                                                                teper',
         i iz-za gorya, kotoroe ya togda ispytal,
         ya _teper'_ obyazatel'no dolzhen sognut'sya pod tyazhest'yu svoego
                                                           greha {*},
         esli tol'ko moi nervy ne iz medi ili kovanogo zheleza,
         tak kak esli ty byl moim durnym obrashcheniem potryasen,
         kak ya _prezhde_ tvoim, ty perezhil adskoe vremya,
         a ya, tiran, ne udosuzhilsya
         vzvesit', neskol'ko kogda-to ya postradal iz-za tvoego greha.
         O, esli by nasha noch' gorya mogla hranit' pamyat' o
         moih glubochajshih chuvstvah, _o tom_, kakoj tyazhelyj udar
         nanosit nastoyashchaya pechal',
         i bystro tebe - kak ty togda mne - predlozhit'
         skromnyj bal'zam, podhodyashchij dlya ranenoj grudi!
            No to tvoe pregreshenie teper' stanovitsya platoj:
            moe iskupaet tvoe, a tvoe dolzhno iskupit' moe.

     {*  Poet  dolzhen  "sognut'sya"  ot  svoego greha potomu, chto vlyublennye,
buduchi  "slity lyubov'yu v odno", dolzhny ravno stradat' ot izmen kazhdogo, - na
etoj mysli postroeno vse soderzhanie soneta.}

                     So mnoj ty byl zhestok ne zrya, moj drug, -
                     YA ponyal bol' tvoyu. Sebya klyanya,
                     Sognulsya ya pod gruzom tyazhkih muk -
                     Ved' nervy ne iz stali u menya.
                     Kogda b s toboj ya tak zhe byl zhestok,
                     Kak ty so mnoj, ty ispytal by ad.
                     Sebe tiran, dnej ne zapas ya vprok,
                     CHtob vzvesit' vse - kto prav, kto vinovat.
                     Pechali polnaya, ta nasha noch'
                     Stoit v glazah i muchit bez konca.
                     S toboj drug drugu my dolzhny pomoch'
                     I zalechit' bolyashchie serdca.
                        YA tvoj proschet mogu pokryt' svoim.
                        Na vykup tvoj - i moj neobhodim.

                     Perevod V. Savina

                      Tebya obidev, ot stradanij gnus',
                      Ved' nervy ne iz medi ili stali:
                      YA pomnyu, kak davil obidy gruz,
                      Kogda ty byl vinoj moej pechali.
                      I esli ot moej nepravoty
                      Stradaesh' nynche ty - net ada gorshe:
                      YA tvoj tiran, no ne zabyl, kak ty
                      Terzal menya, i ottogo ya bol'she,
                      CHem ty, teper' stradayu tyazhko sam.
                      O, pust' minuet mrachnyj chas zakata:
                      Nesu tebe smireniya bal'zam -
                      Takim zhe ty lechil mne grud' kogda-to.
                         Ne delaj serdce skopishchem obid:
                         Moe prostilo, pust' tvoe - prostit.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina




                 'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
                When not to be receives reproach of being,
                And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed
                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.

          Luchshe byt' nizkim [podlym], chem nizkim schitat'sya,
          kogda, ne bud' ty takov, tebya osuzhdayut, kak esli by byl,
          i teryaetsya zakonnoe udovol'stvie, kotoroe pochitaetsya takovym
          ne nashimi chuvstvami, a vzglyadom drugih {*}.
          Pochemu dolzhny fal'shivye isporchennye glaza drugih
          privetstvovat' moyu igrivuyu krov'?
          Ili - pochemu za moimi slabostyami shpionyat te, u kogo _eshche_
                                                   bol'she slabostej,
          kto, v svoih zhelaniyah, schitaet plohim to, chto ya schitayu
                                                           horoshim?
          Net, ya - to, chto ya est', i te, kto nacelivaetsya
          na moi pregresheniya, imeyut v vidu svoi sobstvennye;
          vozmozhno, ya _moral'no_ pryam, a oni sami perekosheny,
          i ih gnusnymi myslyami ne dolzhny tolkovat'sya moi dela,
             esli tol'ko oni ne utverzhdayut takogo vseobshchego
                                                     _torzhestva_ zla:
             vse lyudi skverny i v svoej skverne torzhestvuyut.

     {*  Obshchee  soderzhanie  soneta  ne vyzyvaet somnenij: eto otpoved' nekim
licam,    dejstvitel'nym    ili    voobrazhaemym,    osuzhdavshim    poeta   za
beznravstvennyj  obraz  zhizni.  Odnako  pri  etom  ostaetsya mnogo neyasnogo v
istolkovanii otdel'nyh slov i fraz; tak, mozhno po-raznomu ponyat', chto znachit
"zakonnoe udovol'stvie" v stroke 3.}

                   Uzh luchshe blud, chem zabluzhden'ya sveta,
                   Lyudskoj molvy nepravyj prigovor.
                   Pogubit strast' bessmyslennost' zapreta
                   Skorej, chem nashej sovesti ukor.
                   Zachem ya budu, strast'yu oglushennyj,
                   ZHdat' odobren'ya vashih lzhivyh glaz?
                   Puskaj ya slab, grehov moih shpiony,
                   Puskaj duren, da ne durnee vas.
                   Net, ya est' ya, a vy moj nrav igrivyj
                   Svoeyu merkoj izmeryat' vol'ny.
                   No ya - pryamoj, moi zhe sud'i - krivy,
                   Ne vam, krivym, iskat' moej viny.
                      Vse lyudi zly - tak vidit vashe oko,
                      Poskol'ku vy - prisluzhniki poroka.

                   Perevod V. Savina

                     Uzh luchshe byt' durnym, chem tol'ko slyt'.
                     Ne mozhet byt' usladoyu uslada,
                     Kogda o nej drugoj posmel sudit':
                     Vostorg hireet ot chuzhogo vzglyada.
                     Uzhel' shpionov pohotlivyj vzglyad
                     Krov' ostudit' goryachuyu sposoben?
                     Oni greshat sil'nej menya v sto krat -
                     Porochen ya, no im ya ne podoben:
                     ZHivu, svoih stremlenij ne taya,
                     Schitaya blagom vse svoi utraty,
                     Ne im sudit' menya, ya - eto ya,
                     I ya pryamee ih, oni - gorbaty
                        I, sudya po sebe, osudyat vseh:
                        Mol, net bezgreshnyh - mirom pravit greh.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




                 Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
                 Full charactered 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 missed.
                 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.

          Tvoj podarok - tvoya kniga dlya zapisej {*} - nahoditsya v moem
                                                                 mozgu,
          zapisannaya dolgovechnoj pamyat'yu,
          kotoraya ostanetsya prevyshe etogo bespoleznogo ryada _strok_
          za predelami vseh srokov, do samoj vechnosti;
          ili po men'shej mere, poka mozg i serdce
          imeyut ot prirody sposobnost' sushchestvovat', -
          do teh por, kogda kazhdyj ustupit _polnomu_ [stertomu] zabveniyu
                                                               svoyu dolyu
          tebya, _eti_ zapisi o tebe ne mogut byt' uteryany.
          To bednoe hranilishche ne moglo uderzhat' mnogogo,
          da mne i ne nuzhny kvitancii, chtoby vesti uchet tvoej lyubvi;
          poetomu ya posmel otdat' ego,
          chtoby doverit'sya toj knige, kotoraya vmeshchaet tebya v bol'shej
                                                                mere.
             Derzhat' _takoe_ prisposoblenie, chtoby pomnit' tebya,
             oznachalo by _priznat'_, chto ya zabyvchiv.

     {*  Kak  yavstvuet  iz soderzhaniya soneta, povodom dlya nego posluzhilo to,
chto  poet  utratil  (vozmozhno,  otdal  komu-to) poluchennyj ot Druga podarok,
kotoryj  predstavlyal  soboj kakogo-to roda knigu dlya zapisej. CHto v tochnosti
eto  byla  za  kniga  i  byla  li ona pustoj ili soderzhala zapisi - ostaetsya
neyasnym.}

                     Tvoj dar, tvoi listy v moem mozgu
                     Vsej polnotoyu zapechatleny,
                     YA v pamyati moej ih beregu,
                     Oni naveki v nej sohraneny.
                     Nichto ne mozhet - tol'ko mozg, dusha;
                     Lish' im prirodoj dar chudesnyj dan,
                     Zabven'e besposhchadno sokrusha,
                     Razveyat' nad toboj ego tuman.
                     Lish' tol'ko pamyat' mozhet umestit'
                     Vse, chto skazal i napisal mne ty,
                     Poetomu ne nuzhno mne hranit'
                     Suhie, pozheltelye listy.
                        Oni pridatok k pamyati tomu,
                        Kto pamyati ne verit i umu.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova

                  Tvoj dar, dnevnik, ne nuzhen - ni k chemu

                  Mne eti bespoleznye stranicy:
                  V prirodnom tajnike, moem mozgu,
                  Vse o tebe navechno sohranitsya.
                  Poka Prirodoyu mne zhit' dano,
                  I serdce gonit krov', i mysl' v dvizhen'e,
                  To ty, chastica mozga moego,
                  Ne mozhesh' stat' dobycheyu zabven'ya.
                  Vvek pamyatki pisat' ya ne privyk
                  O druzhbe dorogoj i nezhnoj nashej:
                  Dozvol' mne chistym vozvratit' dnevnik,
                  Ty v pamyati zhivesh' polnej i krashe.
                     Stranicy lishnie hranit' ne sled,
                     Moya lyubov' ne trebuet zamet.

                  Perevod I. Fradkina




              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, ty ne budesh' hvastat', chto ya menyayus';
            v tvoih piramidah, vozvedennyh s novejshim razmahom,
            dlya menya net nikakoj novosti, nichego neobychajnogo, -
            oni vsego lish' perelicovki uzhe vidennogo.
            Nashi _zhiznennye_ sroki kratki, i poetomu my voshishchaemsya;
            tem starym, chto ty nam vsuchaesh',
            i skoree dadim etomu _novoe_ rozhdenie po svoemu zhelaniyu {*},
            chem poverim, chto uzhe slyshali eto.
            Tvoim hronikam i tebe _samomu_ ya brosayu vyzov,
            ne udivlyayas' ni nastoyashchemu, ni proshlomu,
            tak kak tvoi zapisi i to, chto my vidim, - vse obmanyvaet _nas_,
            predstavlyayas' bolee ili menee znachitel'nym iz-za tvoej
                                                  bespreryvnoj speshki.
               V odnom ya dayu obet, i eto budet vsegda:
               ya budu veren, nesmotrya na tvoyu kosu i tebya.

     {*  Vozmozhnaya  interpretaciya:  "...my skoree primem eto za nechto novoe,
sozdannoe special'no dlya nas".}

                    Ne hvastaj, Vremya, budto ya menyayus'.
                    Vse piramidy mne tvoi smeshny,
                    Vse ne v novinku, ya ne udivlyayus', -
                    Po starym obrazcam vozvedeny.

                    ZHizn' korotka, i my divit'sya rady
                    Star'yu, chto vystavlyaesh' napokaz:
                    My prinimaem starye naryady
                    Kak novye, poshitye dlya nas.

                    Otrinuv vse, chto est' i chto v pomine,
                    Tebe ya brosit' vyzov svoj mogu!
                    Vse hroniki i vse, chto vidim nyne,
                    Vse - lozh' tvoih mgnovenij na begu.

                    Klyanus', vse zapadni tvoi minuya,
                    Ne izmenyus' ya i ne izmenyu ya.

                    Perevod S. Stepanova

                    Net, Vremya, prezhnij ya, i lgat' ne sled.
                    Vse piramidy dnej lish' hlam bylogo,
                    YA znayu, novizny na svete net,
                    Tomu ne udivlyayus', chto ne novo.
                    ZHivut nedolgo lyudi i davno
                    Privykli verit' - v mire vse otlichno,
                    I na zemle dlya nih vse rozhdeno,
                    A ya vot nad toboj smeyus' privychno:
                    Tvoi skrizhali lgut, ty, Vremya, lzhesh'
                    I mchish' kuda-to, mchish' neterpelivo,
                    I v postoyannoj speshke ty pletesh'
                    Svoyu nepravdu, Vremya, suetlivo.
                       Pravdiv i veren, ya ne izmenyus',
                       Tvoej kosy vovek ne uboyus'.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




               If my dear love were but the child of state,
               It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered,
               As subject to Time's love, or to Time's hate,
               Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
               No, it was builded far from accident;
               It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
               Under the blow of thralled discontent,
               Whereto th'inviting time our fashion calls;
               It fears not Policy, that heretic,
               Which works on leases of short-numb'red hours,
               But all alone stands hugely politic,
               That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with show'rs.
                  To this I witness call the fools of time,
                  Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.

           Esli by moya dragocennaya lyubov' byla rozhdena polozheniem
                                                             _v svete_,
           ona mogla by, kak nezakonnyj rebenok Fortuny, byt'
                                                       lishennoj otca,
           buduchi podvlastna lyubvi Vremeni ili nenavisti Vremeni, -
           sornyak sredi sornyakov ili cvetok _naryadu_ s drugimi cvetami {1}.
           Net, ona byla osnovana otnyud' ne na sluchajnosti;
           na nee ne vliyaet likuyushchaya pyshnost', ona ne padaet
           pod udarami poraboshchayushchej opaly,
           k chemu nas vlechet vremya.
           Ona ne boitsya Politiki, etoj eretichki,
           kotoraya dejstvuet na potrebu kratkih chasov,
           no zhivet odna, svoej velikoj politikoj,
           tak chto ne rastet ot tepla i ne zatoplyaetsya livnyami.
              V svideteli etogo ya prizyvayu shutov Vremeni,
              kotorye umirayut vo imya dobra, a zhili vo imya prestupleniya.

     {*  Sonet  124  -  odin iz samyh "temnyh", trudnyh dlya istolkovaniya. Po
mneniyu  kommentatorov, on, vozmozhno, soderzhit nameki na vneshnie, v tom chisle
politicheskie,  obstoyatel'stva,  vprochem  sovershenno  neyasnye.  Pervyj katren
mozhno  ponyat'  v  takom  smysle:  poet  zayavlyaet,  chto ego lyubov' k Drugu ne
obuslovlena   vysokim   polozheniem   poslednego  i  poetomu  ne  zavisit  ot
prevratnostej sud'by i Vremeni.}

                     Rodis' ot sluchaya lyubov' moya,
                     Ee, zabytuyu zakonnym pravom,
                     Brosat' mogla by prihot' bytiya
                     To k carstvennym cvetam, to k sornym travam.

                     No net, ne takova moya lyubov'.
                     ZHit' v roskoshi i slave - ne po nej,
                     Kogda uzhe speshit tolpa rabov
                     Nizvergnut' vlast' po mode nashih dnej.

                     Nich'ya politika ej ne strashna,
                     ZHivushchaya minutoyu odnoj.
                     Lyubov' svoej politike verna,
                     Pust' hleshchet dozhd' i dosazhdaet znoj.

                     Urok shutam, imeyushchim uspeh,
                     CH'ya zhizn' - razvrat, a smert' - dobro dlya vseh.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Pust' chuvstva nesravnennye moi -
                      Ditya sud'by, rozhdennoe bez prav
                      U Vremeni vo gneve il' lyubvi,
                      Sredi cvetov il' v gushche dikih trav.
                      Moyu lyubov' ne sluchaj sozdaval,
                      Ne bol', ne pokaznaya mishura,
                      Ne sladkij rabolepiya oskal,
                      Ni liven' ej ne strashen, ni zhara.
                      Ej ne strashny ulovki hitreca,
                      CHto hochet vzyat' ee sebe v naem,
                      Moya lyubov' ne vedaet konca,
                      Ona rastet i krepnet s kazhdym dnem.
                         I eto vidyat vse vremenshchiki:
                         Kto dobr, kto zol i dazhe duraki.

                      Perevod A. Kuznecova




                Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
                With my extern the outward honouring,
                Or laid great bases for eternity,
                Which proves 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 mixed with seconds, knows no art,
                But mutual render, only me for thee.
                   Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul
                   When most impeached stands least in thy control.

