Сонеты Шекспира

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 |

|'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd; |

|Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay; |

|But best is best, if never intermix'd?' |

|Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? |

|Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee |

|To make him much outlive a gilded tomb, |

|And to be praised of ages yet to be. |

| Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how |

| To make him seem long hence as he shows now. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 102

|CII. |

|My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in |

|seeming; |

|I love not less, though less the show appear: |

|That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming |

|The owner's tongue doth publish every where. |

|Our love was new and then but in the spring |

|When I was wont to greet it with my lays, |

|As Philomel in summer's front doth sing |

|And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: |

|Not that the summer is less pleasant now |

|Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, |

|But that wild music burthens every bough |

|And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. |

| Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue, |

| Because I would not dull you with my song. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 103

|CIII. |

|Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, |

|That having such a scope to show her pride, |

|The argument all bare is of more worth |

|Than when it hath my added praise beside! |

|O, blame me not, if I no more can write! |

|Look in your glass, and there appears a face |

|That over-goes my blunt invention quite, |

|Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace. |

|Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, |

|To mar the subject that before was well? |

|For to no other pass my verses tend |

|Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; |

| And more, much more, than in my verse can sit |

| Your own glass shows you when you look in it. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 104

|CIV. |

|To me, fair friend, you never can be old, |

|For as you were when first your eye I eyed, |

|Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold |

|Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,|

| |

|Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd |

|In process of the seasons have I seen, |

|Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, |

|Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.|

| |

|Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, |

|Steal from his figure and no pace perceived; |

|So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth |

|stand, |

|Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived: |

| For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; |

| Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 105

|CV. |

|Let not my love be call'd idolatry, |

|Nor my beloved as an idol show, |

|Since all alike my songs and praises be |

|To one, of one, still such, and ever so. |

|Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, |

|Still constant in a wondrous excellence; |

|Therefore my verse to constancy confined, |

|One thing expressing, leaves out difference. |

|'Fair, kind and true' is all my argument, |

|'Fair, kind, and true' varying to other words; |

|And in this change is my invention spent, |

|Three themes in one, which wondrous scope |

|affords. |

| 'Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived alone,|

| |

| Which three till now never kept seat in one. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 106

|CVI. |

|When in the chronicle of wasted time |

|I see descriptions of the fairest wights, |

|And beauty making beautiful old rhyme |

|In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, |

|Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, |

|Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, |

|I see their antique pen would have express'd |

|Even such a beauty as you master now. |

|So all their praises are but prophecies |

|Of this our time, all you prefiguring; |

|And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, |

|They had not skill enough your worth to sing: |

| For we, which now behold these present days, |

| Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.|

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 107

|CVII. |

|Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul |

|Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, |

|Can yet the lease of my true love control, |

|Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. |

|The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured |

|And the sad augurs mock their own presage; |

|Incertainties now crown themselves assured |

|And peace proclaims olives of endless age. |

|Now with the drops of this most balmy time |

|My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, |

|Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor |

|rhyme, |

|While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:|

| |

| And thou in this shalt find thy monument, |

| When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are |

|spent. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 108

|CVIII. |

|What's in the brain that ink may character |

|Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? |

|What's new to speak, what new to register, |

|That may express my love or thy dear merit? |

|Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,|

| |

|I must, each day say o'er the very same, |

|Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, |

|Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. |

|So that eternal love in love's fresh case |

|Weighs not the dust and injury of age, |

|Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, |

|But makes antiquity for aye his page, |

| Finding the first conceit of love there bred |

| Where time and outward form would show it dead.|

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 109

|CIX. |

|O, never say that I was false of heart, |

|Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. |

|As easy might I from myself depart |

|As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: |

|That is my home of love: if I have ranged, |

|Like him that travels I return again, |

|Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, |

|So that myself bring water for my stain. |

|Never believe, though in my nature reign'd |

|All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, |

|That it could so preposterously be stain'd, |

|To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; |

| For nothing this wide universe I call, |

| Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 110

|CX. |

|Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there |

|And made myself a motley to the view, |

|Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most |

|dear, |

|Made old offences of affections new; |

|Most true it is that I have look'd on truth |

|Askance and strangely: but, by all above, |

|These blenches gave my heart another youth, |

|And worse essays proved thee my best of love. |

|Now all is done, have what shall have no end: |

|Mine appetite I never more will grind |

|On newer proof, to try an older friend, |

|A god in love, to whom I am confined. |

| Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, |

| Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 111

|CXI. |

|O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, |

|The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, |

|That did not better for my life provide |

|Than public means which public manners breeds. |

|Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, |

|And almost thence my nature is subdued |

|To what it works in, like the dyer's hand: |

|Pity me then and wish I were renew'd; |

|Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink |

|Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection |

|No bitterness that I will bitter think, |

|Nor double penance, to correct correction. |

| Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye |

| Even that your pity is enough to cure me. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 112

|CXII. |

|Your love and pity doth the impression fill |

|Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; |

|For what care I who calls me well or ill, |

|So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? |

|You are my all the world, and I must strive |

|To know my shames and praises from your tongue: |

|None else to me, nor I to none alive, |

|That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong. |

|In so profound abysm I throw all care |

|Of others' voices, that my adder's sense |

|To critic and to flatterer stopped are. |

|Mark how with my neglect I do dispense: |

| You are so strongly in my purpose bred |

| That all the world besides methinks are dead. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 113

|CXIII. |

|Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; |

|And that which governs me to go about |

|Doth part his function and is partly blind, |

|Seems seeing, but effectually is out; |

|For it no form delivers to the heart |

|Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch:|

| |

|Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, |

|Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch: |

|For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight, |

|The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, |

|The mountain or the sea, the day or night, |

|The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:|

| |

| Incapable of more, replete with you, |

| My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 114

|CXIV. |

|Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you, |

|Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? |

|Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, |

|And that your love taught it this alchemy, |

|To make of monsters and things indigest |

|Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, |

|Creating every bad a perfect best, |

|As fast as objects to his beams assemble? |

|O,'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing, |

|And my great mind most kingly drinks it up: |

|Mine eye well knows what with his gust is |

|'greeing, |

|And to his palate doth prepare the cup: |

| If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin |

| That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 115

|CXV. |

|Those lines that I before have writ do lie, |

|Even those that said I could not love you dearer:|

| |

|Yet then my judgment knew no reason why |

|My most full flame should afterwards burn |

|clearer. |

|But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents |

|Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings,|

| |

|Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents, |

|Divert strong minds to the course of altering |

|things; |

|Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny, |

|Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,' |

|When I was certain o'er incertainty, |

|Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? |

| Love is a babe; then might I not say so, |

| To give full growth to that which still doth |

|grow? |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Sonnet 116

|CXVI. |

|Let me not to the marriage of true minds |

|Admit impediments. Love is not love |

|Which alters when it alteration finds, |

|Or bends with the remover to remove: |

|O no! it is an ever-fixed mark |

|That looks on tempests and is never shaken; |

|It is the star to every wandering bark, |

|Whose worth's unknown, although his height be |

|taken. |

|Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and |

|cheeks |

|Within his bending sickle's compass come: |

|Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, |

|But bears it out even to the edge of doom. |

| If this be error and upon me proved, |

| I never writ, nor no man ever loved. |

Sonnets of William Shakespeare

Страницы: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7