Читать книгу Неизвестный Шекспир - Станислав Викторович Хромов - Страница 7

A Crown of Bays shall that man wear

That triumphs over me,

For Black and Tawny will I wear,

Which mourning colours be.

The more I followed on, the more she fled away,

As Daphne did full long agone, Apollo’s wishful prey;

The more my plaints resound, the less she pities me;

The more I sought, the less I found that mine she meant to be.

Melpomene, alas, with doleful tunes help then,

And sing, woe worth on me, forsaken man.

Then Daphne’s Bays shall that man wear that triumphs over me,

For Black and Tawny will I wear, which mourning colours be.

Drown me you trickling tears, you wailful wights of woe;

Come help these hands to rent my hairs, my rueful haps to show

On whom the scorching flames of love doth feed you see;

Ah la—lanti—da, my dear dame hath thus tormented me.

Wherefore you Muses nine, with doleful tunes help then,

And sing, woe worth on me, forsaken man.

Then Daphne’s Bays shall that man wear that triumphs over me,

For Black and Tawny will I wear, which mourning colours be.

An Anchor’s life to lead, with nails to scratch my grave,

Where earthly Worms on me shall feed, is all the joys I crave,

And hide myself from shame, sith that mine eyes do see,

Ah la—lanti—da, my dear dame hath thus tormented me.

And all that present be, with doleful tunes help then,

And sing, woe worth on me, forsaken man.