          Razve eto znachilo by chto-nibud' dlya menya, esli by ya nes
                                                        baldahin {*},
          vneshne otdavaya pokaznye pochesti,
          ili zakladyval velikie osnovaniya dlya vechnosti {**},
          kotoraya okazyvaetsya bolee kratkoj, chem _vse, chto obrecheno na_
                                                    unichtozhenie i raspad?
          Razve ya ne videl, kak te, kto zhivet radi vneshnego i pokaznogo {***},
          teryayut vse, i bol'she, platya slishkom vysokuyu arendnuyu platu
          za izyskannye naslazhdeniya, otkazavshis' ot prostogo vkusa, -
          zhalkie v svoem procvetanii, tratyashchie zhizn' na vidimost'.
          Net, pozvol' mne predanno sluzhit' tvoej dushe;
          primi moe prinoshenie - bednoe, no vol'noe,
          kotoroe ne zavisit ot sekund, ne znaet ulovok,
          no _predlagaet_ vzaimnuyu dan' - tol'ko menya _v obmen_ za tebya.
            Proch', podkuplennyj osvedomitel'! Vernaya dusha,
            kogda ej bol'she vsego brosayut vyzov, men'she vsego v tvoej
                                                                 vlasti.

     {* Veroyatno, imeetsya v vidu obychaj nesti baldahin na shestah nad korolem
ili drugoj znatnoj osoboj v hode torzhestvennyh ceremonij.
     **  Vozmozhnoe  prochtenie:  "(esli  by  ya)  klyalsya v vechnoj lyubvi". Ves'
sonet  mozhno  ponyat'  kak  opravdanie  pered  Drugom v obvineniyah (vozmozhno,
sprovocirovannyh  nekim  "informatorom"  -  sm.  stroku  13) v tom, chto poet
okazyval malo znakov vnimaniya svoemu vozlyublennomu.
     *** Frazu originala - "dwellers of form and favour" - mozhno istolkovat'
po-raznomu.}

                    Nesti li baldahin pered tolpoj
                    I v pyshnosti naruzhnoj videt' chest'?
                    Trudit'sya li dlya vechnosti skupoj
                    I zhertvovat' ej vsem, chto tol'ko est'?

                    No razve malo shchegolej golodnyh,
                    Uspeha neoplatnyh dolzhnikov,
                    Zabyvshih zdravyj smysl dlya specij modnyh,
                    Vse proglyadevshih, krome pustyakov?

                    Net, zhertvovat', tak uzh odnoj lyubvi,
                    Svobodno i bez lishnih glaz lyubya,"
                    I hitrecom menya ty ne zovi,
                    Ved' ya sebya menyayu na tebya.

                    Donoschik, chem kovarnej tvoj navet,
                    Tem bol'shej tverdost'yu moj duh odet.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    Ne trata li pustaya - baldahin?
                    Kak prehodyashchemu - fundament vechnyj,
                    Kak hlopoty u budushchih ruin, -
                    Izvesten zhizni rezul'tat konechnyj.
                    Zachem shikuet, pyzhas', pustocvet,
                    Hvalyas', zamorskie smakuet slasti? -
                    Szhigaet zhizn' dlya prizrachnyh pobed,
                    Dorog ne znaya k istinnomu schast'yu.
                    YA - serdcu tvoemu sluzhu! Dozvol'
                    Vruchit' svoj skromnyj dar, pritvorstvu chuzhdyj,
                    Pust' oboyudnoj budet nasha rol':
                    Sebya ty mne daruj vo imya druzhby.
                      Proch', soglyadataj! CHem vredish' sil'nej,
                      Tem vernaya dusha eshche vernej!

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




              O thou my lovely boy, who in thy power
              Dost hold Time'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 delayed) answered must be,
                 And her quietus is to render thee.

          O ty, moj ocharovatel'nyj mal'chik, v svoej vlasti
          derzhashchij peremenchivoe zerkalo, serp i chasy Vremeni {*};
          s ubyvaniem _zhizni_ rascvetayushchij i tem pokazyvayushchij
          uvyadanie tvoih druzej po mere svoego sladostnogo rascveta.
          Esli Priroda - vlastitel'nica nad _vsyakim_ razrusheniem, -
          kogda ty prodvigaesh'sya _v godah_, vozvrashchaet tebya nazad,
          to ona derzhit tebya dlya takoj celi - chtoby ee iskusstvo
          moglo posramit' vremya i ubit' proklyatye minuty.
          Vse zhe bojsya ee, o ty, izbrannik ee naslazhdeniya:
          ona mozhet priderzhat' svoe sokrovishche, no ne hranit' vechno!
             Ej - hotya i s otsrochkoj - pridetsya podvodit' scheta,
             i v uplatu dolga ona otdast tebya _Vremeni_.

     {*  |ti  tri  predmeta  -  zerkalo,  serp  i  pesochnye chasy - schitalis'
simvolami vremeni.}


                      Moj milyj mal'chik, vlasten ty poka
                      Nad srokom, uletayushchim v veka.

                      Tvoi druz'ya teryayut krasotu,
                      A ty neistoshchim v svoem cvetu.

                      Za Vremenem i ty letish' vpered,
                      No mat'-priroda sderzhit tvoj polet.

                      Ty nuzhen ej, chtob Vremya posramit'
                      Tvoryashchim zhizn' umeniem lyubit'.

                      No znaj, mladoj lyubimec estestva,
                      Ne sohranit Priroda torzhestva.

                      Kak ni tyani, za vse rasplata zhdet.
                      To, chto cvetet, so vremenem umret.

                      Perevod V. Rozova

                      Krasivyj mal'chik, nad tvoej krasoj
                      Ne vlastno Vremya so svoej kosoj.

                      Lyubya tebya, vse vyanut, tol'ko ty
                      Vse horosheesh' v bleske krasoty.

                      Poka eshche Priroda derzhit mech
                      I mozhet krasotu tvoyu sberech',

                      Daby potok minut perelomit'
                      I krasotoyu Vremya posramit'.

                      No bojsya! Ty - igrushka u nee:
                      Otdast ona sokrovishche svoe.

                      Po vekselyam platit' nastanet srok,
                      Rasplatitsya toboj - i ves' itog.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova




                 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 slandered with a bastard shame:
                 For since each hand hath put on Nature's power,
                 Fairing the foul with art's false borrowed 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,
                 Sland'ring creation with a false esteem:
                    Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
                    That every tongue says beauty should look so.

          V prezhnee vremya chernyj cvet ne schitali krasivym,
          ili, _dazhe_ esli schitali, on ne nosil imeni krasoty,
          no teper' chernyj cvet stal _zakonnym_ naslednikom krasoty
          a krasota oporochena poyavleniem nezakonnorozhdennyh detej,
          ibo s teh por, kak kazhdaya ruka prisvoila vlast' Prirody,
          delaya urodlivoe krasivym s pomoshch'yu fal'shivoj lichiny
                                                        iskusstva,
          u krasoty net ni imeni, ni svyashchennogo priyuta,
          ona oskvernena ili zhivet v pozore.
          Poetomu brovi moej vozlyublennoj cherny, kak voronovo krylo,
          i glaza im pod stat', - kazhetsya, chto oni v traure
          po tem _zhenshchinam_, kotorye ne rozhdeny krasivymi
                 [svetlovolosymi], no ne imeyut nedostatka v krasote {*},
          porocha tvorenie nezasluzhennymi pochestyami.
             No traur ih tak idet im {**},
             chto lyuboj yazyk skazhet: krasota dolzhna vyglyadet' tak.

     {* Krasote, priobretennoj iskusstvennymi sredstvami.
     ** Glazam vozlyublennoj.}

                      Kogda-to ne lyubili chernyj cvet,
                      Gonyas' za belokuroj krasotoj.
                      Da i ponyne, estestvu vo vred,
                      Nam teshat glaz poddelkoyu pustoj.

                      S teh por kak pravda izgnana surovo
                      I nizkoj fal'shi vozrosla cena,
                      U krasoty ni imeni, ni krova,
                      Oskvernena nevezhestvom ona.

                      Vot pochemu, kak vorona krylo,
                      Glaza i brovi u lyubvi moej,
                      Kak budto by skorbyashchej tyazhelo
                      Ob etoj lzhivoj mode nashih dnej.

                      No tak idet ej traurnaya t'ma,
                      Kak budto eto krasota sama.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Sudila strogo chernyj cvet molva,
                      I krasoty ne mog nosit' on imya,
                      No chernyj prinyal krasoty prava,
                      Kogda ona prenebregla svoimi.

                      Teper' lyuboj, zabrav Prirody vlast',
                      Krasoj zaemnoj mozhet skryt' urodstvo,
                      I krasota, chto tak soglasna past',
                      ZHivet bez imeni, utrativ blagorodstvo.

                      A gospozhi glaza chernym-cherny,
                      I brovi budto v traure glubokom
                      Po krasote, chto vse teper' vol'ny
                      Prisvaivat', chtob potakat' porokam.

                      No vsyakij, vidya, kak mila ona,
                      Pojmet: takoj byt' krasota dolzhna!

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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.

             Kak chasto, kogda ty, moya muzyka, igraesh' muzyku
             na etoj blagoslovennoj drevesine, dvizhenie kotoroj
                                                   proizvodit zvuki
             _v soglasii_ s tvoimi milymi pal'cami, kogda ty nezhno
                                                         upravlyaesh'
             garmoniej strun, porazhayushchej moj sluh,
             ya zaviduyu etim klavisham, provorno podprygivayushchim,
             chtoby pocelovat' tvoyu nezhnuyu ladon',
             togda kak moi bednye guby, kotorye dolzhny byli pozhinat'
                                                        etot urozhaj,
             pri tebe krasneyut ot smelosti etoj drevesiny!
             CHtoby ih tak kasalis', oni by pomenyalis' polozheniem
             i rol'yu s etimi tancuyushchimi shchepkami,
             po kotorym tvoi pal'cy prohazhivayutsya nezhnoj postup'yu,
             delaya mertvoe derevo bolee blazhennym, chem zhivye guby.
                Raz naglye klavishi tak schastlivy v etom,
                otdaj im svoi pal'cy, a mne - tvoi guby dlya poceluev.

                        O muzyka moya, kak chasto ty
                        Melodiej moj budorazhish' duh,
                        I zvukam podnebesnoj krasoty
                        Vnimaet s upoeniem moj sluh.

                        K tem klavisham, pover', revnuyu ya -
                        Oni tvoih kasat'sya mogut ruk, -
                        YA zh v storone, lyubov' v dushe taya,
                        Kusayu guby ot serdechnyh muk.

                        A klavishi ne derevo, ne dub -
                        Po nim gulyayut pal'chiki tvoi, -
                        Oni moih blagoslovennej gub,
                        Kotorym ne byl dan zalog lyubvi.

                        Svoi ty mozhesh' ruki im otdat',
                        Mne zh guby razreshi pocelovat'.

                        Perevod A. Kazakovoj

                        O muzyka moya! Kogda akkordy
                        Igraesh' ty na dereve blagom
                        I struny, pal'cam laskovym pokorny,
                        Garmoniej plenyayut vse krugom,

                        Zaviduyu ya klavisham, chto smeyut
                        Krast' pocelui iz tvoej ruki,
                        A guby bednye moi krasneyut,
                        Ot ih zakonnoj zhatvy daleki.

                        Gorya, oni zanyat' gotovy mesto
                        Teh derevyashek plyashushchej gur'by,
                        Gde kazhdaya, s toboj obshchayas' tesno,
                        Schastlivee moej zhivoj guby.

                        Kol' stol'ko prav u etih derzkih klavish,
                        Otdaj im pal'cy - guby mne ostavish'.

                        Perevod A. SHarakshane




                  Th'expense of spirit in a waste of shame
                  Is lust in action, and till action, lust
                  Is perjured, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame,
                  Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
                  Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight,
                  Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
                  Past reason hated as a swallowed 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.

           Rastrata duha v pustyne styda -
           vot chto takoe pohot' osushchestvlennaya, a do togo pohot'
           lzhiva, ubijstvenna, krovava, polna pregreshenij,
           dika, chrezmerna, gruba, zhestoka, nenadezhna;
           naslazhdenie, kotoroe srazu smenyaetsya prezreniem;
           za nim bezrassudno ohotyatsya, a kak tol'ko poluchayut,
           bezrassudno nenavidyat ego kak proglochennuyu primanku,
           special'no vystavlennuyu, chtoby svesti s uma togo, kto
                                                           popadetsya;
           _ono_ svodit s uma teh, kto domogaetsya, i teh, kto obladaet;
           poluchennoe, poluchaemoe ili iskomoe - _vsegda_ chrezmerno;
           kogda ego ispytyvayut - blazhenstvo, a ispytali - sama skorb';
           do togo - obeshchanie radosti, posle - _vsego lish'_ son.
              Vse eto mir horosho znaet, no nikto ne znaet,
              kak izbezhat' etih nebes, kotorye vedut lyudej [muzhchin]
                                                               v ad.

                    Styda i duha motovskaya trata -
                    Vse eto pohot' v dejstvii; a ran'she
                    Ona dika, zhestoka, besnovata,
                    Gruba, polna predatel'stva i fal'shi.

                    Ej nasladyas' - ee zhe prezirayut,
                    No kazhdyj raz, rassudku vopreki,
                    Vse, kak nazhivku, vnov' ee glotayut,
                    Na te zhe popadayutsya kryuchki.

                    Bezumen tot, kogo vlechet zhelan'e,
                    I v obladan'i tak bezumen on.
                    Do - blagodat', a posle - pokayan'e.
                    V gryadushchem - radost', a v proshedshem - son.

                    I mir vse eto znaet, no bespechno
                    Idet v tot raj navstrechu muke vechnoj.

                    Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                      Dushi rastrata v propasti styda -
                      Vot pohoti final, a do finala
                      Ona dika, gruba, polna vreda,
                      ZHestoka, neverna, i vse ej malo.

                      Vkusivshij s neyu sladostnyh minut
                      Prezren'em platit ej. Ee bez mery
                      Vzyskuyut i bez mery zhe klyanut
                      Kak zloj obman, rozhdayushchij himery.

                      Snachala domogayas' bez uma,
                      Potom bezumna v obladan'e tomnom.
                      Samo blazhenstvo - i pechal' sama.
                      Pomanit schast'em - snom rastaet temnym.

                      Vse eto znayut, no izbegnet kto zh
                      Takogo ada, chto na raj pohozh?

                      Perevod A. SHarakshane




                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 damasked, 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.

            Glaza moej vozlyublennoj sovsem ne pohozhi na solnce;
            Korall gorazdo krasnee, chem krasnyj cvet ee gub;
            esli sneg - belyj, to pochemu togda ee grudi burogo cveta;
            esli volosy sravnivat' s provolokoj, to u nee na golove
                                                rastet chernaya provoloka.
            YA videl damasskie rozy, krasnye i belye,
            no nikakih roz ya ne nahozhu v ee shchekah,
            i est' aromaty priyatnee,
            chem duh, ishodyashchij ot moej vozlyublennoj.
            YA lyublyu slushat', kak ona govorit, i vse zhe mne horosho
                                                           izvestno,
            chto u muzyki gorazdo bolee priyatnyj zvuk.
            Priznayu, chto nikogda ne videl, kak hodyat bogini,
            moya _zhe_ vozlyublennaya, kogda hodit, _tyazhelo_ stupaet po zemle.
               I vse zhe, klyanus' nebom, ya polagayu, chto moya lyubov'
                                                 ne ustupit krasotoj
               lyuboj zhenshchine, obolgannoj fal'shivymi sravneniyami.

                      Glaza lyubimoj solnce ne zatmyat,
                      S korallom ne sopernichayut guby,
                      Sneg beliznoj ee grudi ne brat,
                      I volosy, kak provoloka, gruby.
                      Vy na shchekah vozlyublennoj moej
                      Ni alyh roz, ni belyh ne najdete;
                      Duhi blagouhannej dlya nozdrej,
                      CHem duh, chto ot ee ishodit ploti.
                      YA golosom ee prel'shchen ves'ma,
                      No muzyke ya stol' zhe zhadno vnemlyu.
                      Polet bogin' - garmoniya sama,
                      Moya lyubov' prostuyu topchet zemlyu.
                         I vse zh ona teh zhenshchin mne milej,
                         Kotorym zlatousty l'yut elej.

                      Perevod V. Vasil'eva

                     Glazam lyubimoj solnca ne zatmit',
                     Ee usta korallov ne krasnej,
                     I grud' smugla - so snegom ne sravnit',
                     CHerna, kak smol', kopna ee kudrej.

                     Aleya, rozy yuga ne goryat
                     Na blednom barhate ee lanit,
                     Cvetov dushistyh nezhnyj aromat
                     Ee dyhan'e vovse ne struit.

                     Mila i serdce raduet moe

                     Podrugi rech', no zvuki strun - milej,
                     Net gracii bogini u nee:
                     Lyubimaya stupaet po zemle.

                     No ya klyanus', chto vse sravnen'ya splosh'
                     S ee krasoyu ryadom - prosto lozh'!

                     Perevod A. Vasil'chikova

                     Ee glaza - ne yarche solnca v nebe,
                     I rot - nichut' koralla ne krasnej.
                     Grud' ne napomnit vam o belom snege,
                     A shelk - kuda nezhnej ee kudrej.

