Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

As inward love breeds outward talk,

The Hound some praise, and some the Hawk

Some, better pleas’d with private sport,

Use Tennis; some a Mistress court:

But these delights I neither wish,

Nor envy, while I freely fish.

Who hunts, doth oft in danger ride;

Who hawks, lures oft both far & wide;

Who uses games, may often prove

A loser; but who falls in love,

Is fettered in fond Cupid’s snare:

My Angle breeds me no such care.

Of Recreation there is none

So free as fishing is alone;

All other pastimes do no less

Than mind and body both possess;

My hand alone my work can do.

So I can fish and study too.

I care not, I, to fish in seas.

Fresh rivers best my mind do please.

Whose sweet calm course I contemplate.

And seek in life to imitate;

In civil bounds I fain would keep

And for my past offenses weep.

And when the timorous Trout I wait

To take, and he devours my bait.

How poor a thing, sometimes I find,

Will captivate a greedy mind;

And when none bite, I praise the wise

Whom vain allurements ne’er surprise.

But yet, though while I fish I fast,

I make good fortune my repast;

And thereunto my friend invite,

In whom I more than that delight:

Who is more welcome to my dish.

Then to my Angle was my fish.

As well content no prize to take,

As use of taken prize to make;

For so our Lord was pleased, when

He Fishers made Fishers of men;

Where (which is in no other game)

A man may fish and praise his name.

The first men that our Saviour dear

Did choose to wait upon him here,

Blest Fishers were; and fish the last

Food was, that he on earth did taste:

I therefore strive to follow those

Whom he to follow him hath chose.