  2139.     (2).  
 


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





  2139.     (2)

 



 



 ,2019



ISBN978-5-4496-4331-5 (. 2)

ISBN978-5-4496-3971-4

     Ridero







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 1.   2139





 1.  2136.    


    2136,    ࠖ  .     ,       ,  , ,      ,    ( ) .      1171820,      ,   2136   ,  .

 ( )        .

  2136   ,  ,  .        1820,  2136,    21   1820.  ,   21      2136  , ,     1820.




21


  ,      堖 So is it not with me as with that Muse.

Ƞ      ,      .

    蠖 Πlet me, true inlove, but truly write,   堫   Making acouplement ofproud compare.

		 21.  
		So is it not with me as with that Muse,
		Stirred byapainted beauty tohis verse,
		Who heaven itself for ornament dothuse,
		And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
		Making acouplement ofproud compare
		With sun and moon, with earth and seas rich gems,
		With Aprils first-born flowers, and all thingsrare
		That heavens air inthis huge rondure hems.
		Πlet me, true inlove, but truly write,
		And then believe me, my love is asfair
		As any mothers child, though not so bright
		As those gold candles fixed inheavensair:
		Let them say more that like ofhearsay well,
		Iwill not praise that purpose not tosell.

   ?

  ,  18,          .  .      1820 21.

  ,    1820 21⠫     5,         .

  ,        18,   21         .        21. , ,   1820,        ,      .




22


      .   ,    ,       ,      1819, ,  ,     .

		 22.  
		My glass shall not persuade me Iamold,
		So long as youth and thou are ofone date,
		But when inthee times furrows Ibehold,
		Then look Ideath my days should expiate:
		For all that beauty that doth coverthee
		Is but the seemly raiment ofmy heart,
		Which inthy breast doth live, as thine inme.
		How can Ithen be elder than thouart?
		Πtherefore, love, be ofthyself sowary
		As Inot for myself but for thee will,
		Bearing thy heart, which Iwill keep so chary
		As tender nurse her babe from faringill:
		Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
		Thou gavst me thine, not togive back again

 ,   ,   ,   . ,  ,   ,     젖  蠖 my heart, Which inthy breast doth live, as thine inme.          ,     ,        Thou gavst me thine, not togive back again.  ,     ,    1819. , ,   ,     .

 ,        ,    .

  22    ࠖ  ࠖ How can Ithen be elder than thou art.       .    ,       , , .

   ,   ( ),        ,     20,    . ,  22 .

, ,    22    1820  4  .

  22 21,    2  ,     .

,        21,    21 22    ,     ,    21.




23


   ,     2136 .   20   ,  ,        .         렖 forget tosay The perfect ceremony ofloves rite.

     , .. ,     .         ,   .

		 23.  
		As an imperfect actor on the stage,
		Who with his fear is put besides his part,
		Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
		Whose strengths abundance weakens his own heart;
		So I, for fear oftrust, forget tosay
		The perfect ceremony ofloves rite,
		And inmine own loves strength seem todecay,
		Oercharged with burden ofmine own loves might:
		Πlet my looks be then the eloquence
		And dumb presagers ofmy speaking breast,
		Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
		More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
		Πlearn toread what silent love hath writ:
		Tohear with eyes belongs toloves finewit.

, ,  ,     ?  ,      .

      , .. , , ,    ()  .  蠖  ,      .  ,   ,    .

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 ,    21       .




24


   .    ,      젖 Thy beautys form intable ofmy heart; My body is the frame wherein tis held, ,     20,     .

		 24.  
		Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
		Thy beautys form intable ofmy heart;
		My body is the frame wherein tis held,
		And perspective it is best paintersart.
		For through the painter must you see his skill
		Tofind where your true image pictured lies,
		Which inmy bosoms 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 forme
		Are windows tomy breast, wherethrough thesun
		Delights topeep, togaze therein on thee.
		Yet eyes this cunning want tograce theirart,
		They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

 ,   .        ()  .         21      .         .    .   24 ,   ,      頖  ,  ࠖ They draw but what they see, know not the heart.         , ,   , .