                     V ee lice prekrasny sochetan'ya,
                     No rozy ne bledneyut pered nej.
                     I legkoe teplo ee dyhan'ya
                     Vseh aromatov mira - ne sil'nej.

                     Mne rech' ee priyatna neprostaya,
                     Hot' s muzykoj sravnit'sya i ne mozhet.
                     A postupi bogin' predpochitayu
                     SHagi vpolne zemnye milyh nozhek.

                     No teh ona prekrasnej, bez somnen'ya,
                     Kto padok na podlozhnye sravnen'ya.

                     Perevod O. Dudoladovoj

                    Ne solnce - blesk lyubimyh mnoj ochej,
                    S korallom ne sravnima alost' gub,
                    Belee sneg, chem cvet ee grudej,
                    I volos, slovno provoloka, grub.
                    YA videl cvet damasskih roz, no vse zh
                    Net etih roz u miloj na shchekah,
                    I zhar ee dyhan'ya vryad li shozh
                    S blagouhan'em v carstvennyh duhah.
                    Lepechet milo gospozha moya,
                    No muzyka sil'nej volnuet Krov',
                    Pohodki u bogin' ne videl ya,
                    Stupaet po zemle moya lyubov'.
                       No ya klyanus' - ona prekrasnej teh,
                       Kogo cvetistoj lest'yu vvergli v greh.

                    Perevod A. Kuznecova

                      Ee glaza na solnce ne pohozhi,

                      Korall krasnee, chem usta u nej.
                      Sneg bel - zachem zhe grudi smuglokozhi?
                      Zachem tak mnogo provolok-kudrej?

                      Damasskoj rozy alogo siyan'ya
                      Il' belizny ne vizhu na shchekah.
                      I u nee ne sladostnej dyhan'e,
                      CHem aromaty v sladostnyh duhah.

                      YA znayu, zvuki muzyki nezhnee
                      Ee priyatnyh, no obychnyh slov.
                      I ya ne videl, kak porhayut fei, -
                      SHagaet po zemle moya lyubov'.

                      No dlya menya ona milee vse zh,
                      CHem te, komu nuzhna sravnenij lozh'.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Glaza lyubimoj - vovse ne svetila,
                     Korallom gub ee ne nazovesh'.
                     Grud' beliznoyu snega ne zatmila,
                     A chernyj volos s provolokoj shozh.

                     Vidal ya rozy vsyakie kogda-to,
                     No roz v ee shchekah ne nahozhu.
                     I est' kuda priyatnej aromaty,
                     CHem tot, chto otlichaet gospozhu.

                     Hot' slyshat' golos mne ee po nravu,
                     V nem muzyka otrodu ne zhila.
                     Kak hodyat bogi, ya ne znayu, pravo,
                     No u lyubimoj postup' tyazhela.

                     I vse zh, klyanus', moya lyubov' prekrasna,
                     Hot' pyshnoj lzhi ne slyshit ezhechasno.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane



               Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
               As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
               For well 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 judgement's place.
                  In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
                  And thence this slander as I think proceeds.

           Ty tak despotichna - pri tom, kakaya ty est' {*}, -
           kak te, ch'i prelesti delayut ih nadmennymi i zhestokimi,
           tak kak ty horosho znaesh', chto dlya moego lyubyashchego bezumno
                                                             serdca
           ty - samyj prekrasnyj i dragocennyj brilliant.
           Vse zhe, pravo, nekotorye, kto tebya vidit, govoryat,
           chto u tvoego lica net vlasti vyzyvat' stenaniya lyubvi;
           skazat', chto oni zabluzhdayutsya, ya ne smeyu,
           hotya ya klyanus' v etom sebe samomu.
           I chtoby podtverdit', chto ne lozh' to, v chem ya klyanus',
           tysyacha stonov, stoit tol'ko _mne_ podumat' o tvoem lice,
           _odin za drugim_ [odin u drugogo na shee] svidetel'stvuyut,
           chto tvoya chernota svetlee [prekrasnee] vsego v moem suzhdenii.
              Ni v chem ty ne cherna, krome kak v tvoih postupkah,
              i otsyuda, ya dumayu, proishodit zloslovie _o tebe_.

     {* T.e. pri tom, chto ty ne udovletvoryaesh' kriteriyam krasoty.}

                     Vladelica zhestokoj krasoty,
                     Plenitel'noj i besposhchadnoj razom,
                     V moej dushe svetlo siyaesh' ty
                     Neprevzojdennym redkostnym almazom.

                     No, govoryat, tvoj oblik nehorosh
                     I vyzvat' on ne mozhet strastnyj ston.
                     Boyus' ya vsluh skazat', chto eto lozh',
                     Hotya v obratnom svyato ubezhden.

                     Lico tvoe pripomniv, ne odin,
                     A sotnyu stonov istorgayu ya,
                     Svidetel'stvo tomyashchihsya glubin,
                     Kak ranit prelest' smuglaya tvoya.

                     Ne ty temna - temny tvoi dela.
                     Ot nih i eta kleveta poshla.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                       Nadmennaya krasa srodni tiranu.
                       O, kak zhestoka ty so mnoj podchas!
                       Ved' znaesh', nikogda ne perestanu
                       Tebya lyubit' - edinstvennyj almaz.
                       I esli slyshu ya, chto obayan'ya
                       Ty lishena, ne smeya vozrazhat',
                       Ni s kem ya ne vstupayu v prerekan'e,
                       No prodolzhayu po tebe vzdyhat'
                       I smuglost'yu tvoeyu naslazhdat'sya -
                       Inoj vovek ne myslyu krasoty:
                       Da kak zhe eyu mne ne vostorgat'sya -
                       Net nichego prekrasnej chernoty.
                          Da vot dela tvoi durny, uvy,
                          Tebe ne izbezhat' durnoj molvy.

                       Perevod I. Fradkina




                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.

                Tvoi glaza ya lyublyu, i oni, budto zhaleya menya,
                znaya, chto tvoe serdce muchit menya prenebrezheniem,
                odelis' v chernoe, kak lyubyashchie v traure,
                glyadya s ocharovatel'nym sostradaniem na moyu muku.
                I poistine utrennee solnce nebes
                ne krasit tak serye shcheki vostoka,
                i ta yarkaya zvezda, kotoraya znamenuet prihod vechera,
                vpolovinu tak ne pridaet velikolepiya mrachnomu zapadu,
                kak eti dva glaza v traure krasyat tvoe lico.
                O pust' togda tvoemu serdcu takzhe podobaet
                byt' v traure po mne, ibo traur ukrashaet tebya,
                i oden' tak zhe _v chernoe_ vsyu tvoyu zhalost'.
                   Togda ya poklyanus', chto sama krasota cherna
                   i otvratitel'ny vse, u kogo net tvoej masti.

                      Lyublyu tvoi glaza - i vot oni,
                      Uznav, chto ya toboyu nelyubim,
                      Odelis' t'moj, kak v traurnye dni,
                      Udrucheny stradaniem moim.

                      I vpravdu, dazhe solnca yasnyj vzglyad
                      Tak neba ne ukrasit nikogda,
                      I uzh podavno medlennyj zakat
                      Tak ne ukrasit rannyaya zvezda,

                      Kak oblik tvoj ukrashen etoj t'moj.
                      No ty i serdce v traur obleki.
                      Pover' mne, on k licu tebe samoj,
                      Vsem prazdnym razgovoram vopreki.

                      A ya klyanus', chto krasota temna
                      I chto temnej ne mozhet byt' ona.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Lyublyu glaza tvoi - oni skorbyat,
                      Kak budto mne daruya sostradan'e,
                      Tvoe zhestokoserdie hulyat,
                      I traurno ih chernoe sverkan'e.
                      Ne krasit solnce tak vostok sedoj,
                      YAvlyaya miru utrennie vzory,
                      Tak zapad ne ukrasitsya zvezdoj,
                      Vzoshedshej na vechernie prostory,
                      Kak lik tvoj yasnyj - chernyj blesk ochej!
                      Pust' glazu serdce zloe podchinitsya,
                      I traur vocarit v dushe tvoej:
                      Pust' mnoj boleet kazhdaya chastica!
                         YA poklyanus': prekrasna chernota
                         I tol'ko ej prisushcha krasota.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina




              Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
              For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
              It's 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 engrossed:
              Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken,
              A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed.
              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 jail.
                 And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
                 Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

        Bud' proklyato to serdce, kotoroe zastavlyaet moe serdce stonat'
        iz-za glubokoj rany, kotoruyu ono nanosit moemu drugu i mne!
        _Neuzheli_ nedostatochno muchit' menya odnogo,
        no moj dragocennyj drug dolzhen stat' rabom rabstva?
        Menya u menya samogo otnyali tvoi zhestokie glaza,
        a moe _drugoe_ [blizhajshee] "ya" eshche prochnee prisvoeno toboj;
        ya lishen ego, samogo sebya i tebya -
        trizhdy trojnaya pytka, kotoruyu nuzhno vot kak presech':
        zatochi moe serdce v stal'noj kamere svoej grudi,
        no togda pozvol' moemu bednomu serdcu vykupit' _soboj_
                                                     serdce druga;
        kto by ni derzhal menya _v zatochenii_, pust' moe serdce budet
                                                       ego {*} strazhem,
        togda ty ne smozhesh' zhestoko obrashchat'sya _so mnoj_ v moej
                                                          tyur'me.
           I vse zhe eto budet _zhestoko_, tak kak ya, zapertyj v tebe,
           volej-nevolej stanovlyus' tvoim, a so mnoj - i vse, chto
                                                             vo mne.

   {* Druga.}

                    Proklyat'e serdcu, ranivshemu v grud'
                    Dvoih - menya i druga moego!
                    Uzh pust' by vyshlo mne bedy hlebnut',
                    Zachem zhe v rabstvo obrashchat' ego?

                    Menya ty ot menya vzyala zhestoko,
                    Moe vtoroe "ya" uvodish' proch'.
                    Bez nas troih tomlyus' ya odinoko,
                    Trojnuyu pytku silyas' prevozmoch'.

                    Dva nashih serdca zaperty v tebe,
                    Mne serdce druga storozhit' pozvol':
                    YA pozabochus' o ego sud'be,
                    CHtob ty emu ne prichinila bol'.

                    No ty oderzhish' verh: ya - uznik tvoj,
                    Vse, chem vladeyu, - tvoj trofej zhivoj.

                    Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    Bud' proklyata! Menya vkonec izmuchiv,
                    Nashla sebe ty novogo raba.
                    Moj luchshij drug popalsya v set' pauch'yu,
                    I zhdet ego teper' moya sud'ba.
                    YA sam ne svoj, ischad'e zlogo duha!
                    Neschasten ya teper' uzhe vtrojne:
                    Toboj pokinut, ya lishilsya druga,
                    I vmeneny vse muki ada mne.
                    Gotov tvoim ya plennikom ostat'sya,
                    Za druga poruchivshis' moego.
                    I za reshetkoj budu ya starat'sya
                    Ot vseh nevzgod oberegat' ego.
                       No ty kovarna, i v porochnyj krug
                       Ty vtyagivaesh' vseh i vsya vokrug.

                    Perevod V. Tarzaevoj




                 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 learned 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.

             Itak, teper' ya priznal, chto on tvoj,
             a ya sam - zalozhnik tvoej voli;
             ya otkazhus' ot prav na sebya, tak chtoby drugogo menya
             ty vozvratila i on vsegda byl moim utesheniem.
             No ty etogo ne sdelaesh', i on ne budet svobodnym,
             tak kak ty alchnaya, a on dobryj;
             on stal, kak garant, podpisyvat'sya za menya
             pod obyazatel'stvom, kotoroe _teper'_ tak zhe prochno svyazalo ego.
             Ty ispol'zuesh' _ego_ poruchitel'stvo tvoej krasote,
             _kak_ rostovshchik, kotoryj vse oborachivaet k pribyli,
             i privlekaesh' k sudu druga, kotoryj stal dolzhnikom iz-za
                                                                 menya,
             tak chto ego ya teryayu iz-za togo, chto ty zhestoko
                                               zloupotreblyaesh' mnoj.
                Ego ya poteryal; ty obladaesh' i im i mnoj.
                On platit spolna, i vse zhe ya ne svoboden.

                       YA priznayu, chto ty vladeesh' im,
                       I za nego otdam sebya v zaklad.
                       Oputannyj uslov'em dolgovym,
                       YA byl by drugom schastliv i bogat.

                       No krepko derzhit druga zapadnya:
                       Ved' ty skupa, a on i shchedr i pryam,
                       I zhazhdet poruchit'sya za menya,
                       Hotya tebe on zadolzhal i sam.

                       Poetomu, svoj status krasoty
                       Privyknuv rostovshchichestvom blyusti,
                       Isk drugu moemu vchinyaesh' ty
                       Za to, chto on hotel menya spasti.

                       Lishivshis' druga, s nim ya zatochen,
                       Hotya za vse s izbytkom platit on.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Itak, on tvoj. No za nego v zalog
                     Gotov tebe ya sam sebya predstavit',
                     CHtob obresti moj drug svobodu mog,
                     A ya sebe vtoroe "ya" ostavit'.

                     No protiv ty, i protiv on vdvojne:
                     Ty - iz korysti, on - iz blagorodstva,
                     Poskol'ku poruchitelem byl mne
                     I sam popal pod sudoproizvodstvo.

                     Vladeya vekselyami krasoty,
                     Kak rostovshchik, nazhivoj oderzhimyj,
                     K sudu za dolg moj druga tashchish' ty.
                     Propal iz-za menya moj drug lyubimyj!

                     I vot teper' tvoi - i ya, i on.
                     Zalog on vnes, no voli ya lishen.

                     Perevod S. Stepanova




                 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 fair beseechers kill;
                    Think all but one, and me in that one Will.

          Pust' drugie zhenshchiny imeyut [osushchestvlyayut] svoi zhelaniya -
          u tebya est' tvoj Uill {*},
          i _eshche odin_ Uill vdobavok, i Uill sverh togo.
          Bolee chem dostatochno _odnogo_ menya, kotoryj vse vremya domogaetsya
                                                                       tebya,
          takim obrazom delaya pribavlenie k tvoemu sladostnomu zhelaniyu.
          Neuzheli ty, ch'e zhelanie veliko i prostorno,
          ni razu ne soizvolish' spryatat' moe zhelanie v svoem?
          Pochemu zhelanie v drugih kazhetsya _tebe_ blagim,
          a moe zhelanie ne ozareno _tvoim_ lyubeznym priyatiem?
          More polno vody, no vse zhe vsegda prinimaet dozhd'
          i, pri _svoem_ izobilii, dobavlyaet k svoemu zapasu;
          tak i ty, bogataya Uillom, dobav' k svoemu Uillu
          odno moe zhelanie, chtoby tvoj Uill stal bol'she.
             Pust' zlonravie ne ub'et nikakih dobryh soiskatelej;
             dumaj obo vseh kak ob odnom i _vklyuchi_ menya v etogo odnogo
                                                                     Uilla.

     {* Sonety 135 i 136 postroeny na izoshchrennoj igre so slovom "Will/will".
Napisannoe  s  zaglavnoj bukvy, ono, po vsej vidimosti, yavlyaetsya sokrashcheniem
imeni  "William". Issledovateli vyskazyvayut raznye mneniya otnositel'no togo,
skol'ko  "Uillov" zdes' nadeetsya v vidu; bol'shinstvo schitayut, chto po men'shej
mere  dva  - poet i ee muzh libo drugoj vozlyublennyj Temnoj Ledi (pod kotorym
mozhno  ponimat'  Druga).  S  drugoj  storony,  "will" mozhet oznachat' "volya",
"zhelanie",  "ob®ekt  zhelaniya  (v  tom  chisle seksual'nogo)". Sonety soderzhat
celyj  kaskad  namekov  yavno  eroticheskogo svojstva, kotorye, odnako, trudno
odnoznachno istolkovat'.}

                      "Vill" znachit "volya". YA vo vsem tvoj Vill {*},
                      Vol'na ty voznesti i umalit'.
                      Tebya ya lish' nevol'no prognevil,
                      ZHelaya vmeste nashi voli slit'.

                      Neuzhto ty, ch'ya volya tak obshirna,
                      Menya v nee otkazhesh'sya vovlech'?
                      Ty volyu mnogih prinimaesh' mirno,
                      A o moej ne zavedesh' i rech'?

                      Kak more shumnoj vlagoj ni polno,
                      Ono v sebya vbiraet vse dozhdi,
                      Tak ty, s moeyu volej zaodno,
                      K edinoj nashej vole voshodi.

