Читать книгу Неизвестный Шекспир - Станислав Викторович Хромов - Страница 11

I am not as I seem to be,

Nor when I smile I am not glad,

A thrall although you count me free

I, most in mirth, most pensive-sad;

I smile to shade my bitter spite,

As Hannibal, that saw in sight

His country soil, with Carthage town,

By Roman force defaced down.

And Caesar, that presented was

With noble Pompey’s princely head,

As ’twere some judge to rule the case,

A flood of tears he seemed to shed;

Although indeed it sprung of joy,

Yet others thought it was annoy;

Thus contraries be used, I find,

Of wise to cloak the covert mind.

I Hannibal, that smiles for grief,

And let you Caesar’s tears suffice,

The one that laughs at his mischief,

The other all for joy that cries;

I smile to see me scorned so,

You weep for joy to see me woe,

And I a heart by love slain dead

Presents, in place of Pompey’s head.

O cruel hap and hard estate

That forceth me to love my foe,

Accursed by so foul a fate

My choice for to prefix it so,

So long to fight with secret sore,

And find no secret salve therefor;

Some purge their pain by plaint, I find,

But I in vain do breathe my wind.