Сонеты Шекспира

|My saucy bark inferior far to his |

|On your broad main doth wilfully appear. |

|Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, |

|Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride; |

|Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat, |

|He of tall building and of goodly pride: |

| Then if he thrive and I be cast away, |

| The worst was this; my love was my decay. |

|Sonnets of William Shakespeare |

|Sonnet 81 |

|LXXXI. |

|Or I shall live your epitaph to make, |

|Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; |

|From hence your memory death cannot take, |

|Although in me each part will be forgotten. |

|Your name from hence immortal life shall have, |

|Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: |

|The earth can yield me but a common grave, |

|When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. |

|Your monument shall be my gentle verse, |

|Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, |

|And tongues to be your being shall rehearse |

|When all the breathers of this world are dead; |

| You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- |

| Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. |

| |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 82

|LXXXII. |

|I grant thou wert not married to my Muse |

|And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook |

|The dedicated words which writers use |

|Of their fair subject, blessing every book |

|Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, |

|Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, |

|And therefore art enforced to seek anew |

|Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days |

|And do so, love; yet when they have devised |

|What strained touches rhetoric can lend, |

|Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized |

|In true plain words by thy true-telling friend; |

| And their gross painting might be better used |

| Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 83

|LXXXIII. |

|I never saw that you did painting need |

|And therefore to your fair no painting set; |

|I found, or thought I found, you did exceed |

|The barren tender of a poet's debt; |

|And therefore have I slept in your report, |

|That you yourself being extant well might show |

|How far a modern quill doth come too short, |

|Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. |

|This silence for my sin you did impute, |

|Which shall be most my glory, being dumb; |

|For I impair not beauty being mute, |

|When others would give life and bring a tomb. |

| There lives more life in one of your fair eyes |

| Than both your poets can in praise devise. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 84

|LXXXIV. |

|Who is it that says most? which can say more |

|Than this rich praise, that you alone are you? |

|In whose confine immured is the store |

|Which should example where your equal grew. |

|Lean penury within that pen doth dwell |

|That to his subject lends not some small glory; |

|But he that writes of you, if he can tell |

|That you are you, so dignifies his story, |

|Let him but copy what in you is writ, |

|Not making worse what nature made so clear, |

|And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, |

|Making his style admired every where. |

| You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, |

| Being fond on praise, which makes your praises |

|worse. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 85

|LXXXV. |

|My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, |

|While comments of your praise, richly compiled, |

|Reserve their character with golden quill |

|And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. |

|I think good thoughts whilst other write good |

|words, |

|And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen' |

|To every hymn that able spirit affords |

|In polish'd form of well-refined pen. |

|Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,' |

|And to the most of praise add something more; |

|But that is in my thought, whose love to you, |

|Though words come hindmost, holds his rank |

|before. |

| Then others for the breath of words respect, |

| Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 86

|LXXXVI. |

|Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, |

|Bound for the prize of all too precious you, |

|That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, |

|Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? |

|Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write |

|Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? |

|No, neither he, nor his compeers by night |

|Giving him aid, my verse astonished. |

|He, nor that affable familiar ghost |

|Which nightly gulls him with intelligence |

|As victors of my silence cannot boast; |

|I was not sick of any fear from thence: |

| But when your countenance fill'd up his line, |

| Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 87

|LXXXVII. |

|Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, |

|And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: |

|The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; |

|My bonds in thee are all determinate. |

|For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? |

|And for that riches where is my deserving? |

|The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, |

|And so my patent back again is swerving. |

|Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not |

|knowing, |

|Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking; |

|So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, |

|Comes home again, on better judgment making. |

| Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, |

| In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 88

|LXXXVIII. |

|When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, |

|And place my merit in the eye of scorn, |

|Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, |

|And prove thee virtuous, though thou art |

|forsworn. |

|With mine own weakness being best acquainted, |

|Upon thy part I can set down a story |

|Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted, |

|That thou in losing me shalt win much glory: |

|And I by this will be a gainer too; |

|For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, |

|The injuries that to myself I do, |

|Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. |

| Such is my love, to thee I so belong, |

| That for thy right myself will bear all wrong. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 89

|LXXXIX. |

|Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, |

|And I will comment upon that offence; |

|Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, |

|Against thy reasons making no defence. |

|Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill, |

|To set a form upon desired change, |

|As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will, |

|I will acquaintance strangle and look strange, |

|Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue |

|Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, |

|Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong |

|And haply of our old acquaintance tell. |

| For thee against myself I'll vow debate, |

| For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 90

|XC. |

|Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; |

|Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, |

|Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, |

|And do not drop in for an after-loss: |

|Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scoped this |

|sorrow, |

|Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe; |

|Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, |

|To linger out a purposed overthrow. |

|If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, |

|When other petty griefs have done their spite |

|But in the onset come; so shall I taste |

|At first the very worst of fortune's might, |

| And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, |

| Compared with loss of thee will not seem so. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 91

