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| Сонеты Шекспира|O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, | |And you and love are still my argument; | |So all my best is dressing old words new, | |Spending again what is already spent: | | For as the sun is daily new and old, | | So is my love still telling what is told. | Sonnets of William Shakespeare Sonnet 77 |LXXVII. | |Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, | |Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; | |The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, | |And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. | |The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show | |Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; | |Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know | |Time's thievish progress to eternity. | |Look, what thy memory can not contain | |Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find| | | |Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain, | |To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. | | These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, | | Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book. | Sonnets of William Shakespeare Sonnet 78 |LXXVIII. | |So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse | |And found such fair assistance in my verse | |As every alien pen hath got my use | |And under thee their poesy disperse. | |Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing | |And heavy ignorance aloft to fly | |Have added feathers to the learned's wing | |And given grace a double majesty. | |Yet be most proud of that which I compile, | |Whose influence is thine and born of thee: | |In others' works thou dost but mend the style, | |And arts with thy sweet graces graced be; | | But thou art all my art and dost advance | | As high as learning my rude ignorance. | Sonnets of William Shakespeare Sonnet 79 |LXXIX. | |Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, | |My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, | |But now my gracious numbers are decay'd | |And my sick Muse doth give another place. | |I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument | |Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, | |Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent | |He robs thee of and pays it thee again. | |He lends thee virtue and he stole that word | |From thy behavior; beauty doth he give | |And found it in thy cheek; he can afford | |No praise to thee but what in thee doth live. | | Then thank him not for that which he doth say, | | Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay. | Sonnets of William Shakespeare Sonnet 80 |LXXX. | |O, how I faint when I of you do write, | |Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, | |And in the praise thereof spends all his might, | |To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame! | |But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, | |The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, | |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. | |
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