Читать книгу Неизвестный Шекспир - Станислав Викторович Хромов - Страница 13

If care or skill could conquer vain desire,

Or reason’s reins my strong affection stay,

Then should my sighs to quiet breast retire,

And shun such signs as secret thoughts bewray;

Uncomely love, which now lurks in my breast,

Should cease my grief, through wisdom’s power oppressed.

But who can leave to look on Venus’ face,

Or yieldeth not to Juno’s high estate?

What wit so wise as gives not Pallas place?

These virtues rare each God did yield a mate,

Save her alone who yet on earth doth reign,

Whose beauty’s string no Gods can well distrain.

What worldly wight can hope for heavenly hire

When only sighs must make his secret moan?

A silent suit doth seld to Grace aspire;

My hapless hap doth roll the restless stone;

Yet Phoebe fair disdained the heavens above,

To joy on earth her poor Endymion’s love.

Rare is reward where none can justly crave,

For chance is choice where reason makes no claim;

Yet luck sometimes despairing souls doth save:

A happy star made Gyges joy attain;

A slavish smith of rude and rascal race

Found means in time to gain a Goddess’ grace.

Then lofty Love thy sacred sails advance;

My seething seas shall flow with streams of tears.

Amidst disdain drive forth my doleful chance;

A valiant mind no deadly danger fears.

Who loves aloft and sets his heart on high,

Deserves no pain, though he do pine and die.