Сонеты Шекспира

|Stirr'd 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 fix'd in heaven's air: |

| Let them say more than like of hearsay well; |

| I will not praise that purpose not to sell. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 22

|XXII. |

|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 gavest me thine, not to give back again. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 23

|XXIII. |

|As an unperfect 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 |

|express'd. |

| O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: |

| To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 24

|XXIV. |

|Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd|

| |

|Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; |

|My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, |

|And perspective it is the 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, where-through 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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 25

|XXV. |

|Let those who are in favour with their stars |

|Of public honour and proud titles boast, |

|Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, |

|Unlook'd 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 foil'd, |

|Is from the book of honour razed quite, |

|And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd: |

| Then happy I, that love and am beloved |

| Where I may not remove nor be removed. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 26

|XXVI. |

|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 tatter'd 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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 27

|XXVII. |

|Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, |

|The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; |

|But then begins a journey in 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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 28

|XXVIII. |

|How can I then return in happy plight, |

|That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? |

|When day's oppression is not eased by night, |

|But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? |

|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 them thou art bright |

|And dost him grace when clouds do blot the |

|heaven: |

|So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night, |

|When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the |

|even. |

| But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer |

| And night doth nightly make grief's strength |

|seem stronger. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 29

|XXIX. |

|When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, |

|I all alone beweep my outcast state |

|And trouble deal 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 |

|possess'd, |

|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 remember'd such wealth |

|brings |

| That then I scorn to change my state with |

|kings. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 30

|XXX. |

|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 cancell'd woe, |

|And moan the expense of many a vanish'd 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. |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |

|Sonnet 31 |

|XXXI. |

|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. |

| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 32

|XXXII. |

|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 bettering of the time, |

|And though they be outstripp'd 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.' |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 33

|XXXIII. |

|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 alchemy; |

|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 mask'd him from me now. |

| Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; |

| Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun |

|staineth. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 34

|XXXIV. |

|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 bravery 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: |

|The 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 |

|sheds, |

| And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 35

|XXXV. |

|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 thy 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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 36

|XXXVI. |

|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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 37

|XXXVII. |

|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, |

|Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit, |

|I make my love engrafted 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! |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 38

|XXXVIII. |

|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. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 39

|XXXIX. |

|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 deservest 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! |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |

|Sonnet 40 |

|XL. |

|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 robbery, 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. |

| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 41

|XLI. |

|Those petty wrongs that liberty commits, |

|When I am sometime absent from thy heart, |

|Thy beauty and thy years full well befits, |

Страницы: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7