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The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy,
And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine a
For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects’ faith doth ebb,
Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web.
But clouds of joys untried do cloak aspiring minds,
Which turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds.
The top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be,
And fruitless all their grafted guile, as shortly ye shall see.
The dazzled eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds,
Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose foresight falsehood finds.
The daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow
Shall reap no gain where former rule still peace hath taught to know.
No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port;
Our realm brooks not seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort.
My rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ
To poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future joy.
* * *
When I was fair and young, and favor graced me,
Of many was I sought their mistress for to be.
But I did scorn them all, and said to them therefore,
“Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere; importune me no more”.
How many weeping eyes I made to pine in woe;
How many sighing hearts I have not skill to show,
But I the prouder grew, and still this spake therefore:
“Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere, importune me no more”.
Then spake fair Venus’ son, that brave victorious boy,
Saying: You dainty dame, for that you be so coy,
I will so pluck your plumes as you shall say no more:
“Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere, importune me no more”.
As soon as he had said, such change grew in my breast
That neither night nor day I could take any rest.
Wherefore I did repent that I had said before:
“Go, go, go, seek some otherwhere, importune me no more”.
* * *
Ah, silly Pug, wert thou so sore afraid?
Mourn not, my Wat, nor be thou so dismayed.
It passeth fickle Fortune’s power and skill
To force my heart to think thee any ill.
No Fortune base, thou sayest, shall alter thee?
And may so blind a witch so conquer me?
No, no, my Pug, though Fortune were not blind,
Assure thyself she could not rule my mind.
Fortune, I know, sometimes doth conquer kings,
And rules and reigns on earth and earthly things,
But never think Fortune can bear the sway
If virtue watch, and will her not obey.
Ne chose I thee by fickle Fortune’s rede,
Ne she shall force me alter with such speed
But if to try this mistress’ jest with thee.
Pull up thy heart, suppress thy brackish tears,
Torment thee not, but put away thy fears.
Dead to all joys and living unto woe,
Slain quite by her that ne’er gave wise men blow,
Revive again and live without all dread,
The less afraid, the better thou shalt speed.
Елизавета I (1533–1603)
Надпись на французской псалтыри
Бельмо, и горб, и хромоту
Назвать уродством не спеши.
Уродливей всего сочту
Я злую мнительность души.
Перевод А. Петровой
На его отъезд
Печалюсь я, но мне мой долг велит
Любовь под маской ненависти скрыть,
Боль затаить, спокойной быть на вид
И слова лишнего не проронить.
Я есмь, и нет меня. В огне я коченею.
Я уж не я, коль быть собой не смею.
Как тень моя, всегда любовь со мной.
Играет в прятки, в руки не идет,
Не отпускает, манит за собой,
Забыть хочу — забвенья не дает.
Коль я жива — любить его должна.
Избавит от любви лишь смерть одна.
О, пощади! О жалости молю.
О, будь добрей или совсем убей!
Пока живу, пока люблю, — скорблю.
Избавь от жизни или от скорбей!
Пошли мне счастье, чтобы жизнь спасти,
Иль дай забвенье в смерти обрести.
Перевод А. Петровой
* * *
Плетет коварство сети, ловушки ставит зло.
Предчувствие грядущих бед мрачит мое чело.
Измена прибывает, а верность обмелела,
Ведь мудрость не в чести у тех, кем алчность овладела.
Безумные стремленья, как тучи в небе, вьются.
Дождь позднего раскаянья — все, чем они прольются.
И что ростком надежды в безумии сдается,