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И благости исполнился великой.
Означит нам его трудов конец
Надгробье — куст, а на кусту скворец.
Перевод М. Калинина
William Alabaster (1567–1640)
* * *
Jesus is risen from the infernal mire:
But who art thou that say’st Jesus arose?
Such holy words are only fit for those
Whose souls with Christ above the heavens aspire.
But if thou hast not raisèd thy desire
From earth to heaven, but in the world dost close
Thy love which unto heaven thou shouldst dispose,
Say not that Christ is yet ascended higher,
But yet within thy heart he lieth dead,
And by the devil is impoisonèd.
Rejoice not then in vain of his ascent;
For as his glorious rise doth much augment
All good men’s hopes, so unto those that tread
False paths, it is a dreadful argument.
Уильям Алабастер (1567–1640)
* * *
Христос воскрес из мертвых, смерть поправ;
Тебе ли говорить, что Он воскрес?
Лишь те достойны сих святых словес,
Кто рвётся к Богу, небеса избрав.
А если ты не обуздал свой нрав,
Превыше тверди не желал небес,
И в мире дольнем твой порыв исчез —
Не говори: «Воскрес Он». Ты неправ:
Безжизнен в сердце у тебя Христос,
Диавол благодать Его унёс.
Итак, не будь на ликованье скор:
Надежду в чуде праведных собор
Обрёл, а те, чей путь и крив, и кос,
Услышали суровый приговор.
Перевод А. Серебренникова
Henry Wotton (1568–1639)
On His Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia
You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light;
You common people of the skies;
What are you when the moon shall rise?
You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature’s lays,
Thinking your passions understood
By your weak accents; what ’s your praise,
When Philomel her voice shall raise?
You violets that first appear,
By your pure purple mantles known
Like the proud virgins of the year,
As if the spring were all your own;
What are you when the rose is blown?
So, when my mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty of her mind,
By virtue first, then choice, a Queen,
Tell me if she were not designed
The eclipse and glory of her kind?
Upon the Sudden Restraint of the Earl of Somerset, Then Falling From Favour
Dazled thus with height of place,
Whilst our Hopes our wits Beguile,
No man marks the narrow space
‘Twixt a Prison and a Smile.
Then since Fortunes favours fade,
You that in her arms do sleep,
Learn to swim and not to wade;
For the Hearts of Kings are deep.
But if Greatness be so blind,
As to trust in Towers of Air,
Let it be with Goodness lin’d,
That at least the Fall be fair.
Then though darkned you shall say,
When Friends fail and Princes frown,
Vertue is the roughest way,
But proves at night a Bed of Down.
The Character of a Happy Life
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another’s will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill;
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Nor vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend.
This man is freed from servile bands