|XCI. |

|Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, |

|Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' |

|force, |

|Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, |

|Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their |

|horse; |

|And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, |

|Wherein it finds a joy above the rest: |

|But these particulars are not my measure; |

|All these I better in one general best. |

|Thy love is better than high birth to me, |

|Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost, |

|Of more delight than hawks or horses be; |

|And having thee, of all men's pride I boast: |

| Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take |

| All this away and me most wretched make. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 92

|XCII. |

|But do thy worst to steal thyself away, |

|For term of life thou art assured mine, |

|And life no longer than thy love will stay, |

|For it depends upon that love of thine. |

|Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, |

|When in the least of them my life hath end. |

|I see a better state to me belongs |

|Than that which on thy humour doth depend; |

|Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, |

|Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie. |

|O, what a happy title do I find, |

|Happy to have thy love, happy to die! |

| But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot? |

| Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 93

|XCIII. |

|So shall I live, supposing thou art true, |

|Like a deceived husband; so love's face |

|May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; |

|Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place: |

|For there can live no hatred in thine eye, |

|Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. |

|In many's looks the false heart's history |

|Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,|

| |

|But heaven in thy creation did decree |

|That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell; |

|Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,|

| |

|Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness |

|tell. |

| How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow, |

| if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show! |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 94

|XCIV. |

|They that have power to hurt and will do none, |

|That do not do the thing they most do show, |

|Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, |

|Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, |

|They rightly do inherit heaven's graces |

|And husband nature's riches from expense; |

|They are the lords and owners of their faces, |

|Others but stewards of their excellence. |

|The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, |

|Though to itself it only live and die, |

|But if that flower with base infection meet, |

|The basest weed outbraves his dignity: |

| For sweetest things turn sourest by their |

|deeds; |

| Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 95

|XCV. |

|How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame |

|Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, |

|Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! |

|O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! |

|That tongue that tells the story of thy days, |

|Making lascivious comments on thy sport, |

|Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise; |

|Naming thy name blesses an ill report. |

|O, what a mansion have those vices got |

|Which for their habitation chose out thee, |

|Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot, |

|And all things turn to fair that eyes can see! |

| Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;|

| |

| The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 96

|XCVI. |

|Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; |

|Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; |

|Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;|

| |

|Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort. |

|As on the finger of a throned queen |

|The basest jewel will be well esteem'd, |

|So are those errors that in thee are seen |

|To truths translated and for true things deem'd. |

|How many lambs might the stem wolf betray, |

|If like a lamb he could his looks translate! |

|How many gazers mightst thou lead away, |

|If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy |

|state! |

| But do not so; I love thee in such sort |

| As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 97

|XCVII. |

|How like a winter hath my absence been |

|From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! |

|What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! |

|What old December's bareness every where! |

|And yet this time removed was summer's time, |

|The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, |

|Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, |

|Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: |

|Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me |

|But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit; |

|For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, |

|And, thou away, the very birds are mute; |

| Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer |

| That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's |

|near. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 98

|XCVIII. |

|From you have I been absent in the spring, |

|When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim |

|Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, |

|That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. |

|Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell |

|Of different flowers in odour and in hue |

|Could make me any summer's story tell, |

|Or from their proud lap pluck them where they |

|grew; |

|Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, |

|Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; |

|They were but sweet, but figures of delight, |

|Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. |

| Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, |

| As with your shadow I with these did play. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 99

|XCIX. |

|The forward violet thus did I chide: |

|Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet |

|that smells, |

|If not from my love's breath? The purple pride |

|Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells |

|In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. |

|The lily I condemned for thy hand, |

|And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair: |

|The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, |

|One blushing shame, another white despair; |

|A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both |

|And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath; |

|But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth |

|A vengeful canker eat him up to death. |

| More flowers I noted, yet I none could see |

| But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 100

|C. |

|Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long|

| |

|To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? |

|Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, |

|Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? |

|Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem |

|In gentle numbers time so idly spent; |

|Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem |

|And gives thy pen both skill and argument. |

|Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey, |

|If Time have any wrinkle graven there; |

|If any, be a satire to decay, |

|And make Time's spoils despised every where. |

| Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;|

| |

| So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked |

|knife. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 101

|CI. |

|O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends |

|For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? |

|Both truth and beauty on my love depends; |

|So dost thou too, and therein dignified. |

|Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say |

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