Сонеты Шекспира 113-115, 135-146. Величие одинокого духа. (7). Историческая головоломка. Александр Скальв

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      Сонет 141. Оригинальный текст

      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.

      Сонет 142. Оригинальный текст

      Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,

      Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving.

      О 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.

      Сонет 143. Оригинальный текст

      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.