  1-20.    (1).  
 


    8        .       .      , , ,       , ,  ,         ,  ,  ,        .





  1-20.    (1)

 



 



 ,2019



ISBN978-5-4496-3970-7 (. 1)

ISBN978-5-4496-3971-4

     Ridero







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1


    ,            ,  ,   .       But as the riper should bytime decease.

		 1.  
		From fairest creatures we desire increase,
		That thereby beautys rose might neverdie,
		But as the riper should bytime decease,
		His tender heir might bear his memory:
		But thou, contracted tothine own bright eyes,
		Feedst thy lights flame with self-substantial fuel,
		Making afamine where abundance lies,
		Thyself thy foe, tothy sweet self too cruel.
		Thou that art now the worlds fresh ornament
		And only herald tothe gaudy spring,
		Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
		And, tender churl, makst waste inniggarding:
		Pity the world, or else this gluttonbe,
		Toeat the worlds due, bythe grave and thee.




2


  蠖  젖 forty winters.   .

		 2.  
		When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
		And dig deep trenches inthy beautys field,
		Thy youths proud livery so gazed onnow
		Will be atottered weed ofsmall worth held:
		Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,
		Where all the treasure ofthy lusty days,
		Tosay within thine own deep-sunkeneyes
		Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
		How much more praise deserved thy beautysuse,
		If thou couldst answer, This fair child ofmine
		Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,
		Proving his beauty bysuccession thine.
		This were tobe new made when thou artold,
		And see thy blood warm when thou feelst itld




3


   .      ,    For where is she so fair whose uneared womb Disdains the tillage ofthy husbandry?.

   ࠖ Thou art thy mothers glass. Ÿ     .   .

		 3.  
		Look inthy 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 unearedwomb
		Disdains the tillage ofthy husbandry?
		Or who is he so fond will be thetomb
		Ofhis self-love tostop posterity?
		Thou art thy mothers glass, and she inthee
		Calls back the lovely April ofher prime;
		So thou through windows ofthine age shaltsee,
		Despite ofwrinkles, this thy golden time.
		But if thou live remembred not tobe,
		Die single, and thine image dies with thee.




4


    젖 Profitless usurer.

  .

		 4.  
		Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
		Upon thyself thy beautys legacy?
		Natures bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
		And being frank she lends tothose are free:
		Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
		The bounteous largess given thee togive?
		Profitless usurer, why dost thouuse
		So great asum ofsums, yet canst not live?
		For having traffic with thyself alone,
		Thou ofthyself thy sweet self dost deceive:
		Then how, when Nature calls thee tobe gone,
		What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
		Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
		Which used lives thexecutor tobe.




5


   ࠖ summers distillation    .

          蠖 Beautys effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.

 .      ,    .

		 5.  
		Those hours that with gentle work did frame
		The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell
		Will play the tyrants tothe very same,
		And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
		For never-resting time leads summeron
		Tohideous winter and confounds him there,
		Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
		Beauty oersnowed and bareness every where:
		Then were not summers distillationleft
		Aliquid prisoner pent inwalls ofglass,
		Beautys effect with beauty were bereft,
		Nor it nor no remembrance what itwas.
		But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet,
		Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet




6


   ࠖ      ,   3.

  , . .         , 𻠖 self-willed.

             .

		 6.  
		Then let not winters ragged hand deface
		Inthee thy summer ere thou be distilled:
		Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
		With beautys treasure ere it be self-killed:
		That use is not forbidden usury
		Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
		Thats for thyself tobreed another thee,
		Or ten times happier be it ten forone;
		Ten times thyself were happier than thouart,
		If ten ofthine ten times refigured thee:
		Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
		Leaving thee living inposterity?
		Be not self-willed, for thou art much toofair
		Tobe deaths conquest and make worms thineheir




7


    ࠖ ,    So thou, thyself outgoing inthy noon    .

      7.    , . .     , . .  25-   .

    2   .

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		 7.  
		Lo inthe orient when the gracious light
		Lifts up his burning head, each undereye
		Doth homage tohis new-appearing sight,
		Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
		And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
		Resembling strong youth inhis middleage,
		Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
		Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
		But when from highmost pitch, with wearycar,
		Like feeble age he reeleth from theday,
		The eyes (fore duteous) now convertedare
		From his low tract and look anotherway:
		So thou, thyself outgoing inthy noon,
		Unlooked on diest unless thou get ason.




