Pericles, Prince of Tyre. Уильям Шекспир

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      The gods of Greece protect you!

      And we'll pray for you.

      Arise, I pray you, rise:

      We do not look for reverence, but for love,

      And harbourage for ourself, our ships, and men.

      The which when any shall not gratify,

      Or pay you with unthankfulness in thought,

      Be it our wives, our children, or ourselves,

      The curse of heaven and men succeed their evils!

      Till when, – the which I hope shall ne'er be seen, —

      Your grace is welcome to our town and us.

      Which welcome we'll accept; feast here awhile,

      Until our stars that frown lend us a smile.

      Mere have you seen a mighty king

      His child, I wis, to incest bring;

      A better prince and benign lord,

      That will prove awful both in deed word.

      Be quiet then as men should be,

      Till he hath pass'd necessity.

      I'll show you those in troubles reign,

      Losing a mite, a mountain gain.

      The good in conversation,

      To whom I give my benison,

      Is still at Tarsus, where each man

      Thinks all is writ he speken can;

      And, to remember what he does,

      Build his statue to make him glorious:

      But tidings to the contrary

      Are brought your eyes; what need speak I?

      Good Helicane, that stay'd at home.

      Not to eat honey like a drone

      From others' labours; for though he strive

      To killen bad, keep good alive;

      And to fulfil his prince' desire,

      Sends word of all that haps in Tyre:

      How Thaliard came full bent with sin

      And had intent to murder him;

      And that in Tarsus was not best

      Longer for him to make his rest.

      He, doing so, put forth to seas,

      Where when men been, there's seldom ease;

      For now the wind begins to blow;

      Thunder above and deeps below

      Make such unquiet, that the ship

      Should house him safe is wreck'd and split;

      And he, good prince, having all lost,

      By waves from coast to coast is tost:

      All perishen of man, of pelf,

      Ne aught escapen but himself;

      Till fortune, tired with doing bad,

      Threw him ashore, to give him glad:

      And here he comes. What shall be next,

      Pardon old Gower, – this longs the text.

      Yet cease your ire, you angry stars of heaven!

      Wind, rain, and thunder, remember, earthly man

      Is but a substance that must yield to you;

      And I, as fits my nature, do obey you:

      Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rocks,

      Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath

      Nothing to think on but ensuing death:

      Let it suffice the greatness of your powers

      To have bereft a prince of all his fortunes;

      And having thrown him from your watery grave,

      Here to have death in peace is all he'll crave.

      What, ho, Pilch!

      Ha, come and bring away the nets!

      What, Patch-breech, I say!

      What say you, master?

      FIRST FISHERMAN. Look how thou stirrest now! come away, or I'll fetch thee with a wanion.

      THIRD FISHERMAN. 'Faith, master, I am thinking of the poor men that were cast away before us even now.

      FIRST FISHERMAN. Alas, poor souls, it grieved my heart to hear what pitiful cries they made to us to help them, when, well-a-day, we could scarce help ourselves.

      THIRD FISHERMAN. Nay, master, said not I as much when I saw the porpus how he bounced and tumbled? they say they're half fish, half flesh: a plague on them, they ne'er come but I look to be washed. Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea.

      FIRST FISHERMAN. Why, as men do a-land; the great ones eat up the little ones: I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale; a' plays and tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them all at a mouthful. such whales have I heard on o' the land, who never leave gaping till they they've swallowed the whole parish, church, steeple, bells, and all.

      A pretty moral.

      THIRD FISHERMAN. But, master, if I had been the sexton, I would have been that day in the belfry.

      Why, man?

      THIRD FISHERMAN. Because he should have swallowed me too; and when I had been in his belly, I would have kept such a jangling of the bells, that he should never have left, till he cast bells, steeple, church, and parish, up again. But if the good King Simonides were of my mind, —

      Simonides!

      THIRD FISHERMAN. We would purge the land of these drones, that rob the bee of her honey.

      How from the finny subjec of the sea

      These fishers tell the infirmities of men;

      And from their watery empire recollect

      All that may men approve or men detect!

      Peace be at your СКАЧАТЬ