                      I pust' lyuboj poklonnik budet mil,
                      No vseh v sebe soedinyaet Vill.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Ty svoevol'na; est' tvoe "ZHelayu",
                     Drugoe ch'e-to, tret'e zhe - izlishne:
                     To ya tebe prederzko dosazhdayu,
                     Pytayas' priobshchit'sya k vole vyshnej.
                     Uzheli ty, chto tak shchedra v zhelan'yah,
                     Moe nazvat' svoim ne udostoish'?
                     Uzhel' drugie stoyat sostradan'ya
                     I tol'ko ya, otverzhennyj, ne stoyu?
                     Ogromno more - vse zh priemlet livni
                     I vodnoe svoe hozyajstvo mnozhit;
                     Puskaj tvoi zhelaniya obil'ny -
                     Moe tebe bogache stat' pomozhet.
                        Vozdaj dobrom i zlobe, i krase:
                        U nas odno zhelanie na vseh.

                     Perevod T. SHabaevoj

     {*  V  nashej  knige  my,  v  sootvetstvii  s  gospodstvuyushchej tradiciej,
peredaem  imya SHekspira kak "Uil'yam"; etomu sootvetstvuet sokrashchennyj variant
"Uill".  Odnako  nekotorye  specialisty schitayut, chto bol'she osnovanij pisat'
"Vil'yam" i, sootvetstvenno, "Vill" (kak eto delalos' v XIX i pervoj polovine
XX  v.)  V  chastnosti,  takoj  tochki zreniya priderzhivaetsya I. M. Ivanovskij,
kotoryj  v obosnovanie ee otmechaet, chto v originale na imya "Will" prihoditsya
odin slog, a ne dva. - Prim. sostavitelej.}




                If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
                Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will,
                And will 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 reckoned none:
                Then in the number let me-pass untold,
                Though in thy store's 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.

             Esli tvoya dusha tebya upreknet za to, chto ya slishkom
                                                 priblizilsya {*},
             poklyanis' svoj slepoj dushe, chto ya - tvoj Uill,
             a zhelaniya, _kak_ tvoya dusha znaet, prinyaty _toboj_, -
             do etih por, radi lyubvi, ispolni, milaya, moi lyubovnye
                                                       prityazaniya.
             Moe zhelanie popolnit sokrovishchnicu tvoej lyubvi -
             da, napolnit ee zhelaniyami, i odno budet moim.
             V otnoshenii veshchej krupnyh my legko dokazyvaem,
             chto v sostave chisla odin ne stoit nichego;
             poetomu pust' v etom chisle ya projdu neuchtennym,
             hotya v opisi tvoego izobiliya ya dolzhen byt' odnim.
             Schitaj menya za nichto, tol'ko, bud' dobra, schitaj,
             chto ya, nichto, yavlyayus' chem-to milym dlya tebya.
                Sdelaj tol'ko moe imya svoim lyubimym i lyubi ego vsegda,
                i togda ty budesh' lyubit' menya, tak kak moe imya - Uill.

     {*  Poslednee  mozhno istolkovat' tak: "...za to, chto ya slishkom blizok k
pravde v tom, chto ya govoryu o tebe (sm. sonet 135)".}

                     Hotya tvoya dusha nastorozhe,
                     Ty ej skazhi, chto ya - tvoj vernyj Vill,
                     A "Vill" ved' znachit "volya". I uzhe
                     YA tyazhkuyu sud'bu blagoslovil.

                     Vill obnovil lyubvi zavetnyj klad,
                     I Vill byl mil, no mnogih prinyal vhod,
                     A tam, gde mnogo, ne schitayut trat,
                     I, uzh konechno, Vill odin ne v schet.

                     Bez imeni v tolpe ya propadu,
                     Hot' i vnesen ya v obshchee chislo.
                     Nichto menya ne derzhit na vidu,
                     Pust' chto-to ot tebya so mnoj ushlo.

                     No imya ty lyubi. V nem moshchnyj pyl
                     Tvoeyu volej. Volya - eto Vill.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      SHepni svoej slepoj dushe: "Uill",
                      CHtob blizost'yu so mnoj ne vozmushchalas',
                      CHtob otvergat' menya ne stalo sil
                      I chtob zhelala ty menya hot' malost'.
                      Kogda zhelan'ya hlynut cherez kraj,
                      Pust' i moe v sokrovishchnicu l'etsya:
                      Odin tolpu popolnit nevznachaj,
                      Ved' mesto odnomu vsegda najdetsya.
                      Znaj: ya - nichto - ne uvelichu schet,
                      No, chto-to znacha, ya mechtu leleyu:
                      Cena tvoih vladenij vozrastet,
                      Kogda tebe sebya otdat' sumeyu.
                         Ty tol'ko imya polyubi - "Uill", -
                         ZHelannym budu srazu: stanu mil.

                      Perevod I. Fradkina





               Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
               That they behold, and see not what they see?
               They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
               Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
               If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
               Be anchored in the bay where all men ride,
               Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
               Whereto the judgement of my heart is tied?
               Why should my heart think that a several plot,
               Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
               Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
               To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
                  In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
                  And to this false plague are they now transferred.

        Lyubov', slepoj glupec [shut], chto ty sdelala s moimi glazami,
        chto oni smotryat, no ne vidyat togo, chto vidyat?
        Oni znayut, chto takoe krasota, vidyat, gde ona nahoditsya,
        i vse zhe luchshee prinimayut za hudshee.
        Esli glazam, isporchennym slishkom pristrastnymi vzglyadami,
        suzhdeno vstat' na yakore v toj zhe buhte, chto i drugie muzhchiny,
        to pochemu iz nevernosti glaz ty vykovala kryuch'ya,
        k kotorym prikovan zdravyj smysl moego serdca?
        Pochemu moe serdce polagaet otdel'nym [ogorozhennym]
                                                     uchastkom to,
        chto, kak izvestno serdcu, yavlyaetsya obshchim vladeniem dlya vseh
                                                             krugom?
        Ili - _pochemu_ moi glaza, vidya eto, govoryat, chto eto ne tak,
        chtoby prikryt' vernost'yu [dobrodetel'yu] takoe
                                             otvratitel'noe lico?
           V tom, chto bylo podlinno vernym [dobrodetel'nym],
                                         moe serdce i glaza zabluzhdalis',
           i teper' oni predany etoj napasti fal'shi.

                       Skazhi, Lyubov' slepaya, ty zachem
                       Glaza uchila zryachej slepote?
                       Oni glyadyat vovsyu, a mezhdu tem
                       Ne doveryayut yavnoj krasote.

                       I esli gavan' ih nepravdy tam,
                       Kuda plyvem my vse do odnogo,
                       Zachem daesh' ih kovanym kryukam
                       Zachalit' sovest' serdca moego?

                       Zachem svoej usad'boj nazyvat'
                       Obshchinnoe vladenie, skazhi?
                       Zachem lichinu pravdy nadevat'
                       Na podloe lico zavzyatoj lzhi?

                       Glaza i serdce, brosiv put' pryamoj,
                       Boleyut etoj fal'sh'yu, kak chumoj.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                        Meshaet mne lyubvi slepaya sila
                        Uvidet' to, chto vizhu nayavu.
                        Ne krasota glaza moi plenila,
                        A to, chto krasotoj ne nazovu.
                        Vlekomyj lozh'yu cherez okeany,
                        Gde ne odin skitalsya ekipazh,
                        Fal'shivyj vzor moj v gavani obmana
                        Moe zhe serdce vzyal na abordazh.
                        Zachem ya predstavlyal sebe pustynyu
                        Roskoshnym sadom serdca moego?
                        I pochemu voobrazhal boginyu,
                        Vziraya na pustoe sushchestvo?
                           YA slovno pogruzhen v chumnoj tuman:
                           Glaza mne lgut, i na serdce obman.

                        Perevod YU. Lifshica




               When my love swears that she is made of truth,
               I do believe her, though I know she lies,
               That she might think me some untutored youth,
               Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
               Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
               Although she knows my days are past the best,
               Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
               On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.
               But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
               And wherefore say not I that I am old?
               O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
               And age in love loves not t'have years told.
                  Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
                  And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

          Kogda moya lyubov' klyanetsya, chto ona sozdana iz vernosti,
          ya ej veryu, hotya znayu, chto ona lzhet, -
          chto ona, vozmozhno, schitaet menya kakim-to naivnym yuncom
          nesvedushchim v lovkoj fal'shi mira.
          Tak, tshcheslavno verya, chto ona schitaet menya yunym,
          hotya ona znaet, chto moi luchshie dni pozadi,
          ya prostodushno beru na veru ee lzhivyj yazyk,
          i obeimi storonami prostaya istina skryvaetsya.
          No otchego ona ne govorit, chto ona neverna,
          i otchego ya ne govoryu, chto ya star?
          O, luchshaya odezhda {*} lyubvi - v pokaznom doverii,
          a vlyublennaya starost' ne lyubit, kogda nazyvayut gody.
             Poetomu ya lgu ej, a ona - mne,
             i v svoih iz®yanah my lozh'yu pol'shcheny.

     {*  V  originale  -  "habit",  chto  mozhet  oznachat'  takzhe  "privychka",
"obyknovenie".}

                      Kogda mne milaya klyanetsya v tom,
                      CHto v nej pravdivo vse, ej veryu ya,
                      Hot' vizhu: lzhet ona i mnit tajkom
                      Neiskushennym yunoshej menya.

                      Priyatno yunym slyt', hot' znayu sam
                      I ej izvestno: minul moj rassvet,
                      No hochetsya vnimat' ee slovam -
                      I, znachit, pravdy v nas oboih net.

                      Zachem ej byt' neiskrennej opyat'?
                      Zachem zhe mne skryvat' svoi goda?
                      Lyubov' na veru nado prinimat',
                      A vozrast nenavisten ej vsegda.

                      I tak my lzhem odin pered drugim,
                      I v miloj serdcu lzhi sebe my l'stim.

                      Perevod A. Vasil'chikova

                      Kogda ona mne klyatvy rastochaet,
                      YA veryu, hot' i znayu: eto lozh'.
                      Ona menya za mal'chika schitaet,
                      Kotorogo vkrug pal'ca obvedesh'.

                      I raz ona menya schitaet yunym,
                      Hot' znaet, chto dni yunosti proshli,
                      YA veryu ej v tshcheslavii bezumnom -
                      My oba s nej ot pravdy otoshli.

                      No pochemu ej ne priznat' izmeny?
                      I chto ya star, priznayu ya togda.
                      O, kto lyubim, kazat'sya hochet vernym,
                      Vlyublennyj zabyvaet pro goda.

                      I v etoj lzhi my s neyu vozlezhim
                      I lozh'yu toj, kak lest'yu, dorozhim.

                      Perevod V. Nikolaeva




              O call not me to justify the wrong
              That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
              Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
              Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
              Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,
              Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside;
              What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
              Is more than my o'erpressed 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.

           O, ne prizyvaj menya opravdat' zlo,
           kotoroe tvoya zhestokost' vozlagaet na moe serdce;
           ran' menya ne svoimi glazami, a yazykom,
           ispol'zuj _svoyu_ silu kak silu, ne ubivaj menya ulovkami.
           Govori mne, chto ty lyubish' drugih, no na moih glazah,
           dusha moya, ne brosaj vzglyad na storonu.
           CHto za nuzhda tebe ranit' hitrost'yu, kogda tvoe mogushchestvo?
           prevoshodit to, chto moya podavlennaya oborona mozhet
                                                         vyderzhat'?..
           Daj mne izvinit' tebya _tak_: "Ah, moya lyubov' horosho znaet,
           chto ee prelestnye vzglyady byli moimi vragami,
           i poetomu ot moego lica ona otvodit moih nepriyatelej,
           chtoby oni nanosili svoi rany drugim".
              No ne delaj etogo, a poskol'ku ya pochti ubit,
              ubej menya sovsem svoimi vzglyadami i izbav' menya ot boli.

                      Ne opravdayu to, k chemu privyk, -
                      Tvoyu zhestokost' k serdcu moemu.
                      No pust' ne glaz tvoj ranit, a yazyk:
                      Otkrytyj boj ohotnee primu.

                      Pust' lyubish' ty drugogo, no pri mne
                      Ne nuzhno vzglyadami ego tomit'.
                      K chemu obman, raz mozhesh' ty vpolne
                      Moyu zashchitu slabuyu slomit'?

                      I vse zhe ty prava: tvoj vzglyad - moj vrag,
                      I vot ty otsylaesh' vzglyady proch',
                      Velish' ne zadevat' menya nikak,
                      Gubit' drugih i etim mne pomoch'.

                      No vse sil'nej lyubovnyj moj nedug.
                      Ubej zhe vzglyadom i izbav' ot muk.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                    Opravdyvat' tebya ya ne privyk,
                    Ne priterpelsya k zhestochajshim ranam;
                    Ne ran' menya ochami - est' yazyk,
                    Bej siloyu menya, a ne obmanom.

                    Skazhi, chto ty otnyne ne moya,
                    Ne otvodi pri vstreche vzor svoj milyj.
                    Zachem hitrit', kogda razgromlen ya
                    I vzyat' menya ty mozhesh' prosto siloj?

                    No, mozhet, znaya, skol' tvoj strashen vzor,
                    Ego otvodish' ty, menya zhaleya,
                    CHtob nad drugim svershilsya prigovor,
                    Kotoryj samoj strashnoj pytki zlee?

                    Net, poshchadi ne tak! No sred' skorbej,
                    Iz zhalosti vzglyanuv, menya dobej.

                    Perevod S. Stepanova




               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.

          Bud' tak zhe mudra, kak ty zhestoka; ne ugnetaj
          moego besslovesnogo terpeniya slishkom bol'shim prezreniem,
          chtoby pechal' ne snabdila menya slovami, a slova ne vyrazili,
          kakova moya bol', nuzhdayushchayasya v zhalosti.
          Esli by ya mog nauchit' tebya blagorazumiyu, bylo by luchshe,
                                                      _esli by ty_ -
          pust' ne lyubila, no, lyubov' moya, hotya by govorila, chto
                                                            lyubish';
          tak bryuzglivye bol'nye, kogda ih smert' blizka,
          ne priznayut nikakih novostej ot vrachej, krome _obeshchanij_
                                                           zdorov'ya.
          Ved' esli ya otchayus', ya mogu sojti s uma
          i v svoem bezumii mogu durno govorit' o tebe,
          a v nashe vremya izvrashchennyj mir stal takim durnym,
          chto sumasshedshim klevetnikam veryat sumasshedshie ushi.
             CHtoby so mnoj ne bylo tak - _chtoby_ ty ne byla
                                                    oklevetana, -
             nacelivaj svoj vzglyad pryamo _na menya_, hotya by tvoe
                                      nadmennoe serdce promahivalos'.

                       K zhestokosti svoej dobav' uma,
                       Moe terpenie ne preziraj,
                       Ne to progovoritsya bol' sama,
                       Kogda slova otyshchet nevznachaj.

                       Ved' esli b ty umnej byla so mnoj,
                       YA veril by, chto ya v lyubvi bogach,
                       Kak verit v uteshenie bol'noj,
                       Kogda ego obmanyvaet vrach.

                       Otchayan'e s uma menya svedet,
                       I ot menya hulu uslyshish' ty,
                       A etot mir, gde vse naoborot,
                       Legko poverit slovu klevety.

                       Ty put' velikodushnyj izberi
                       I, celyas' mimo, na menya smotri.

                       Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Bud' mudroj tak, moj drug, kak ty zhestoka,
                     Klejmit' menya prezren'em ne speshi,
                     Ne to pechal' pozvolit ran'she sroka
                     Mne vyrazit' slovami bol' dushi.

                     Ah, esli b nauchit'sya ty sumela,
                     Hot' ne lyubya, mne o lyubvi sheptat', -
                     Tverdyat tak umirayushchemu smelo,
                     CHto skoro smozhet on zdorovym stat'.

                     Ved' ya mogu sojti s uma ot muki
                     I miluyu moyu oklevetat',
                     Sejchas bezumnyj svet ot vechnoj skuki
                     Gotov lyubuyu lozh' vosprinimat'.

                     Ot sluhov zlyh i spleten otvernis'
                     I, ne lyubya, vlyublennoj pritvoris'.

