Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Ye Gallants of Newgate, whose Fingers are nice,

In diving in Pockets, or cogging of Dice.

Ye Sharpers so rich, who can buy off the Noose,

Ye honester poor Rogues, who die in your Shoes,

Attend and draw near,

Good news ye shall hear,

How Jonathan’s Throat was cut from Ear to Ear;

How Blueskin’s sharp Penknife hath set you at Ease,

And every Man round me may rob, if he please.

When to the Old Bailey this Blueskin was led,

He held up his Hand, his Indictment was read,

Loud rattled his Chains, near him Jonathan stood,

For full Forty Pounds was the Price of his Blood.

Then hopeless of Life,

He drew his Penknife,

And made a sad Widow of Jonathan’s Wife.

But Forty Pounds paid her, her Grief shall appease,

And every Man round me may rob, if he please.

Some say there are Courtiers of highest Renown,

Who steal the King’s Gold, and leave him but a Crown;

Some say there are Peers, and some Parliament Men,

Who meet once a Year to rob Courtiers again:

Let them all take their Swing,

To pillage the King,

And get a Blue Ribbon instead of a String.

Now Blueskin’s sharp Penknife hath set you at Ease,

And every Man round me may rob, if he please.

Knaves of old, to hide Guilt by their cunning Inventions,

Called Briberies Grants, and plan Robberies Pensions;

Physicians and Lawyers (who take their Degrees

To be Learned Rogues) called their Pilfering Fees;

Since this happy Day,

Now every Man may

Rob (as safe as in Office) upon the Highway.

For Blueskin’s sharp Penknife hath set you at Ease,

And every Man round me may rob, if he please.

Some cheat in the Customs, some rob the Excise,

But he who robs both is esteemed most wise.

Church-wardens, too prudent to hazard the halter,

As yet only venture to steal from the altar:

But now to get gold,

They may be more bold,

And rob on the highway since Jonathan’s cold:

For Blueskin’s sharp Penknife hath set you at Ease,

And every Man round me may rob, if he please.

My passion is as mustard strong;

I sit all sober sad;

Drunk as a piper all day long,

Or like a March-hare mad.

Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;

I drink, yet can’t forget her;

For, though as drunk as David’s sow,

I love her still the better.

Pert as a pear-monger I’d be,

If Molly were but kind;

Cool as a cucumber could see

The rest of womankind.

Like a stuck pig I gaping stare,

And eye her o’er and o’er;

Lean as a rake with sighs and care;

Sleek as a mouse before,

Plump as a partridge was I known,

And soft as silk my skin

My cheeks as fat as butter grown;

But as a groat now thin!

I, melancholy as a cat,

And kept awake to weep;

But she, insensible of that,

Sound as a top can sleep.

Hard is her heart as flint or stone,

She laughs to see me pale;

And merry as a grig is grown,

And brisk as bottled ale.

The God of Love at her approach

Is busy as a bee;

Hearts, sound as any bell or roach,

Are smit and sigh like me.

Ay me! as thick as hops or hail,

The fine men crowd about her;

But soon as dead as a door nail

Shall I be, if without her.

Straight as my leg her shape appears,

O were we join’d together!

My heart would be scot-free from cares,

And lighter than a feather.

As fine as fivepence is her mien,

No drum was ever tighter;

Her glance is as the razor keen,

And not the sun is brighter.

As soft as pap her kisses are,

Methinks I taste them yet;

Brown as a berry is her hair,

Her eyes as black as jet:

As smooth as glass, as white as curds,

Her pretty hand invites;

Sharp as a needle are her words;

Her wit, like pepper, bites:

Brisk as a body-louse she trips,

Clean as a penny drest;

Sweet as a rose her breath and lips,

Round as the globe her breast.

Full as an egg was I with glee;

And happy as a king.

Good Lord! how all men envy’d me!

She lov’d like anything.

But, false as hell! she, like the wind,

Chang’d, as her sex must do;

Though seeming as the turtle kind,

And like the gospel true.

If I and Molly could agree,

Let who would take Peru!

Great as an emperor should I be,

And richer than a Jew.

Till you grow tender as a chick,

I’m dull as any post;

Let us, like burs, together stick,

And warm as any toast.

You’ll know me truer than a dye;

And wish me better speed;

Flat as a flounder when I lie,

And as a herring dead.

Sure as a gun, she’ll drop a tear,

And sigh, perhaps, and wish,

When I am rotten as a pear,

And mute as any fish.

’Twas when the seas were roaring

With hollow blasts of wind;

A damsel lay deploring,

All on a rock reclined.

Wide o’er the foaming billows

She casts a wistful look;

Her head was crown’d with willows,

That trembled o’er the brook.

Twelve months are gone and over,

And nine long tedious days.

Why didst thou, venturous lover,

Why didst thou trust the seas?

Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,

And let my lover rest:

Ah! what’s thy troubled motion

To that within my breast?

The merchant, robb’d of pleasure,

Sees tempests in despair:

But what’s the loss of treasure,

To losing of my dear?

Should you some coast be laid on,

Where gold and diamonds grow,

You’d find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

How can they say that nature

Has nothing made in vain;

Why then beneath the water

Should hideous rocks remain?

No eyes the rocks discover,

That lurk beneath the deep,

To wreck the wandering lover,

And leave the maid to weep.

All melancholy lying,

Thus wail’d she for her dear;

Repaid each blast with sighing,

Each billow with a tear;

When o’er the white wave stooping,

His floating corpse she spied;

Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow’d her head, and died.

All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,

The streamers waving in the wind,

When black-ey’d Susan came aboard.

Oh! where shall I my true love find!

Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,

If my sweet William sails among the crew.

William, who high upon the yard,

Rock’d with the billow to and fro,

Soon as her well-known voice he heard,

He sigh’d, and cast his eyes below:

The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands,

And, (quick as lightning) on the deck he stands.

So the sweet lark, high pois’d in air,

Shuts close his pinions to his breast,

(If, chance, his mate’s shrill call he hear)

And drops at once into her nest.

The noblest captain in the British fleet,

Might envy William’s lip those kisses sweet.

’O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,

My vows shall ever true remain;

Let me kiss off that falling tear,

We only part to meet again.

Change, as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be

The faithful compass that still points to thee.

’Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind:

They’ll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In ev’ry port a mistress find.

Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so,

For thou art present wheresoe’er I go.

’If to far India’s coast we sail,

Thy eyes are seen in di’monds bright,

Thy breath is Afric’s spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory, so white.

Thus ev’ry beauteous object that I view,

Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.

’Though battle call me from thy arms

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan’s eye’.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread,

No longer must she stay aboard:

They kiss’d, she sigh’d, he hung his head.

Her less’ning boat, unwilling rows to land:

’Adieu’, she cries! and wav’d her lily hand.

When I some antique Jar behold,

Or white, or blue, or speck’d with gold,

Vessels so pure, and so refin’d

Appear the types of woman-kind:

Are they not valu’d for their beauty,

Too fair, too fine for household duty?

With flowers and gold and azure dy’d,

Of ev’ry house the grace and pride?

How white, how polish’d is their skin,

And valu’d most when only seen!

She who before was highest priz’d

Is for a crack or flaw despis’d;

I grant they’re frail, yet they’re so rare,

The treasure cannot cost too dear!

But Man is made of coarser stuff,

And serves convenience well enough;

He’s a strong earthen vessel made,

For drudging, labour, toil and trade;

And when wives lose their other self,

With ease they bear the loss of Delf.

Friendship, like love, is but a name,

Unless to one you stint the flame.

The child, whom many fathers share,

Hath seldom known a father’s care.

Tis thus in friendships; who depend

On many, rarely find a friend.

A hare, who in a civil way,

Complied with everything, like Gay,

Was known by all the bestial train

Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain.

Her care was never to offend,

And every creature was her friend.

As forth she went at early dawn,

To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn,

Behind she hears the hunter’s cries,

And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies.

She starts, she stops, she pants for breath;

She hears the near advance of death;

She doubles to mislead the hound,

And measures back her mazy round;

Till fainting in the public way,

Half-dead with fear, she gasping lay.

What transport in her bosom grew,

When first the horse appeared in view!

“Let me”, says she, “your back ascend,

And owe my safety to a friend.

You know my feet betray my flight;

To friendship every burden’s light”.

The horse replied — “Poor honest puss,

It grieves my heart to see thee thus;

Be comforted, relief is near;

For all your friends are in the rear”.

She next the stately bull implored;

And thus replied the mighty lord —

“Since every beast alive can tell

That I sincerely wish you well,

I may, without offence, pretend

To take the freedom of a friend.

Love calls me hence; a favourite cow

Expects me near yon barley mow:

And when a lady’s in the case,

You know all other things give place.

To leave you thus might seem unkind;

But see, the goat is just behind”.

The goat remarked her pulse was high,

Her languid head, her heavy eye;

“My back”, says she, “may do you harm;

The sheep’s at hand, and wool is warm”.

The sheep was feeble, and complained

His sides a load of wool sustained:

Said he was slow, confessed his fears;

For hounds cat sheep, as well as hares.

She now the trotting calf addressed,

To save from death a friend distressed.

“Shall I”, says he, “of tender age,

In this important care engage?

Older and abler passed you by;

How strong are those! how weak am I!

Should I presume to bear you hence,

Those friends of mine may take offence.

Excuse me then. You know my heart,

But dearest friends, alas! must part.

How shall we all lament! Adieu!

For, see, the hounds are just in view”.