The Life of Henry the Eighth. Уильям Шекспир

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      I COME no more to make you laugh: things now

      That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

      Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

      Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

      We now present. Those that can pity, here

      May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

      The subject will deserve it. Such as give

      Their money out of hope they may believe,

      May here find truth too. Those that come to see

      Only a show or two, and so agree

      The play may pass, if they be still and willing,

      I'll undertake may see away their shilling

      Richly in two short hours. Only they

      That come to hear a merry bawdy play,

      A noise of targets, or to see a fellow

      In a long motley coat guarded with yellow,

      Will be deceiv'd; for, gentle hearers, know,

      To rank our chosen truth with such a show

      As fool and fight is, beside forfeiting

      Our own brains, and the opinion that we bring

      To make that only true we now intend,

      Will leave us never an understanding friend.

      Therefore, for goodness' sake, and as you are known

      The first and happiest hearers of the town,

      Be sad, as we would make ye; think ye see

      The very persons of our noble story

      As they were living; think you see them great,

      And follow'd with the general throng and sweat

      Of thousand friends; then, in a moment, see

      How soon this mightiness meets misery;

      And if you can be merry then, I'll say

      A man may weep upon his wedding-day.

      Good morrow, and well met. How have ye done

      Since last we saw in France?

      NORFOLK. I thank your Grace,

      Healthful; and ever since a fresh admirer

      Of what I saw there.

      An untimely ague

      Stay'd me a prisoner in my chamber when

      Those suns of glory, those two lights of men,

      Met in the vale of Andren.

      'Twixt Guynes and Arde.

      I was then present, saw them salute on horseback;

      Beheld them, when they lighted, how they clung

      In their embracement, as they grew together;

      Which had they, what four thron'd ones could have weigh'd

      Such a compounded one?

      All the whole time

      I was my chamber's prisoner.

      Then you lost

      The view of earthly glory. Men might say,

      Till this time pomp was single, but now married

      To one above itself. Each following day

      Became the next day's master, till the last

      Made former wonders its. To-day the French,

      All clinquant, all in gold, like heathen gods,

      Shone down the English; and, to-morrow, they

      Made Britain India: every man that stood

      Show'd like a mine. Their dwarfish pages were

      As cherubins, all gilt; the madams too,

      Not us'd to toil, did almost sweat to bear

      The pride upon them, that their very labour

      Was to them as a painting. Now this masque

      Was cried incomparable; and the ensuing night

      Made СКАЧАТЬ