                     Perevod A. Kazakovoj




                In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
                For they in thee a thousand errors note,
                But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
                Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
                Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
                Nor tender feeling to base touches prone,
                Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
                To any sensual feast with thee alone;
                But my five wits nor my five senses can
                Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
                Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man,
                Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be.
                   Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
                   That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

              Poistine ya ne lyublyu tebya glazami,
              tak kak oni podmechayut v tebe tysyachu iz®yanov,
              no moe sedle lyubit to, chto oni prezirayut,
              _i_, vopreki vidimomu, schastlivo obozhat' tebya.
              Moi ushi takzhe ne v vostorge ot zvuka tvoego _golosa_ [yazyka],
              a moe nezhnoe osyazanie ne sklonno k _tvoim_ nizkim
                                                      prikosnoveniyam,
              i ni vkus, ni obonyanie ne zhelayut byt' priglashennymi
              ni k kakomu chuvstvennomu pirshestvu s toboj naedine.
              No ni pyat' moih umstvennyh sposobnostej {*}, ni pyat' moih
                                                            chuvstv ne mogut
              ubedit' ne sluzhit' tebe odno glupoe serdce,
              kotoroe ostavlyaet _menya_, ne vladeyushchee soboj podobie muzhchiny,
              rabom i zhalkim slugoj tvoego nadmennogo serdca.
                 V svoej _lyubovnoj_ chume ya nahozhu tol'ko to preimushchestvo,
                 chto ta, kotoraya zastavlyaet menya greshit', naznachaet mne
                                                                nakazanie.

     {*  Po analogii s pyat'yu chuvstvami inogda razlichali pyat' proyavlenij uma:
obychnyj um, voobrazhenie, fantaziyu, sposobnost' ocenivat', pamyat'.}

                     Glaza moi ne lyubyat oblik tvoj
                     I tysyachu iz®yanov vidyat v nem,
                     No serdce s nimi sporit ne vpervoj
                     I v etom spore stavit na svoem.

                     Ni rech' tvoya, kotoroj sluh ne rad,
                     Ni nezhnye kasan'ya v tishine,
                     Ni ves' tvoj tomnyj vid, ni aromat
                     Ne tyanut byt' s toboj naedine.

                     No vse pyat' chuvstv, i dazhe pyat' umov
                     Ne mogut serdce odolet' odno.
                     Ne slushaya muzhskih surovyh slov,
                     Ono k tebe, kak rab, obrashcheno.

                     Tebya mne, kak chumu, prinyat' pozvol':
                     Ty v greh vvela i podarila bol'.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                  V moih glazah lyubvi ne vspyhnet svet, -
                  Tvoi poroki yasno vidit zren'e,
                  A serdce lyubit - v nem prezren'ya net,
                  Ono v lyubvi, v prekrasnom osleplen'i.
                  I sluh, i osyazanie moi,
                  I vkus, i obonyanie vpolne
                  Otvergli priglasheniya tvoi
                  Na strastnyj pir s toboj naedine.
                  Ni razumu, ni chuvstvam ne dano,
                  Ni vpyaterom, ni v razgovore chastnom,
                  Uverit' serdce bednoe odno,
                  CHto v rabstve propadet ono neschastnym.
                     S toboyu u menya odin uspeh
                     Ty bol' moya i moj tyazhelyj greh.

                  Perevod A. Kuznecova




                 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,
                 Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.
                 Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
                 Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
                 Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
                 Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
                    If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
                    By self-example mayst thou be denied.

         Lyubov' - moj greh, a tvoya dragocennaya dobrodetel' -
                                                       otvrashchenie,
         otvrashchenie k moemu grehu, osnovannomu na grehovnoj lyubvi.
         No sravni s moim svoe sobstvennoe sostoyanie,
         i ty obnaruzhish', chto ono ne zasluzhivaet upreka,
         ili esli zasluzhivaet, to ne iz etih tvoih gub,
         kotorye oskvernili _svoj_ alyj ornament
         i zapechatyvali fal'shivye uzy lyubvi tak zhe chasto, kak moi,
         lishaya chuzhie posteli ih zakonnyh arendnyh dohodov {*}.
         Da budet zakonnym, chto ya lyublyu tebya, kak ty lyubish' teh,
         kogo tvoi glaza obhazhivayut, kak moi domogayutsya tebya;
         ukoreni zhalost' v svoem serdce, i kogda ona vyrastet,
         tvoya zhalost', vozmozhno, zasluzhit togo, chtoby ee pozhalet'.
         Esli ty stremish'sya imet' to, chto _sama_ ne vykazyvaesh',
         iz-za tvoego sobstvennogo primera tebe mozhet byt'
                                                _v etom_ otkazano.

     {* T.e. zakonnoj supruzheskoj lyubvi.}

                    Lyubov' - moj greh, tebe pretit ona,
                    V tvoih glazah grehovna i uboga.
                    No ty sama ne menee greshna, -
                    I stoit li menya sudit' tak strogo?

                    I ne tvoim ustam menya sudit',
                    Podlozhnye skreplyavshim dokumenty
                    Lyubvi pechat'yu aloj, chtob lishit'
                    CHuzhie lozha ih zakonnoj renty.

                    Pust' ya lyublyu tebya, a ty - togo,
                    Kto dlya tebya, kak ty - mne, est' otrada.
                    Podaj mne zhalost' serdca svoego -
                    I zhalost' budet zhalosti nagrada.

                    A esli zhalost' v serdce ne najdesh',
                    Ty ne poluchish' to, chto ne daesh'.

                    Perevod S. Stepanova

                    Lyubov' - moj greh. Svyataya prostota,
                    Ty nenavidish' etot greh otkryto.
                    Pust' greshen ya - i ty uzhe ne ta,
                    A eto oznachaet, chto my kvity.
                    Uzh poricat', tak ne tvoim ustam,
                    Kotorye mne ne odnazhdy lgali:
                    Lyubov' my oba vorovali tam,
                    Gde lozhe nenadezhno ohranyali.
                    Lyublyu tebya ya tak, kak lyubish' vseh,
                    Kogo svoim ty vzglyadom odarila:
                    Moya lyubov' k tebe takoj zhe greh -
                    O, esli b sostradan'e ty vzrastila.
                       Gluha tvoya dusha k chuzhoj bede,
                       I ty ne syshchesh' zhalosti nigde.

                    Perevod I. Fradkina




                 Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catch
                 One of her feathered creatures broke away,
                 Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
                 In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,
                 Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
                 Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
                 To follow that which flies before her face,
                 Not prizing her poor infant's discontent:
                 So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
                 Whilst I, thy babe, chase thee afar behind;
                 But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
                 And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind:
                    So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,
                    If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.

            Smotri: kak zabotlivaya hozyajka bezhit, chtoby pojmat'
            odno otbivsheesya pernatoe sozdanie, -
            otstavlyaet ditya i brosaetsya so vseh nog
            vdogonku za tem, chto ona hochet uderzhat',
            togda kak ee broshenyj rebenok, v pogone za nej,
            staraetsya pojmat' ee, a ona pogloshchena
            presledovaniem togo, chto nesetsya u nee pered licom,
            ne obrashchaya vnimaniya na nedovol'stvo bednogo mladenca, -
            tak ty bezhish' za tem, kto ubegaet ot tebya,
            togda kak ya, tvoe ditya, gonyus' za toboj daleko pozadi;
            no esli ty pojmaesh' _predmet svoih stremlenij_ [svoyu
                                            nadezhdu], obernis' ko mne
            i ispolni rol' materi - poceluj menya, prilaskaj.
               Itak, ya budu molit'sya, chtoby ty mogla poluchit' svoego
                                                Uilla [svoe zhelanie] {*},
               esli _potom_ ty obernesh'sya i uteshish' moj gromkij plach.

     {*  V originale - igra na imeni Will i slove "will" (volya, zhelanie) sm.
primechanie k sonetu 135.}

                     Smotri! Stremyas' otchayanno pojmat'
                     Odnu iz kur, chto ubegaet proch',
                     Na zemlyu tut zhe opuskaet mat'
                     I ostavlyaet syna ili doch'.

                     Poka krichit neschastnoe ditya,
                     Ee zaboty tshchetno ozhidaya,
                     Ona bezhit vpered, pochti letya,
                     Pro svoego rebenka zabyvaya.

                     Vot tak i ty ischezla, ubezhav.
                     YA nachal, kak ditya, tebya iskat'.
                     No ty vernis', mechtu svoyu dognav,
                     CHtob rol' dobrejshej materi sygrat'.

                     Svoe zhelan'e, svoego Uilla
                     Lovi, lish' pro menya by ne zabyla.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                      Smotri, kak za pernatym beglecom
                      Hozyajka bespokojnaya bezhit,
                      V to vremya kak s zaplakannym licom
                      Malysh ee, ostavlennyj, lezhit,

                      I ruchki tyanet k nej, i mat' zovet,
                      Bednyazhka. V nebrezhenii ona
                      K ego mol'bam; ee beglec vlechet,
                      I im odnim ona pogloshchena.

                      Vot tak i ty menya, svoe ditya,
                      Ostavila v pogone za mechtoj.
                      No vozvratis', nadezhdu obretya,
                      I, tochno mat' rodnaya, uspokoj.

                      Molyu: ZHelanie imeya, vse zh
                      Ko mne vernis', - moj plach ty tem ujmesh'.

                      Perevod S. SHestakova




                Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
                Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
                The better angel is a man right fair;
                The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
                To win me soon to hell, my female evil
                Tempteth my better angel from my side,
                And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
                Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
                And whether that my angel be turned fiend
                Suspect I may, but not directly tell,
                But being both from me, both to each friend,
                I guess one angel in another's hell.
                   Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
                   Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

           U menya est' dve lyubvi, _dayushchie mne_ uteshenie i otchayanie,
           kotorye, kak dva duha, postoyanno vliyayut na menya:
           luchshij iz _etih dvuh_ angelov - eto muzhchina, po-nastoyashchemu
                                                 prekrasnyj [belokuryj],
           hudshij iz duhov - zhenshchina cveta zla.
           CHtoby bystro svesti menya v ad, moya zlaya zhenshchina {*}
           soblaznom uvodit moego luchshego angela ot menya
           i zhelala by sovratit' moego svyatogo, chtoby on stal d'yavolom,
           iskushaya ego chistotu svoim nechestivym bleskom.
           I prevratilsya li moj angel v zlogo duha,
           ya mogu podozrevat', no ne mogu skazat' navernoe,
           no, tak kak oni oba _udaleny_ ot menya i druzhny mezhdu soboj,
           ya dogadyvayus', chto [odin] angel nahoditsya v adu [drugogo].
              No etogo ya nikogda ne uznayu, a budu zhit' v somneniyah,
              poka moj zloj angel ognem ne progonit moego dobrogo.

     {*  V  originale  -  stilisticheskaya  figura:  "female evil", bukval'no:
"zhenskoe zlo".}

                    Dve strasti nado mnoj, kak duhi, vlastny
                    V pokoe i otchayan'e moem:
                    Moj svetlyj angel, yunosha prekrasnyj,
                    I zhenshchina, okrashennaya zlom,

                    CHto v ad menya nizvergnut' pomyshlyaet,
                    I angela uvodit ot menya,
                    I v besa heruvima prevrashchaet,
                    Porokom chistotu ego manya.

                    Podozrevayu eto prevrashchen'e,
                    Hotya ne govoryu napryamotu.
                    Oni vdvoem, ot nih ya v otdalen'e,
                    I strashno mne, chto angel moj v adu.

                    A mne v somnen'yah zhit', pokuda on
                    Ne budet zhenskim demonom sozhzhen.

                    Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                  Dve strasti - beznadezhnost' i blazhenstvo -
                  Vsegda so mnoj po obe storony:
                  Duh dobryj - muzh, krasa i sovershenstvo,
                  A zlobnyj demon v obraze zheny.
                  CHtob skorb'yu nizvesti menya do ada,
                  Stremitsya ved'ma angela prel'stit'
                  I, spes'yu zamarat' nevinnost' rada,
                  Svyatogo hochet v besa prevratit'.
                  Boyus', chto hudshee uzhe svershilos',
                  I ponimayu, na svoyu bedu:
                  Moj drug s moej podrugoj - podruzhilis',
                  I on, naverno, u nee v adu.

                  Pojmu, chto mne predchuvstvie ne lzhet,
                  Kogda zloj angel - dobrogo sozhzhet.

                  Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo




                  Those lips that Love's own hand did make
                  Breathed forth the sound that said 'I nate'
                  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 altered 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'.

                 Guby, kotorye sozdala ruka samoj Lyubvi,
                 vydohnuli zvuk, skazavshij: "Nenavizhu" -
                 mne, toskovavshemu po nej;
                 no kogda ona uvidela moe gorestnoe sostoyanie,
                 srazu v ee serdce voshlo miloserdie,
                 branya yazyk, kotoryj vsegda _byl_ dobr
                 _i_ privyk proiznosit' myagkie prigovory,
                 i nauchila ego tak obratit'sya _ko mne_ po-novomu:
                 _slovo_ "nenavizhu" ona izmenila s pomoshch'yu okonchaniya,
                 posledovavshego kak laskovyj den'
                 sleduet za noch'yu, kotoraya, kak zloj duh,
                 s nebes unositsya v ad.
                    "Nenavizhu" ona ot nenavisti otdelila [otbrosila]
                    i spasla moyu zhizn', skazav: "Ne tebya".

                       "YA nenavizhu" - slovo vdrug
                       Vozniklo na ee ustah,
                       Vse mrachnym sdelalos' vokrug,
                       Ona uvidela moj strah,
                       Raskayan'e prishlo totchas;
                       Zazhat yazyk, chto do sih por
                       SHeptal slova lyubvi ne raz,
                       A ne surovyj prigovor,
                       "YA nenavizhu" - gnev utih,
                       Vernulsya svetlyj den' nazad,
                       Zabrav vseh demonov svoih,
                       Noch' s neba provalilas' v ad,
                          "YA nenavizhu, - no, lyubya,
                          Dogovorila: - Ne tebya".

                       Perevod A. Kuznecova

                        Iz ust, lyubov'yu sotvorennyh,
                        Razdalsya shepot: "Ne lyublyu",
                        I ya slabel v stradan'yah tomnyh;
                        No, vidya vsyu pechal' moyu,

                        Voshlo k nej v dushu miloserd'e
                        I prikazalo yazyku
                        Nemedlya proyavit' userd'e,
                        CHtob razognat' moyu tosku.

                        Slova, chto rech' ee venchali,
                        Zabrali "Ne lyublyu" nazad,
                        Kak nezhnyj den' v svoem nachale,
                        CHto noch' s nebes svergaet v ad.

                        "YA ne lyublyu, - skazala snova,
                        Dobaviv: - Nikogo drugogo".

                        Perevod V. Nikolaeva





                Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
                [ ] {*} these rebel pow'rs 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,
                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.

         Bednaya dusha, centr moej greshnoj zemli,
         [ ] myatezhnye sily, kotorye tebya oblachayut;
         pochemu ty chahnesh' vnutri i terpish' lisheniya,
         raskrashivaya vneshnie steny i platya dorogo, chtoby oni stali
                                                          naryadnymi?
         Pochemu takuyu vysokuyu cenu, imeya takoj kratkij srok arendy,
         ty platish' za svoj prihodyashchij v upadok osobnyak?
         CHtoby chervi, nasledniki etih izlishestv,
         doeli tvoi zatraty? V etom konec tvoego tela?
         Togda, dusha, zhivi za schet ubytka svoego slugi,
         i pust' ono chahnet, uvelichivaya tvoe izobilie;
         kupi bozhestvennye sroki, prodavaya chasy suety;
         bud' nasyshchena vnutri, _a_ vneshne bol'she ne bud' bogatoj;
            tak, kormis' za schet Smerti, kotoraya kormitsya lyud'mi,
            a kogda Smert' umret, bol'she ne budut umirat'.

     {*  V  original'nom izdanii Torpa vtoraya stroka nachinalas' s povtoreniya
treh   poslednih  slov  pervoj  stroki:  "My  sinful  earth  these...",  chto
narushaet  razmer  i  ne  poddaetsya osmyslennoj interpretacii vvidu ostal'noj
chasti stroki. Izdateli i kommentatory, schitaya eto oshibkoj nabora, predlagali
samye  raznye  varianty nachala vtoroj stroki, ni odin iz kotoryh ne yavlyaetsya
bolee obosnovannym, chem drugie.}

                     Dusha, yadro moej grehovnoj ploti,
                     Uzhel' poryvy sil tvoih slepy,
                     CHto, golodaya, chahnesh' ty v zabote
                     O dragocennom glyance skorlupy?

                     Stol' kratkij srok za schet takih usilij
                     Zachem ty tratish' na neprochnyj dom,
                     CHtob chervi kak nasledniki vkusili
                     Tvoih sokrovishch, voploshchennyh v nem?

                     ZHivi, dusha moya! Pust' chahnet telo,
                     Utratoyu tebya obogativ
                     I, voplotyas' do vysshego predela,
                     Ostatkom zhizni sdelku oplativ, -

                     Pitayas' smert'yu, kak ona lyud'mi,
                     Iz ruk ee bessmertie primi.

