The Sonnets. Уильям Шекспир
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Название: The Sonnets

Автор: Уильям Шекспир

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Классическая проза

Серия:

isbn: 9780008171292

isbn:

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      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 unear’d 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.

       4

      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 unsurer, 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 unus’d beauty must be tomb’d with thee,

      Which, used, lives th’ executor to be.

       5

      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 check’d with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,

      Beauty o’ersnow’d, 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 distill’d, though they with winter meet,

      Leese but their show: their substance still lives sweet.

       6

      Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface

      In thee thy summer ere thou be distill’d;

      Make sweet some vail; treasure thou some place

      With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-kill’d.

      That use is not forbidden usury

      Which happies those that pay the willing loan –

      That’s for thyself to breed an other thee,

      Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;

      Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,

      If ten of thine ten times refigur’d thee.

      Then what could Death do if thou shouldst depart,

      Leaving thee living in posterity?

      Be not self-will’d, for thou art much too fair

      To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.

       7

      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 climb’d 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 higmost 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,

      Unlook’d on diest, unless thou get a son.

       8

      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 СКАЧАТЬ