Читать книгу Don Quixote - Мигель де Сервантес Сааведра, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra - Страница 5

THE KNIGHT OF PHOEBUS

Оглавление

To Don Quixote of La Mancha

My sword was not to be compared with thine

   Phoebus of Spain, marvel of courtesy,

 Nor with thy famous arm this hand of mine

   That smote from east to west as lightnings fly.

   I scorned all empire, and that monarchy

 The rosy east held out did I resign

   For one glance of Claridiana's eye,

 The bright Aurora for whose love I pine.

 A miracle of constancy my love;

   And banished by her ruthless cruelty,

     This arm had might the rage of Hell to tame.

 But, Gothic Quixote, happier thou dost prove,

     For thou dost live in Dulcinea's name,

   And famous, honoured, wise, she lives in thee.


FROM SOLISDAN

To Don Quixote of La Mancha

SONNET

Your fantasies, Sir Quixote, it is true,

   That crazy brain of yours have quite upset,

   But aught of base or mean hath never yet

 Been charged by any in reproach to you.

 Your deeds are open proof in all men's view;

   For you went forth injustice to abate,

   And for your pains sore drubbings did you get

 From many a rascally and ruffian crew.

 If the fair Dulcinea, your heart's queen,

   Be unrelenting in her cruelty,

     If still your woe be powerless to move her,

   In such hard case your comfort let it be

 That Sancho was a sorry go-between:

     A booby he, hard-hearted she, and you no lover.


DIALOGUE

Between Babieca and Rocinante

SONNET

B. "How comes it, Rocinante, you're so lean?"

R. "I'm underfed, with overwork I'm worn."

B. "But what becomes of all the hay and corn?"

R. "My master gives me none; he's much too mean."

B. "Come, come, you show ill-breeding, sir, I ween;

  'T is like an ass your master thus to scorn."

R. He is an ass, will die an ass, an ass was born;

  Why, he's in love; what's what's plainer to be seen?"

B. "To be in love is folly?" – R. "No great sense."

B. "You're metaphysical." – R. "From want of food."

B. "Rail at the squire, then." – R. "Why, what's the good?

    I might indeed complain of him, I grant ye,

  But, squire or master, where's the difference?

    They're both as sorry hacks as Rocinante."


Don Quixote

Подняться наверх