                     Perevod I. Asterman

                     Dusha, o greshnoj ploti serdcevina,
                     Ty vnov' myatezhnym silam potakaesh'.
                     Vnutri tebya i golod, i kruchina,
                     Snaruzhi - yarkoj rospis'yu blistaesh'.

                     Zachem ty tratish' sredstva dorogie
                     Na osobnyak, chto sdan tebe vnaem?
                     CHtob byli vse izlishestva smeshnye
                     Obglodany naslednikom-chervem?

                     Kak telu pereplachivaesh' ty!
                     Pust' tvoj sluga svoi umen'shit traty.
                     Na vechnost' obmenyaj hlam suety;
                     Vnutri bud' sytoj, vneshne - nebogatoj.

                     Ty smert'yu nasladis', ch'ya pishcha - lyudi,
                     I smert' umret, i umershih ne budet.

                     Perevod V. Nikolaeva




                My love is as a fever, longing still
                For that which longer nurseth the disease,
                Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
                Th'uncertain sickly appetite to please.
                My reason, the physician to my love,
                Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
                Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
                Desire is death, which physic did except.
                Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
                And frantic mad with evermore unrest,
                My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
                At random from the truth vainly expressed:
                   For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
                   Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

            Moya lyubov' - kak lihoradka, kotoraya vse vremya zhazhdet
            togo, chto eshche bol'she vskarmlivaet bolezn',
            pitayas' tem, chto sohranyaet nedug,
            chtoby udovletvorit' nepostoyannyj, boleznennyj appetit.
            Moj rassudok - vrach, lechivshij menya ot lyubvi,
            razgnevannyj tem, chto ya ne vypolnyal ego receptov, -
            pokinul menya, i teper' ya v otchayan'e ubezhdayus' _na opyte_,
            chto strast', kotoruyu otvergaet medicina, - eto smert'.
            Mne uzhe ne izlechit'sya teper', kogda rassudok ot menya
                                                           otkazalsya;
            ya v lihoradochnom bezumii ot vechnogo smyateniya,
            moi mysli i rech' - kak u bezumca,
            oni daleki ot istiny i govoryatsya bez tolku.
               Tak, ya klyalsya, chto ty belokura [prekrasna, dobra],
                                              i dumal, chto ty svetla,
               a ty cherna, kak ad, temna, kak noch'.

                      YA bolen vospaleniem lyubvi
                      I sam hvatayus' za malejshij povod
                      Razzhech' eshche sil'nee zhar v krovi,
                      CHtob utolit' bolezni lyutyj golod.

                      Moj razum, moj celitel', vdrug propal,
                      Ponyav tshchetu sovetov i staranij,
                      I ya kak oderzhimyj vnov' pripal
                      K svoej nezakryvayushchejsya rane.

                      Naprasno vse. Vracha uzh ne vernesh',
                      Pomeshannyj gulyaet na svobode,
                      Tverdya sebe zavedomuyu lozh',
                      Protivnuyu rassudku i prirode:

                      CHto ty svetla, kak den', i mne verna,
                      A ty, kak noch', temna, kak ad, cherna.

                      Perevod O. Dudoladovoj

                      Moya lyubov' - tot zatyazhnoj nedug,
                      Kotoryj rad lechenie prodlit'.
                      Otravy prezhnej ishchet on vokrug,
                      ZHelaya smutnyj golod utolit'.

                      Moj razum, vrach moj, nedovolen tem,
                      CHto strazhdushchij protivitsya emu,
                      Menya ostavil, v sushchnosti, ni s chem:
                      Strast' - eto smert', lekarstva ni k chemu.

                      I vot, neizlechim, neispravim,
                      YA mesta ne mogu sebe najti,
                      Pod stat' lishennym razuma bol'nym,
                      Privykshim okolesicu nesti.

                      Ved' klyalsya ya, chto solnce ty toch'-v-toch',
                      A ty cherna, kak ad, temna, kak noch'.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                   Lyubov' - kak lihoradka; zhdet, stradaya,
                   Togo, chto zloj nedug ee prodlit,
                   I ko vsemu, chto bol' oberegaet,
                   Pitaet neponyatnyj appetit.

                   Moj razum, kto lyubvi sluzhil vrachom,
                   Serdyas', chto ya otverg ego lechen'e,
                   Menya ostavil. YA zh, otchayas' v nem,
                   Uznal, chto strast' smertel'na - net spasen'ya.

                   YA bez vracha, rassudku ne vernut'sya,
                   I mne teper' naveki net pokoya.
                   Moi slova i mysli - bred bezumca,
                   I vmesto pravdy ya tverzhu inoe:

                   CHto net tebya prekrasnej i svetlej,
                   Hot' nochi ty i ada ty chernej.

                   Perevod V. Nikolaeva

                     Lyubov' - goryachka, zhar ne utihaet,
                     Naoborot, stanovitsya sil'nej:
                     Ee tuda vlechet, gde polyhaet
                     Ogon' vsepozhirayushchih strastej.
                     Ostavil razum-vrach menya v neschast'e -
                     Razgnevan: ya sovetom prenebreg;
                     Smert' nenasytna, i smertel'ny strasti,
                     YA zhdu, kogda pridet poslednij srok.
                     ZHivu na grani umopomrachen'ya
                     I, obezumev, povtoryayu lozh',
                     Lyuboe bespolezno mne lechen'e, -
                     Uvy, chto s sumasshedshego voz'mesh'.
                        Klyanus', chto ty chista, tvoj svetel vzglyad,
                        A ty mrachna, kak noch', cherna, kak ad.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina

                     Moya lyubov', kak lihoradka zlaya,
                     Vlechet k tomu, chto estestvu pretit, -
                     Nedug pitaet, vnov' i vnov' zhelaya
                     Svoj nezdorovyj teshit' appetit.

                     Rassudok - lekar' moj v lyubovnoj hvori -
                     V dosade, chto receptam ya ne vnyal,
                     Menya pokinul, i teper' ya, v gore,
                     Poznal, chto strasti gibelen final.

                     Lishen rassudka, ya lishen nadezhdy
                     Na iscelen'e ot dushevnyh bed.
                     V toske moi metan'ya bezuteshny,
                     A mysli i slova - bezumnyj bred.

                     Nazval tebya ya svetloj i bezgreshnoj,
                     A ty cherna, kak noch', kak ad kromeshnyj.

                     Perevod A. SHarakshane

                    Moya lyubov' - kak lihoradka; strast'
                    K tomu, chto v zhar vgonyaet, skorbi mnozhit,
                    Ona opyat' speshit napit'sya vslast'
                    Otravy, bez kotoroj zhit' ne mozhet.

                    Vrach-um, upryamstvom strasti razdrazhen,
                    Sovsem o nej ostavil popechen'e,
                    I vot ya v bezyshodnost' pogruzhen:
                    Strast' - eto smert', ot smerti net lechen'ya.

                    Um obo mne ne vedaet zabot,
                    Bezumnyj duh trevogi odoleli,
                    Bez vsyakogo poryadka, vzad-vpered,
                    Bluzhdayut mysl' i rech' vdali ot celi.

                    Da, ty mne svetloj videlas', hot' ty -
                    CHernej, chem ad, mrachnee temnoty.

                    Perevod D. SHCHedrovickogo




               O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
               Which have no correspondence with true sight?
               Or, if they have, where is my judgement fled,
               That censures falsely what they see aright?
               If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
               What means the world to say it is not so?
               If it be not, then love doth well denote
               Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,
               How can it? O how can love's eye be true,
               That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
               No marvel then, though I mistake my view:
               The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
                  O cunning love, with tears thou keep'st me blind,
                  Lest eyes, well seeing, thy foul faults should find.

             Uvy mne! CHto za glaza lyubov' vlozhila v moyu golovu,
             kotorye ne imeyut nichego obshchego s vernym zreniem?
             Ili, esli imeyut, kuda uletuchilsya moj zdravyj smysl,
             kotoryj lozhno sudit o tom, chto oni vidyat verno?
             Esli prekrasno to, chto moi glaza obozhayut,
             to chto imeet v vidu mir, govorya, chto eto ne tak?
             Esli net, to lyubov' yasno pokazyvaet,
             chto glaza lyubvi ne tak verny, kak glaza vseh lyudej; net,
             kak eto vozmozhno? O, kak mogut byt' vernymi glaza lyubvi,
             kotorye tak izmucheny bdeniem i slezami?
             Neudivitel'no poetomu, chto ya vizhu prevratno:
             samo solnce ne vidit, poka ne proyasnitsya nebo.
                O hitroumnaya lyubov'! Slezami ty menya osleplyaesh',
                chtoby glaza, vidya yasno, ne obnaruzhili tvoi
                                           otvratitel'nye iz®yany.


                     Uvy, Lyubov' glaza poslala mne,
                     Kotorye nepravdu govoryat,
                     A mozhet byt', i ne po ih vine
                     Um iskazhaet to, chto vidit vzglyad.

                     Vot krasotoj glaza voshishcheny,
                     Tak pochemu zhe sporit s nimi svet?
                     A esli ih suzhden'ya neverny,
                     Obman Lyubvi strashnej lyubogo "net".

                     Kak ya mogu doverit'sya glazam,
                     V nih gorestnye slezy nahodya?
                     Nemudreno, chto oshibayus' sam,
                     Ved' dazhe solnce slepnet ot dozhdya.

                     Kovarnaya Lyubov'! Ty slezy l'esh',
                     CHtob chistoj pravdoj pokazalas' lozh'.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Zachem ty porchu navela, skazhi?
                     CHtob iskazhennym mir yavlyalsya glazu?
                     A esli glaz ne vinovat vo lzhi,
                     To povredila ty togda moj razum.
                     Kogda prekrasno to, chto vidit vzor,
                     To otchego mir ne soglasen s etim?
                     A glaz fal'shivit - yasen prigovor:
                     Za porchu glaza ty, Lyubov', v otvete!
                     Sleza bezhit. Trevogoj ya ob®yat,
                     I bol' menya ot etogo pronzaet, -
                     Tak solncu tuchi zastilayut vzglyad,
                     Kogda oni na nebo vypolzayut!
                        Kovarnaya Lyubov'! - slepish' slezoj,
                        CHtob gryaznye dela tvorit' samoj!

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




                 Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not,
                 When I against myself with thee partake?
                 Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
                 Am of 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 lov'st, and I am blind.

          Mozhesh' li ty, o zhestokaya, skazat', chto ya tebya ne lyublyu,
          kogda ya protiv sebya derzhu tvoyu storonu?
          Razve ya ne dumayu o tebe, kogda zabyvayu
          o sebe, _stanovyas'_ polnym tiranom _po otnosheniyu_ k _sebe_ radi
                                                                     tebya?
          Kogo iz teh, kto nenavidit tebya, ya nazyvayu svoim drugom?
          K komu iz teh, kogo ty ne odobryaesh', ya podlizyvayus'?
          Malo togo, esli ty smotrish' na menya hmuro, razve ya ne
          nakazyvayu sebya nemedlenno stradaniem?
          Kakoe dostoinstvo ya v sebe pochitayu,
          chtoby, vozgordivshis', prezret' sluzhbu tebe,
          kogda vse luchshee vo mne preklonyaetsya pered tvoimi
                                                    nedostatkami,
          poslushno dvizheniyu tvoih glaz?
             Odnako, lyubov' _moya_, pitaj i dal'she ko mne otvrashchenie,
                                    tak kak teper' ya znayu tvoj harakter:
             ty lyubish' teh, kto vidit tebya, a ya slep.

                     ZHestokaya! Uzh ya li ne lyublyu,
                     S samim soboj v muchitel'noj bor'be!
                     I ne k tebe li snova mysli shlyu,
                     Pokorno zabyvaya o sebe?

                     Tvoih vragov ya ne prognal li proch'?
                     Komu ya l'shchu iz nedrugov tvoih?
                     I esli ty nahmurish'sya, kak noch',
                     Ne prosit li poshchady etot stih?

                     Kakuyu doblest' i kakoj uspeh
                     V sebe samom tak sil'no ya lyublyu,
                     CHto obozhayu ya lyuboj tvoj greh
                     I tol'ko glaz dvizhenie lovlyu?

                     Tak rasserdis': ya ponyal nakonec,
                     CHto zryachih lyubish' ty, a ya slepec.

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                      Ne govori, chto ne lyublyu tebya.
                      Il' ne vdvoem voyuem my so mnoyu?
                      Il' vovse i ne ya, zabyv sebya,
                      Tebe, tiranu, otdayus' dushoyu?

                      Il' sred' moih druzej tvoj nedrug est'?
                      Il' ya hvalyu togo, kogo rugaesh'?
                      Il' na sebya ne obrashchayu mest',
                      Kogda vo gneve na menya byvaesh'?

                      Il' ne yavlyayus' ya na tvoj porog,
                      Sochtya tebe sluzhenie pozorom,
                      Kogda ya slavlyu samyj tvoj porok
                      I pomykaesh' mnoyu vlastnym vzorom?

                      Kak vidno, tol'ko zryachih lyubish' ty,
                      A ya, uvy, vo mrake slepoty.

                      Perevod S. Stepanova





              O, from what pow'r hast thou this pow'rful 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 warrantise 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.

            O, ot kakoj _vysshej_ sily ty poluchila eto mogushchestvo -
            s pomoshch'yu nedostatkov vlastvovat' nad moim serdcem,
            zastavlyat' menya oprovergat' moe vernoe zrenie
            i klyast'sya, chto belyj svet ne ukrashaet den'?
            Otkuda u tebya eta _sposobnost' delat'_ privlekatel'nym durnoe,
            tak chto i v naihudshih tvoih postupkah
            est' takaya sila i uverennoe iskusstvo,
            chto, v moih glazah, hudshee v tebe prevoshodit vse luchshee
                                                              _v drugih_?
            Kto nauchil tebya, kak zastavit' menya lyubit' tebya tem bol'she,
            chem bol'she ya slyshu i vizhu to, chto, po spravedlivosti,
                                                     dolzhen nenavidet'?
            O, hotya ya lyublyu to, chto prezirayut drugie,
            ty ne dolzhna, vmeste s drugimi, prezirat' moe sostoyanie.
               Esli ty, nedostojnaya, probudila vo mne lyubov',
               to tem bolee ya dostoin byt' lyubimym toboj.

                   Ot vlasti ch'ej svoyu beresh' ty vlast',
                   Nichtozhnuyu prichinu stol'kih bed?
                   Moim glazam velish' v obman ty vpast'
                   I klyast'sya v tom, chto dnyu ne nuzhen svet.


                   Kak na menya nashla takaya t'ma,
                   CHto samyj skvernyj iz tvoih shagov
                   I zluyu izvorotlivost' uma
                   YA vyshe dobryh slov cenit' gotov?

                   I pochemu vse bol'she ya lyublyu,
                   Tvoyu nespravedlivost' ne klyanya?
                   Lyubye tolki pro tebya sterplyu,
                   Sterpi zhe molcha tolki pro menya.

                   I esli zlo v tebe ya smog zabyt',
                   To tem sil'nee ty dolzhna lyubit'.

                   Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                       O, gde istok tvoih moguchih sil
                       I vlasti moshchnoj nad moej dushoj?
                       Klyanus' - mne den' blistayushchij ne mil,
                       Glazam moim net very nikakoj.
                       Kak stala ty sredotochen'em zla
                       Sredi tvoih porokov, gryaznyh del?
                       Gde stol'ko temnoj sily nabrala,
                       Prevysiv i nemyslimyj predel?
                       Kak ty menya v lyubovnom zhzhesh' ogne!
                       Prichin dlya nenavisti - cherez kraj,
                       Inym ty nenavistna, no ne mne,
                       I ty menya s drugimi ne ravnyaj.
                          Lyubvi ty nedostojna, no, lyubya,
                          Eshche dostojnej stanu dlya tebya.

                       Perevod A. Kuznecova




               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 farther reason;
               But rising at thy name doth point out thee
               As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,

               He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
               To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
                  No want of conscience hold it that I call
                  Her 'love' for whose dear love I rise and fall.

           Lyubov' slishkom moloda, chtoby znat', chto takoe sovest',
           i vse zhe kto ne znaet, chto sovest' {*} rozhdaetsya iz lyubvi?
           Poetomu, milaya obmanshchica, ne nastaivaj na moem
                                                    zabluzhdenii {**},
           chtoby ty, prelestnaya, sama ne okazalos' vinovata v moih
                                                      pregresheniyah,
           poskol'ku, kogda ty predaesh' menya, ya predayu
           blagorodnuyu chast' sebya izmene svoego grubogo tela:
           moya dusha govorit moemu telu, chto ono mozhet
           torzhestvovat' v lyubvi; _komok_ ploti ne zhdet dal'nejshih
                                                           rezonov,
           no, podnimayas' pri tvoem imeni, ukazyvaet na tebya
           kak na svoj pobednyj trofej. Gordyj etim vozvysheniem,
           on soglasen byt' tvoim zhalkim slugoj -
           stoyat' za tebya v tvoih delah, padat' vozle tebya.
              Ne schitaj nedostatkom sovesti to, chto ya nazyvayu
              "lyubov'yu" tu, radi ch'ej dragocennoj lyubvi ya vstayu
                                                          i padayu.