8


       ࠖ .

		 8.  
		Music tohear, why hearst thou music sadly?
		Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights injoy:
		Why lovst thou that which thou receivst not gladly,
		Or else receivst with pleasure thine annoy?
		If the true concord ofwell-tuned sounds,
		Byunions married, do offend thineear,
		They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
		Insingleness the parts that thou shouldst bear;
		Mark how one string, sweet husband toanother,
		Strikes each ineach bymutual ordering;
		Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother,
		Who all inone, one pleasing note do sing;
		Whose speechless song being many, seemingone,
		Sings this tothee, Thou single wilt prove none.




9


      .

 ,  9,       ,      ,         ,  ,  9,      .

		 9.  
		Is it for fear towet awidowseye
		That thou consumst thyself insingle life?
		Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap todie,
		The world will wail thee like amakeless wife;
		The world will be thy widow and still weep,
		That thou no form ofthee hast left behind,
		When every private widow well may keep,
		Bychildrens eyes, her husbands shape inmind:
		Look what an unthrift inthe world doth spend
		Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoysit,
		But beautys waste hath inthe world anend,
		And kept unused the user so destroysit:
		No love toward others inthat bosomsits
		That on himself such murdrous shame commits.

 ,       ,         .

 , ⠫  But beautys waste hath inthe world an end, And kept unused the user so destroys it:, ⠫ 젖 No love toward others inthat bosom sits  9,     ,          ,   .

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10


    ⠫ 堖 For thou art so possessd with murdrous hate.

       ,   .

       ,    ,     117  .   堖  ,    .    ࠫ   ,    ⠫ .

,         9,    910,         .

		 10.  
		For shame deny that thou bear-st love toany,
		Who for thyself art so improvident.
		Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved ofmany,
		But that thou none lovst is most evident;
		For thou art so possessd with murdrous hate,
		That gainst thyself thou stickst not toconspire,
		Seeking that beauteous roof toruinate
		Which torepair should be thy chief desire:
		Πchange thy thought, that Imay change my mind!
		Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
		Be as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
		Or tothyself at least kind-hearted prove:
		Make thee another self, for love ofme,
		That beauty still may live inthine or thee.

 ,       .      ?

       ,       10  .




11


  ,  .



   11: Ƞ  ,    ,    ,    And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowst Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest,   2:   ,       ,   䠖 This were tobe new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feelst it ld.



 11.  

		As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growst
		Inone ofthine, from that which thou departest,
		And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowst
		Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest:
		Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase,
		Without this, folly, age, and cold decay:
		If all were minded so, the times should cease,
		And threescore year would make the world away.
		Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
		Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
		Look whom she best endowed she gave the more;
		Which bounteous gift thou shouldst inbounty cherish:
		She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby,
		Thou shouldst print more, not let that copydie.

                ,      .

       .




12


  ,   day sunk inhideous night 蠫 蠖 Times scythe.

		 12.  
		When Ido count the clock that tells the time,
		And see the brave day sunk inhideous night,
		When Ibehold the violet past prime,
		And sable curls all silvered oer with white,
		When lofty trees Isee barren ofleaves,
		Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
		And summers green all girded up insheaves
		Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
		Then ofthy beauty do Iquestionmake
		That thou among the wastes oftime mustgo,
		Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
		And die as fast as they see others grow,
		And nothing gainst Times scythe can make defence
		Save breed tobrave him when he takes thee hence.




13


   my love     .    ?

    .  my love      , 堖 O, none but unthrifts: dear my love.

    .      , ,   my love   .

 ,      蠖 You had afather.

		 13.  
		Πthat you were your self! but, love, youare
		No longer yours than you yourself here live;
		Against this coming end you should prepare,
		And^your sweet semblance tosome other give:
		So should that beauty which you hold inlease
		Find no determination; then youwere
		Your self again after yourself s decease,
		When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
		Who lets so fair ahouse fall todecay,
		Which husbandry inhonour might uphold
		Against the stormy gusts ofwintersday
		And barren rage ofdeaths eternal cold?
		O, none but unthrifts: dear my love, youknow
		You had afather, let your son sayso.

,     . ,  1,     .       .

        ,         ,   10 .    (  )   (15301601)        (15951601)  .   ,       ,   , ࠫ , . .  堫.




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