,       21,     ,  ,       .   ,      - ,    .




25


  蠖  젖 Then happy Ithat love and am beloved.        ,    ,    2124,    .

		 25.  
		Let those who are infavour with their stars
		Ofpublic honour and proud titles boast,
		Whilst I, whom fortune ofsuch triumph bars,
		Unlooked for joy inthat Ihonour most.
		Great princes favourites their fair leaves spread
		But as the marigold at the sunseye,
		And inthemselves their pride lies buried,
		For at afrown they intheir glorydie.
		The painful warrior famoused for fight,
		After athousand victories once foiled,
		Is from the book ofhonour rased quite,
		And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
		Then happy Ithat love and am beloved
		Where Imay not remove, nor be removed.

 ,        .




26


   堖  堖 Tothee Isend this written embassage.

		 26.  
		Lord ofmy love, towhom invassalage
		Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
		Tothee Isend this written embassage
		Towitness duty, not toshow mywit;
		Duty so great, which wit so poor asmine
		May make seem bare, inwanting words toshowit,
		But that Ihope some good conceit ofthine
		Inthy souls thought (all naked) will bestowit,
		Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
		Points on me graciously with fair aspect,
		And puts apparel on my tottered loving,
		Toshow me worthy ofthy sweet respect:
		Then may Idare toboast how Ido love thee,
		Till then, not show my head where thou mayst proveme.

         , ..   .   ,      ,   .

   , 堖 ,       ,     ,     2125.   ,        .

                 2125.

 ,        Lord ofmy love,  .

 ,        㠖 Duty so great,  ,    堖  .

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,     .

 ,       ?

,    .  ,           砫 .

    ,     .

  ,     ,    ,    26  .




27


     26  ⠖   .

Ƞ 27          젖    Lo thus byday my limbs, bynight my mind,      For then my thoughts (from far where Iabide.      .

		 27.  
		Weary with toil, Ibaste me tomybed,
		The dear repose for limbs with travel tired,
		But then begins ajourney m my head,
		Towork my mind, when bodys works expired;
		For then my thoughts (from far where Iabide)
		Intend azealous pilgrimage tothee,
		And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
		Looking on darkness which the blind dosee;
		Save that my souls imaginary sight
		Presents thy shadow tomy sightless view,
		Which, like ajewel (hung inghastly night),
		Makes black night beauteous, and her old facenew.
		Lo thus byday my limbs, bynight my mind,
		For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

  , ,  .




28


       蠫     ࠖ How far Itoil, still farther off from thee.        ࠖ    䠖 How can Ithen return inhappy plight, ..   . ,    ,   ,    .

		 28.  
		How can Ithen return inhappy plight
		That am debarred the benefit ofrest?
		When days oppression is not eased bynight,
		But day bynight and night byday oppressed;
		And each (though enemies toeithers reign)
		Do inconsent shake hands totortureme,
		The one bytoil, the other tocomplain
		How far Itoil, still farther off from thee.
		Itell the day toplease him thou art bright,
		And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
		So flatter Ithe swart-complexioned night,
		When sparkling stars twire not thou gildst the even:
		But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
		And night doth nightly make griefs strength seem stronger




29


,       (2128),    ,    21.

		 29.  
		When indisgrace with Fortune and mens eyes,
		Iall alone beweep my outcast state,
		And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
		And look upon myself and curse my fate,
		Wishing me like toone more rich inhope,
		Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
		Desiring this mans art and that mans scope,
		With what Imost enjoy contented least;
		Yet inthese thoughts myself almost despising,
		Haply Ithink on thee, and then my state
		(Like tothe lark at break ofday arising
		From sullen earth) sings hymns at heavens gate;
		For thy sweet love remembred such wealth brings
		That then Iscorn tochange my state with kings.

 堖 Haply Ithink on thee     .

,     ,  . ,     ,     .        .

        29    .




30


     dear friend  .



    렖  ,  .