     {*  V  originale  -  igra na slove "conscience", kotoroe mozhet oznachat'
"sovest'", "ugryzeniya sovesti" ili "znanie".
     **  V  originale  -  "urge  not  my  amiss",  chto  mozhno ponyat' kak "ne
nastaivaj, chto ya zabluzhdayus'" ili kak "ne podtalkivaj menya k zabluzhdeniyu".}

                      Ne dorosla do sovesti lyubov',
                      Hot' sovest' eyu rozhdena na svet.
                      No ty uprekov gor'kih ne gotov':
                      Ved' za menya tebe derzhat' otvet.

                      Toboyu predan, sam ya predayu
                      Moj svetlyj duh Moej zhe gruboj ploti.
                      I plot' v nadezhde na lyubov' tvoyu
                      Ne dumaet ni o kakom raschete.

                      Pri imeni tvoem vosstav ot sna
                      I gordym zamyslom vooruzhas',
                      Podenshchicej soglasna byt' ona,
                      Na pervyj zov vstavaya i lozhas'.

                      Pust' dazhe v sovesti moej proval,
                      YA dlya tebya i padal, i vstaval.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Lyubov' yuna. Ne do razdumij ej,
                     Hot' razum ot nee beret nachalo;
                     Vinit' menya v porochnosti ne smej -
                     Tvoej viny, obmanshchica, nemalo.
                     Ty predaesh' menya, ya predayu
                     Svoj Duh - on telu grubomu sdaetsya,
                     Ono pobedu prazdnuet svoyu -
                     Skazhi, chto telu delat' ostaetsya?
                     Likuet plot' pri imeni tvoem:
                     Vosstav i vidya cel' pered soboyu,
                     Ej otdaetsya vsya i celikom,
                     CHtob, vzyav pobednyj priz, upast' raboyu.
                        YA ne kaznyus' za vechnuyu napast':
                        Lyubya, gotov ya to vosstat', to past'.

                     Perevod I. Fradkina




               In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
               But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing:
               In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn
               In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
               But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
               When I break twenty? I am perjured most,
               For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee,
               And all my honest faith in thee is lost,
               For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
               Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
               And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness,
               Or made them swear against the thing they see:
                  For I have sworn thee fair, more perjured eye,
                  To swear against the truth so foul a lie.

          V lyubvi k tebe, kak ty znaesh', ya otstupnik,
          no ty dvazhdy otstupnica, kogda klyanesh'sya v lyubvi ko mne:
          dejstviem narushen supruzheskij obet, i novaya vernost'
                                                          razorvana
          zarokom novoj nenavisti s teh por, kak ty pitaesh' novuyu
                                                             lyubov'.
          No pochemu ya obvinyayu tebya v narushenii dvuh klyatv,
          kogda ya narushil dvadcat'? YA samyj bol'shoj
                                          klyatvoprestupnik,
          tak kak vse moi obety - eto klyatvy, v kotoryh ya pripisyval
                                                tebe to, chego net {*},
          i vsya moya iskrennyaya vera v tebya utrachena,
          tak kak ya goryacho klyalsya v tvoej dushevnoj dobrote,
          klyalsya v tvoej lyubvi, tvoej vernosti, tvoem postoyanstve
          i, chtoby predstavit' tebya svetloj, predaval glaza slepote
          ili zastavlyal ih klyatvenno oprovergat' to, chto oni vidyat, -
             ya klyalsya, chto ty svetla [prekrasna], i tem huzhe
                                      lzhesvidetel'stvovali glaza,
             kogda oni klyatvenno svidetel'stvovali protiv istiny,
                                      _podtverzhdaya_ etu uzhasnuyu lozh'.

     {* Spornoe mesto, dopuskayushchee razlichnye tolkovaniya.}

                     Pust' ya i vpravdu klyatve izmenil,
                     V tebe izmenu vizhu ya dvojnuyu.
                     Obmanut muzh, teper' i ya ne mil,
                     I tshchetno ya k minuvshemu revnuyu.

                     No esli dvazhdy klyatvy ty lomala,
                     YA dvadcat' raz lomal ih bez styda
                     I, novym klyatvam doveryaya malo,
                     V tebya utratil veru navsegda.

                     I v samom dele, klyalsya ya, byvalo,
                     V tvoej glubokoj yasnoj dobrote,
                     I, chtoby ty eshche sil'nej siyala,
                     Glaza vveryal ya lzhivoj slepote.

                     Ved' klyalsya ya, chto ty dushoj svetla,
                     A eto uzh takaya lozh' byla!

                     Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     V tebya vlyublennyj, izmenyal tebe ya,
                     No ty - klyatvoprestupnica vdvojne:
                     Drugogo ty lyubila, mnoj, vladeya,
                     I priznavalas' v nenavisti mne.
                     No ya ne ot predatel'stva dvojnogo
                     Tebe raz dvadcat' byl neveren sam;
                     Otrech'sya ot tebya daval ya slovo -
                     I sam ne veril sobstvennym slovam.
                     YA svyato veril v to, chto ty svyataya,
                     CHto lyubish' i verna, no, kak vo t'mu,
                     Glyadel ya na tebya, ne doveryaya
                     Pronzitel'nomu vzoru svoemu.
                        YA klyalsya: ty chista... No ne najdesh'
                        Gryaznee nichego, chem eta lozh'!

                     Perevod YU. Lifshica




                Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
                A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
                And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
                In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
                Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love
                A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
                And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
                Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
                But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new fired,
                The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
                I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
                And thither hied, a sad distempered guest;
                But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
                Where Cupid got new fire - my mistress' eyes.

            Kupidon otlozhil svoj fakel i usnul.
            Odna iz dev Diany vospol'zovalas' etim
            i bystro pogruzila ego zazhigayushchij lyubov' ogon'
            v holodnyj istochnik v doline poblizosti,
            kotoryj pozaimstvoval ot etogo svyashchennogo ognya Lyubvi
            vechnyj zhivotvoryashchij zhar, sohranivshijsya navsegda,
            i prevratilsya v kipyashchee kupanie, kotoroe - kak lyudi do
                                                    sih por ubezhdayutsya -
            prevoshodno lechit ot neobychnyh boleznej.
            No ot vzglyada moej vozlyublennoj fakel Lyubvi snova zazhegsya;
            mal'chik {*} dlya proby reshil kosnut'sya moej grudi;
            ya, zabolev ot etogo, zahotel _poluchit'_ pomoshch' ot kupaniya
            i pospeshil tuda - pechal'nyj toskuyushchij posetitel', -
               no ne nashel lecheniya: kupanie, kotoroe mne mozhet
                                                  pomoch', nahoditsya;
               tam, gde Kupidon poluchil novyj ogon', - v glazah moej
                                                            vozlyublennoj.

     {* Kupidon.}

                      Usnul, zabyv pro fakel, Kupidon.
                      Podkralas' nimfa yunaya, i vmig
                      Ogon', kotorym bog vooruzhen,
                      SHvyrnula pryamo v ledyanoj rodnik.

                      Svyatoj ogon' Lyubvi byl tak goryach,
                      CHto zakipel rodnik, kak by v ispuge,
                      I s toj pory lechil, kak luchshij vrach,
                      Lyubye neponyatnye nedugi.

                      No Kupidon ot glaz moej lyubimoj
                      Ogon' zazheg i opalil mne grud',
                      I k rodniku, nedugom zlym tomimyj,
                      Ugryumyj gost', otpravilsya ya v put'.

                      Uvy, lish' tot rodnik spaset menya,
                      Otkuda Kupidon dostal ognya.

                      Perevod Ign. Ivanovskogo

                     Srazhennyj snom, svalilsya Kupidon,
                     Diany nimfa fakel smolyanoj
                     Shvatila derzko, byl opushchen on
                     V zhurchashchij klyuch s vodoyu ledyanoj.
                     Voda nagrelas' ot ognya lyubvi,
                     Ved' etot zhar i vechen, i moguch,
                     I chtob bolezni vylechit' svoi,
                     Kupat'sya hodyat lyudi v etot klyuch.
                     Ognem lyubvi v lyubimyh mnoj glazah
                     Dlya proby bog podzheg mne serdce vnov',
                     I ya brozhu v pechali i slezah,
                     Nichem ne v silah iscelit' lyubov';
                        Lekarstva net, no iscelit totchas
                        Ogon' lyubvi vnutri lyubimyh glaz.

                     Perevod A. Kuznecova




                The little Love-god lying once asleep
                Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
                Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep
                Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
                The fairest votary took up that fire
                Which many legions of true hearts had warmed,
                And so the general of hot desire
                Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed.
                This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
                Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
                Growing a bath and healthful remedy
                For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
                   Came there for cure, and this by that I prove:
                   Love's fire heats water, water cools not love:

           Malen'kij bog Lyubvi odnazhdy spal,
           polozhiv vozle sebya svoj zazhigayushchij serdca fakel,
           kogda neskol'ko nimf, davshih obet vesti neporochnuyu zhizn',
           probegali vpripryzhku mimo; no svoej devstvennoj rukoj
           prekrasnejshaya iz zhric podnyala ogon',
           kotoryj _do togo_ sogrel mnogie legiony vernyh serdec, -
           tak general goryachej strasti
           byl, spyashchij, devstvennoj rukoj razoruzhen.
           |tot fakel ona pogasila v holodnom istochnike poblizosti,
           kotoryj ot ognya Lyubvi poluchil vechnyj zhar,
           stav kupaniem i celitel'nym sredstvom
           dlya bol'nyh; no ya, rab svoej vozlyublennoj,
              pridya tuda dlya lecheniya, vot chto obnaruzhil:
              ogon' lyubvi nagrevaet vodu, no voda ne ohlazhdaet lyubvi.

                     Spal mal'chik - bog lyubvi, a fakel svoj
                     On otlozhil, na solnce razomlev...
                     Vdrug nimfy neporochnye tolpoj
                     K nemu podkralis', i odna iz dev

                     Vzyala tot fakel, chto ne raz vkonec
                     Serdca gubil i unosil pokoj.
                     Vot tak byl spyashchij vlastelin serdec
                     Obezoruzhen devstvennoj rukoj.

                     V ruchej ona shvyrnula fakel; tut
                     Rodnik vskipel. Voda ego - bal'zam
                     Teper' dlya teh, chto iscelen'ya zhdut.
                     YA v nem lyubov' lechil i ponyal tam:

                     Voda vskipaet ot lyubvi svyatoj,
                     Lyubov' nikak ne ohladit' vodoj!

                     Perevod A. Vasil'chikova

                     Otbrosiv fakel svoj, istochnik bed,
                     Bozhok lyubvi usnul, a v tu dubravu
                     Primchalis' nimfy, davshie obet
                     Blyusti nevinnost' - nebesam vo slavu.
                     Pytayas' polozhit' lyubvi konec,
                     K vlastitelyu ee podkravshis' smelo,
                     Odna iz nimf ogon', grozu serdec,
                     V rodnik studenyj okunut' sumela.
                     Celebnoj stala teplaya voda
                     I ot nedugov mnogih iscelyaet,
                     No ot lyubvi ne lechit nikogda.
                     U miloj v rabstve ya - zhar ne stihaet:
                        Ognem lyubvi rodnik razgoryachen,
                        No ohladit' lyubov' bessilen on!

                     Perevod I. Fradkina

                          Svedeniya o perevodchikah

     Svedeniya o perevodchikah privodyatsya, kak pravilo, v tom  vide,  kak  oni
predostavleny samimi avtorami.

     Asterman  Inna  {Svedeniya   o   perevodchike   otsutstvuyut.}.   Perevody
pechatayutsya po publikacii v zhurnale "Zvezda" (1989. | 4).

     Vasil'ev  Vladimir  Efimovich  (r.  1929).   V   izdatel'stvah   rodnogo
Leningrada-Peterburga i drugih gorodov publikoval  stihotvornye  perevody  s
francuzskogo (Ade  Myusse,  P.Verlen,  ZH.-M.  de  |redia,  G.  Apolliner,  |.
Verharn), ispanskogo (San-Huan de la Krus, A.  Machado,  latinoamerikancy  R.
Dario, R. Hajmes Frejre), anglijskogo (Dzh. Bajron, R. Kipling, G. Longfello,
|. Po) i nemeckogo (I.V.Gete,  G.Gejne,  V.Borhert)  yazykov.  Krome  liriki,
perevel satiricheskuyu p'esu "Advokat P'er Patlen" (Srednevekovye  francuzskie
farsy. M., 1981). Opublikoval chetyrehtomnuyu antologiyu "Vsemirnaya  epigramma"
(SPb.,  1998),  v  kotoroj  vpervye  v  mirovoj  praktike   sobral   voedino
proizvedeniya epigrammatistov vseh vremen i narodov.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikuyutsya vpervye.

     Vasil'chikov Aleksej Georgievich (r. 1938). Posle okonchaniya MGPIYA im.  M.
Toreza rabotal v APN redaktorom, zatem  perevodchikom  s  russkogo  yazyka  na
anglijskij. Publikoval perevody poezii  -  U.  SHekspira,  U.  Tekkereya,  Dzh.
Mil'tona, G. Longfello, A. Milna i dr.; prozy - A. Kristi, U. Tekkereya i dr.
Perevodil na anglijskij yazyk stihi A K. Tolstogo, pesni dlya p'esy  A.  Haita
"Poezd za schast'em". Mnogo rabotal dlya  kino,  perevodya  kak  na  russkij  s
raznyh yazykov, tak i na anglijskij yazyk scenarii i teksty  pesen.  Avtorskie
stihi  publikovalis'  v  ryade  periodicheskih  izdanij.  Za  poemu   "Istoriya
gosudarstva rossijskogo" (prodolzhenie poemy A. K. Tolstogo) poluchil  v  1992
godu premiyu "Zolotoj telenok".
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira, krome soneta  154,  pechatayutsya  po  izdaniyu:
"Uil'yam SHekspir. Bibliograficheskij ukazatel' russkih perevodov i kriticheskoj
literatury na russkom yazyke, 1976-1987". M.: VGBIL, 1989. Perevod soneta 154
publikuetsya vpervye.

     Vinonen Robert Ivanovich. Rodilsya v 1939 godu v  Leningradskoj  oblasti.
Uchilsya  v  Petrozavodske,  Leningrade,  Moskve.  Izdal  desyat'   poeticheskih
sbornikov, knigu literaturovedcheskih statej. Publikoval perevody s finskogo,
s yazykov narodov SSSR. Uchastvoval v perevode svoda  karelo-finskoj  narodnoj
liriki "Kanteletar".
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikovalis' v periodike i v ryade sbornikov.
     Perevod soneta 12 publikuetsya po izdaniyu: Vinonen R. Zvuchashchij sled. M.:
Krug®, 2004.

     Gavrilova Larisa Evgen'evna. Rodilas' v Omske. Okonchila  filologicheskij
fakul'tet Voronezhskogo gosudarstvennogo universiteta. Opublikovala  perevody
stihov Dzh. G. Bajrona, R. Brauninga, T. Kempiona, D. G. Lourensa,  T.  Mura,
F. Sidni, |. Spensera, P. B. SHelli i mnogih drugih anglijskih i amerikanskih
poetov. Perevod soneta 59 pechataetsya  po  izdaniyu:  V  edinom  zhizni  kruge.
Voronezh: AONPK (O) "|nergiya", 1993; perevod soneta 116 - po izdaniyu: U Amura
hvatit strel. Voronezh: Ostrov, 1995.

     Dudoladova  Ol'ga  Anatol'evna.   Okonchila   filologicheskij   fakul'tet
Moskovskogo gosudarstvennogo  universiteta.  Perevodila  prozu  i  stihi  O.
Genri, A. Konan Dojla, Dzh. Irvinga i drugih pisatelej.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira, krome soneta 88, pechatayutsya po publikacii  v
zhurnale "Stolpotvorenie" (1999. | 1), s uchetom pozdnejshej avtorskoj  pravki.
Perevod soneta 88 publikuetsya vpervye.

     Epifanova  Svetlana  Stanislavovna.   Rodilas'   i   zhivet   v   gorode
Severodvinske Arhangel'skoj oblasti, rabotaet vebmasterom. Perevodila  stihi
U. Uitmena, R. Kiplinga, U. Odena.
     Perevod soneta 47 publikuetsya vpervye.

