Год Шекспира - [3]

ʼThe tender spring upon thy tempting lip

Shows thee unripe; yet mayst thou well be tasted.

Make use of time, let not advantage slip:

Beauty within itself should not be wasted,

        Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime

        Rot, and consume themselves in little time.

ʼWere I hard-favoured, foul, or wrinkled old,

Ill-nurtured, crookèd, churlish, harsh in voice,

O’er-worn, despisèd, rheumatic, and cold,

Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lacking juice;

        Then mightst thou pause, for then I were not for thee,

        But having no defects, why dost abhor me?

ʼThou canst not see one winkle in my brow,

Mine eyes are grey, and bright, and quick in turning.

My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow,

My flesh is soft, and plump, my marrow burning.

        My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,

        Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.

ʼBid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear,

Or like a fairy trip upon the green,

Or like a nymph, with long dishevelled hair,

Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen.

        Love is a spirit all compact of fire,

        Not gross to sink, but light, and will aspire.

ʼWitness this primrose bank whereon I lie:

These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me;

Two strengthless doves will draw me through the sky,

From morn till night, even where I list to sport me.

        Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be

        That thou shouldst think it heavy unto thee?

ʼIs thine own heart to shine own face affected?

Can thy right hand seize love upon thy left?

Then woo thyself, be of thyself rejected:

Steal thine own freedom, and complain on theft.

        Narcissus so himself himself forsook,

        And died to kiss his shadow in the brook.

ʼTorches are made to light, jewels to wear,

Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use,

Herbs for their smell, and sappy plants to bear.

Things growing to themselves are growth’s abuse;

        Seeds spring from seeds, and beauty breedeth beauty:

        Thou wast begot: to get it is thy duty.

ʼUpon the earth’s increase why shouldst thou feed,

Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?

By law of nature thou art bound to breed,

That thine may live, when thou thyself art dead:

        And so in spite of death thou dost survive,

        In that thy likeness still is left alive.’

By this the love-sick Queen began to sweat,

For where they lay the shadow had forsook them,

And Titan, tirèd in the midday heat,

With burning eye did hotly overlook them,

        Wishing Adonis had his team to guide,

        So he were like him, and by Venus’ side.

And now Adonis with a lazy spright,

And with a heavy, dark, disliking eye,

His louring brows o’erwhelming his fair sight,

Like misty vapours when they blot the sky,

        Souring his cheeks, cries, ʼFie, no more of love:

        The sun doth burn my face, I must remove.’

ʼAy me’, quoth Venus, ʼYoung, and so unkind,

What bare excuses mak’st thou to be gone?

I’ll sigh celestial breath, whose gentle wind,

Shall cool the heat of this descending sun:

        I’ll make a shadow for thee of my hairs;

        If they burn too, I’ll quench them with my tears.

ʼThe sun that shines from heaven, shines but warm,

And, lo, I lie between that sun and thee:

The heat I have from thence doth little harm.

Thine eye darts forth the fire that burneth me,

        And were I not immortal, life were done,

        Between this heavenly and earthly sun.

ʼArt thou obdurate, flinty, hard as steel?

Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth:

Art thou a woman’s son and canst not feel

What ’tis to love, how want of love tormenteth?

        O had thy mother borne so hard a mind,

        She had not brought forth thee, but died unkind.

ʼWhat am I that thou shouldst contemn me this?

Or what great danger dwells upon my suit?

What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?

Speak, fair, but speak fair words, or else be mute.

        Give me one kiss, I’ll give it thee again,

        And one for interest if thou wilt have twain.

ʼFie, lifeless picture, cold, and senseless stone,

Well-painted idol, image dull, and dead,

Statue contenting but the eye alone,

Thing like a man, but of no woman bred:

        Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion,

        For men will kiss even by their own direction.’

This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue,

And swelling passion doth provoke a pause.

Red cheeks, and fiery eyes blaze forth her wrong:

Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause.

        And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak,

        And now her sobs do her intendments break.

Sometimes she shakes her head, and then his hand;

Now gazeth she on him, now on the ground;

Sometimes her arms infold him like a band:

She would, he will not in her arms be bound.

        And when from thence he struggles to be gone,

        She locks her lily fingers one in one.

ʼFondling’, she saith, ʼSince I have hemmed thee here

Within the circuit of this ivory pale,

I’ll be a park, and thou shalt be my deer:

Feed where thou wilt, on mountain, or in dale;

        Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,