,   ,       ,  ꠫friend ,  girl , ,     . ,    (girl-friend).

   ,  ,    ,     ,      .

		 30.  

		When tothe sessions ofsweet silent thought
		Isummon up remembrance ofthings past,
		Isigh the lack ofmany athing Isought,
		And with old woes new wail my dear times waste:
		Then can Idrown an eye (unused toflow)
		For precious friends hid indeaths dateless night,
		And weep afresh loves long since cancelledwoe,
		And moan thexpense ofmany avanished sight;
		Then can Igrieve at grievances foregone,
		And heavily from woe towoe telloer
		The sad account offore-bemoaned moan,
		Which Inew pay as if not paid before:
		But if the while Ithink on thee (dear friend)
		All losses are restored, and sorrowsend.

,    ,      , ,      .

  ,   30     2129,      :  堖 But if the while Ithink on thee (dear friend)  29,    21    , , ,    ,      2224.

  ?     ,    , ..    , ,    ?  ,     ,    2930,     ?  ,        ,    .

 ,      ,        ,  ,    堖   .

      30   5051,      ꠫,  ,     .

 ,  30   ,      ,   .

 ,   37 , ..  ,   , ,       .

   36, 3739, ,  ,    ࠖ ,  ,     .

        3739.   30 , , -  .




31


   .

   ,  Their images Iloved Iview inthee , ..   . ,    26,  ,          .

		 31.  
		Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
		Which Ibylacking have supposed dead,
		And there reigns love and all loves loving parts,
		And all those friends which Ithought buried.
		How many aholy and obsequioustear
		Hath dear religious love stoln from mineeye,
		As interest ofthe dead; which now appear
		But things removed that hidden intheelie!
		Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
		Hung with the trophies ofmy lovers gone,
		Who all their parts ofme tothee did give;
		That due ofmany now is thine alone.
		Their images Iloved Iview inthee,
		And thou (all they) hast all the all ofme.

    ,     ,     21 ,   , -,.

     ,    ,   2930.

      .




32


Ƞ    And though they be outstripped byevery pen      18,         .

  18   , ,  32 .       32,   30,     .

 ,     21    ࠖ    32.

     32  ,   74.

		 32.  
		If thou survive my well-contentedday,
		When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
		And shalt byfortune once more re-survey
		These poor rude lines ofthy deceased lover,
		Compare them with the bettring ofthe time,
		And though they be outstripped byeverypen,
		Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
		Exceeded bythe height ofhappiermen.
		Πthen vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
		Had my friends Muse grown with this growingage,
		Adearer birth than this his love had brought
		Tomarch inranks ofbetter equipage:
		But since he died, and poets better prove,
		Theirs for their style Ill read, his for his love.




33


      .

        1  .

      ,  ,   , ,     񻠖 But out alack, he was but one hour mine,    The region cloud hath masked him from me now.

		 33.  
		Full many aglorious morning have Iseen
		Flatter the mountain tops with sovereigneye,
		Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
		Gilding pale streams with heavenly alcumy,
		Anon permit the basest clouds toride
		With ugly rack on his celestial face,
		And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
		Stealing unseen towest 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 masked him from menow.
		Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth:
		Suns ofthe world may stain, when heavens sun staineth.

,    21    ࠖ    33.

   33頖  .




34


 ,   2136,        蠖 Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheeds.

 ,        ,    -     ?  , -      .

  ,    ,        .

  ,          22, 2728. ,    ,   .

 ,      34  ,   30      3739,  ,        ,       ࠖ  .

		 34.  
		Why didst thou promise such abeauteousday,
		And make me travel forth without my cloak,
		Tolet base clouds oertake me inmyway,
		Hiding thy bravry intheir rotten smoke?
		Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
		Todry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
		For no man well ofsuch asalve can speak,
		That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
		Nor can thy shame give physic tomy grief;
		Though thou repent, yet Ihave still the loss:
		Thoffenders sorrow lends but weak relief
		Tohim that bears the strong offences cross.
		Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheeds,
		And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

 ,    , -, .

     34  40.




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