     Ivanovskij  Ignatij  Mihajlovich  (r.  1932).  Perevodchik  anglijskoj  i
shvedskoj poezii.  CHlen  Soyuza  pisatelej  Sankt-Peterburga,  laureat  premii
SHvedskoj akademii. Perevody sonetov SHekspira pechatayutsya po izdaniyu:  SHekspir
V. Sonety. SPb.: TESSA, 2001.

     Kazakova  Anna   Borisovna.   Studentka   Mezhdunarodnogo   universiteta
(Moskva). Perevodila Dzh. Donna, Dzh. Gerberta, Dzh.  Bajrona,  Dzh.  Kitsa,  G.
Longfello, I. V. Gete, G. Gejne, R. M. Ril'ke, A. Machado i drugih poetov.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikuyutsya vpervye.

     Kruzhkov Grigorij Mihajlovich (r. 1945). Poet, perevodchik, literaturoved.
Okonchil fizicheskij fakul'tet Tomskogo universiteta i aspiranturu  po  fizike
vysokih energij. S 1971 goda publikoval svoi  stihi  i  perevody  zarubezhnoj
poezii, glavnym obrazom s anglijskogo - ot Vozrozhdeniya do sovremennosti. Iz-
dal "Izbrannoe" Dzhona Donna  (1995),  knigu-al'bom  "Lekarstvo  ot  Fortuny.
Poety pri dvore Genriha VIII, Elizavety Anglijskoj i korolya Iakova"  (2002),
antologiyu anglijskoj poezii  "Anglasahab"  (2002).  Perevel  poemu  SHekspira
"Venera  i  Adonis".  Pisal  i  perevodil  stihi  dlya  detej.  Vypustil  tom
issledovanij po istorii russkoj poezii Serebryanogo veka i  russko-anglijskih
literaturnyh  svyazej  "Nostal'giya  obeliskov"  (2000).  Zashchitil   doktorskuyu
dissertaciyu  po  literature  v  Kolumbijskom  universitete   (N'yu-Jork).   V
nastoyashchee vremya prepodaet v RGTU (Moskva).
     Perevody  sonetov  SHekspira  pechatayutsya  po  izdaniyu:  Uil'yam  SHekspir.
Bibliograficheskij ukazatel' russkih perevodov i  kriticheskoj  literatury  na
russkom yazyke, 1976-1987. M.: VGBIL, 1989.

     Kuznecov Andrej Ivanovich (r. 1955). Okonchil  Irkutskij  politehnicheskij
institut. Rabotaet zamestitelem glavnogo inzhenera mashinostroitel'nogo zavoda
v g. Arsen'ev Primorskogo kraya. Perevel vse sonety  SHekspira,  v  1998  godu
pobedil v konkurse  ezhenedel'nika  "Knizhnoe  obozrenie"  na  luchshij  perevod
soneta 130. Takzhe perevodil R.Bernsa,  |.Po,  R.Kiplinga,  R.L.Stivensona  i
drugih poetov.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira (krome soneta 130) publikuyutsya vpervye.

     Kuz'min Dmitrij Vladimirovich  (r.  1968).  Poet,  literaturnyj  kritik,
perevodchik, organizator literaturnoj zhizni. Osnovatel' i rukovoditel'  Soyuza
molodyh literatorov "Vavilon", izdatel'stva "ARGO-RISK", literaturnogo kluba
"Avtornik" i dr. Laureat premii Andreya Belogo (2002) v nominacii "Za zaslugi
pered  literaturoj".  Osnovnye  perevody:  s  francuzskogo  (Sent-|kzyuperi),
anglijskogo (poeziya XX veka, v tom chisle U. Stivens, |.  |.  Kammings,  U.H.
Oden, CH.Reznikoff, CH.Simik, angloyazychnye hajku, molodye poety), ukrainskogo,
belorusskogo i dr.
     Perevod soneta 116 vypolnen v 1987 godu  pod  vozdejstviem  razbora  iz
knigi E. G. |tkinda  "Poeziya  i  perevod";  pechataetsya  po  izdaniyu:  Uil'yam
SHekspir.  Bibliograficheskij  ukazatel'  russkih  perevodov   i   kriticheskoj
literatury na russkom yazyke, 1976-1987. M.: VGBIL, 1989.

     Kushner Boris Abramovich (r. 1941). Izvestnyj matematik, poet,  publicist
i perevodchik. Avtor matematicheskoj monografii  (1973;  angl.  per.  1984)  i
drugih matematicheskih  rabot,  pyati  knig  stihov,  mnogochislennyh  esse  na
aktual'nye i muzykal'no-kriticheskie temy. Publikacii v SSHA, Rossii, Izraile,
Germanii, Belorussii. V nastoyashchee vremya zhivet v SSHA, professor matematiki  v
Universitete Pittsburga.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikovalis'  v  izdaniyah:  Uil'yam  SHekspir.
Bibliograficheskij ukazatel' russkih perevodov i  kriticheskoj  literatury  na
russkom yazyke, 1976-1987. M.: VGBIL,  1989;  Vestnik.  |7  (161)  (Baltimor,
1997); SHekspir U. Sonety. SPb., 1998.
     V nastoyashchem sbornike perevody  pechatayutsya  po  ukazannoj  publikacii  v
zhurnale "Vestnik".

     Lifshic  YUrij  Iosifovich.  Rodilsya  v  1957  godu  v  gorode  Novotroick
Orenburgskoj oblasti. Hudozhestvennym perevodom zanimaetsya s 1985 goda.  CHlen
Soyuza rossijskih pisatelej. Perevel shest' p'es SHekspira: "Gamlet", "Makbet",
"Korol' Lir", "Romeo i Dzhul'etta", "Kak vam  eto  ponravitsya",  "Dvenadcataya
noch'"; "Gamlet" v  ego  perevode  byl  postavlen  CHelyabinskim  TYUZom.  Takzhe
perevodil proizvedeniya L. Kerolla i A. Milna; sdelal  perelozhenie  "Slova  o
polku Igoreve".

     Nikolaev  Vadim  Danilovich  (r.   1967).   Zanimaetsya   hudozhestvennym,
oficial'no-delovym   i   nauchnym   perevodom,   redakturoj,   publikoval   v
periodicheskoj pechati sobstvennye stihi, a takzhe stat'i na  biograficheskie  i
literaturovedcheskie temy.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikuyutsya vpervye.

     Orel Vladimir |mmanuilovich (r. 1952). Doktor  filologii,  specialist  v
oblasti sravnitel'no-istoricheskogo yazykoznaniya i etimologii, avtor pyati knig
i dvuhsot statej. Perevodil na russkij  yazyk  L.  Kerrola,  P.  Ronsara,  ZH.
Prevera,  F.  Vijona  i  drugih  anglijskih  i  francuzskih  poetov.   Avtor
poeticheskoj knigi na ivrite ("Bestiarii iz strany SHealim". Tel'-Aviv, 1993).
S  1990  goda  prepodaval  v   Evrejskom,   Tel'-Avivskom   i   Bar-Ilanskom
universitetah v Izraile, rabotal v Oksforde, zatem, s 1998  goda,  v  vysshih
uchebnyh zavedeniyah i issledovatel'skih centrah SSHA i Kanady.
     Perevody  sonetov  SHekspira,  za  isklyucheniem   perevoda   soneta   66,
pechatayutsya po izdaniyu: Kniga pesen. Iz evropejskoj  liriki  XIII-XVI  vekov.
M., 1986; perevod soneta 66 pechataetsya po  publikacii  v  zhurnale  "Sel'skaya
molodezh'" (1982. |. 7).

     Rozov Vadim Konstantinovich (r. 1934). Poet, esseist, zhurnalist.  Knigi:
pervyj (itogovyj) poeticheskij sbornik "Okoldovannaya zemlya" (1992); "O Lyubvi.
Stihi i nemnogo prozy" (1995);  "Stupeni  voshozhdeniya.  Stihi  pravoslavnogo
palomnika" s prilozheniem avtorskih zametok o pervyh russkih palomnikah i is-
tokah russkoj duhovnoj poezii (1997); "Sonety Potryasayushchego Kop'em",  perevod
vseh 154 sonetov Uil'yama SHekspira s prilozheniem stat'i  perevodchika  "Stoilo
li lomat' kop'ya?" (1998);  "Novaya  staraya  zhizn'.  Stihi  s  tolikoj  prozy"
(1999); "V poiskah ekzotiki", hudozhestvennaya publicistika (2002).
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira pechatayutsya po  izdaniyu:  Sonety  Potryasayushchego
Kop'em. M.: IA "Norma", 1998 (s uchetom pozdnejshej pravki).

     Savin Valerij Aleksandrovich.  Rodilsya  v  1941  godu  v  sele  SHul'gine
Tambovskoj oblasti. Okonchil MGPIYA  im.  M.Toreza,  rabotal  perevodchikom  vo
VNII|TO. Podborku sobstvennyh stihotvorenij vpervye opublikoval v 1982  godu
v al'manahe "Den' poezii". Perevodil stihi Lope de Vega, K Marlo, Dzh. Donna,
I.V.Gete,  U.Blejka,  U.  Vordsvorta,  P.B.SHelli,  Dzh.Kitsa,  |.   Brauning,
A.Tennisona,  R.Frosta  i  dr.  V  nastoyashchee  vremya  v   sankt-peterburgskom
izdatel'stve "Azbuka-klassika" gotovitsya k publikacii kniga D. G.  Rossetti,
kuda voshli i perevody V. A. Savina.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikuyutsya vpervye.

     Skvorcov Vladislav Dmitrievich  (r.  1974).  Poet  i  kompozitor,  avtor
pesen. Perevodil pesni izvestnyh anglijskih grupp, takih  kak  The  Beatles,
Pink Floyd, Deep Purple i Queen.
     Perevod soneta 90 yavlyaetsya dlya  avtora  pervym  opytom  hudozhestvennogo
perevoda poezii i publikuetsya vpervye.

     Stepanov  Sergej  Anatol'evich   (r.   1952).   CHlen   Soyuza   pisatelej
Sankt-Peterburga, perevodchik. Osnovnye raboty: perevody stihov U. Blejka, T.
S. |liota, Dzh. Donna, |. Dikinson, R.  Kiplinga,  U.  SHekspira,  Dzh.  R.  R.
Tolkiena, |. Po i dr.
     Perevody  sonetov  SHekspira  publikuyutsya  po   izdaniyu:   Stepanov   S.
SHekspirovy sonety, ili Igra v Igre. SPb.: Amfora, 2003.

     Tarzaeva  Vera  Borisovna.  Perevodchik  s  anglijskogo,   francuzskogo,
nemeckogo  yazykov.  Okonchila  filologicheskij  fakul'tet  MGU  v  1968  godu.
Zanimalas' perevodcheskoj i redaktorskoj deyatel'nost'yu, v  techenie  ryada  let
rabotala redaktorom v organizaciyah OON v ZHeneve. Opublikovala polnyj perevod
sonetov SHekspira (M: Interdialekt+, 1997). Sredi neopublikovannogo - "Sonety
s portugal'skogo" |.Barret-Brauning, "Duinskie elegii" R.M.Ril'ke,  perevody
iz |.Dikinson, U.B.Jejtsa, R.Frosta, |.Uajli,  |.  Sent-Vinsent  Millej,  T.
Retke i dr.

     Fradkin  Igor'  Zalmanovich  (r.  1929).  Poet  i  perevodchik.   Perezhil
leningradskuyu blokadu. Posle okonchaniya rechnogo  uchilishcha  rabotal  topografom
ekspedicii v  Karelii,  na  Belomorsko-Baltijskom  kanale,  zatem  uchilsya  v
Politehnicheskom institute, stal inzhenerom-gidrotehnikom. Uchastvoval v rabote
litob®edineniya "Narvskaya  zastava".  Iz  anglijskoj  i  amerikanskoj  poezii
perevodil stihi Dzh. Donna, R. Bernsa, T. Mura, Dzh. Bajrona, P. B. SHelli, Dzh.
Kitsa, T. Hardi, D. Tomasa, |. Po, G. Longfello, R. C. Uorrena,  R.  Frosta,
T. Retke i dr. Perevody ryada sonetov SHekspira byli  vpervye  opublikovany  v
sb.  "SHekspirovskie  chteniya"  v  1990  godu;  perevod  vsego  svoda  sonetov
opublikovan chetyr'mya izdaniyami - v 1990, 1997, 1998 i 2003 godah.
     V nastoyashchem sbornike perevody sonetov 43 i 110 pechatayutsya  po  izdaniyu:
Na beregu vselennoj. Sonety anglijskih poetov  XVI-XIX  vekov.  SPb.,  1997;
perevody drugih sonetov - po izdaniyu: SHekspir U. Sonety. SPb.: DEAN, 2003.

     SHabaeva Tat'yana  Nikolaevna.  Aspirantka  Moskovskogo  gosudarstvennogo
lingvisticheskogo universiteta. Perevodila Dzh. Kitsa, R.  L.  Stivensona,  R.
Frosta, a takzhe P. B. SHelli, U. B. Jejtsa i T.  Hardi.  Tvorcheskij  princip:
stremit'sya sovmeshchat' vernost' soderzhaniyu i  forme  originala  s  esteticheski
polnocennym ego voploshcheniem na yazyke perevoda.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikuyutsya vpervye.

     SHarakshane Aleksandr Abovich (r. 1954). Prepodavatel' i perevodchik. CHast'
vklyuchennyh v sbornik perevodov byli ranee opublikovany v al'manahe  "Istoki"
(M.: RIF "ROJ", 2000.) i na Rossijskom radio, drugie publikuyutsya vpervye.

     SHvedchikov Adol'f Pavlovich (r. 1937). Nauchnyj rabotnik - himik, rabotaet
po rossijsko-amerikanskoj programme ohrany okruzhayushchej  sredy.  Izvesten  kak
poet  i  perevodchik,  za  poslednie  gody  knigi  ego  perevodov   i   stihi
publikovalis'  v  Rossii,  SSHA,  Indii,  Brazilii  i  drugih  stranah.  CHlen
Mezhdunarodnogo  obshchestva  poetov  i  Mezhdunarodnoj  associacii  pisatelej  i
hudozhnikov.
     Perevod soneta 39 pechataetsya po izdaniyu: SHekspir U. Sonety.  M.:  Znak,
1996.
     Dlya nastoyashchego sbornika perevod byl pererabotan.

     SHestakov Sergej Georgievich. Rodilsya v 1960 godu  v  Karagande.  Okonchil
planovo-ekonomicheskij fakul'tet Alma-Atinskogo instituta narodnogo hozyajstva
i Moskovskuyu finansovuyu akademiyu pri Pravitel'stve RF. S 1995 goda  zhivet  v
Podmoskov'e. Perevodil stihi Dzh. Gerberta, A.  Teniisona,  U.  B.  Jejtsa  i
drugih  poetov.  Odin  iz  laureatov   konkursa   "SHlyager-perevod"   (zhurnal
"Krest'yanka", 2001).  Redaktor  rubriki  poeticheskogo  perevoda  "Nasledniki
Lozinskogo" na internet-sajte www.poezia.ru.
     Perevody sonetov SHekspira publikuyutsya vpervye.

     SHCHedrovickij  Dmitrij  Vladimirovich   (r.   1953).   Poet,   perevodchik,
teolog-bibleist. Stihotvornye podborki v periodicheskoj pechati ("Novyj  mir",
"Literaturnaya gazeta" i dr.). Poeticheskij sbornik "Iz vos'mi knig". Perevody
proizvedenij Dzh. Donna i  drugih  anglijskih  poetov  (sborniki  "Anglijskaya
lirika pervoj poloviny XVII veka", "Anglijskij sonet XVI-XIX vekov"  i  dr.)
Perevody  gimnov   Kumrana,   srednevekovoj   misticheskoj   (v   tom   chisle
kabbalisticheskoj i sufijskoj) poezii, proizvedenij klassicheskih  nemeckih  i
litovskih poetov.  Mnogotomnik  "Vvedenie  v  Vethij  Zavet",  teologicheskoe
issledovanie "Prorochestva Knigi Daniila". Stat'i po  biblejskoj  tematike  v
special'noj i spravochnoj  literature  (v  tom  chisle  v  enciklopedii  "Mify
narodov mira"). Sostavlenie i kommentirovanie sbornikov  "I  skazal  Gospod'
Moiseyu", "Rumi i sufijskaya tradiciya", "Skovoroda". Perevody sonetov SHekspira
pechatayutsya po izdaniyu: Uil'yam SHekspir. Bibliograficheskij  ukazatel'  russkih
perevodov i kriticheskoj literatury na russkom yazyke, 1976-1987.  M.:  VGBIL,
1989.


Last-modified: Tue, 19 Dec 2006 20:21:30 GMT

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