Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

There is a thing which in the light

Is seldom used, but in the night

It serves the maiden female crew,

The ladies, and the good-wives too.

They use to take it in their hand,

And then it will uprightly stand;

And to a hole they it apply,

Where by its goodwill it would die;

It spends, goes out, and still within

It leaves its moisture thick and thin.

I am a man of war and might,

And know thus much, that I can fight,

Whether I am in the wrong or right,

Devoutly.

No woman under heaven I fear,

New oaths I can exactly swear,

And forty healths my brain will bear

Most stoutly.

I cannot speak, but I can do

As much as any of our crew,

And, if you doubt it, some of you

May prove me.

I dare be bold thus much to say,

If that my bullets do but play,

You would be hurt so night and day,

Yet love me.

The little boy, to show his might and power,

Turn’d Io to a cow, Narcissus to a flower;

Transform’d Apollo to a homely swain,

And Jove himself into a golden rain.

These shapes were tolerable, but by the mass

He’s metamorphosed me into an ass.

thom.: Didst thou not find the place inspired,

And flowers, as if they had desired

No other sun, start from their beds,

And for a sight steal out their heads?

Heardst thou not music when she talked?

And didst not find that as she walked

She threw rare perfumes all about,

Such as bean-blossoms newly out,

Or chafed spices give? —

j. s.: I must confess those perfumes, Tom,

I did not smell; nor found that from

Her passing by ought sprung up new.

The flowers had all their birth from you;

For I passed o’er the self-same walk

And did not find one single stalk

Of anything that was to bring

This unknown after-after-spring.

thom.: Dull and insensible, couldst see

A thing so near a deity

Move up and down, and feel no change?

j. s.: None, and so great, were alike strange;

I had my thoughts, but not your way.

All are not born, sir, to the bay.

Alas! Tom, I am flesh and blood,

And was consulting how I could

In spite of masks and hoods descry

The parts denied unto the eye.

I was undoing all she wore,

And had she walked but one turn more,

Eve in her first state had not been

More naked or more plainly seen.

thom.: ’Twas well for thee she left the place;

There is great danger in that face.

But hadst thou viewed her leg and thigh,

And upon that discovery

Searched after parts that are more dear

(As fancy seldom stops so near),

No time or age had ever seen

So lost a thing as thou hadst been.

j. s.: I must confess those perfumes, Tom,

I did not smell; nor found that from

Her passing by ought sprung up new.

The flowers had all their birth from you;

For I passed o’er the self-same walk

And did not find one single stalk

Of anything that was to bring

This unknown after-after-spring.

Troth, Tom, I must confess I much admire

Thy water should find passage through the fire;

For fire and water never could agree:

These now by nature have some sympathy:

Sure then his way he forces, for all know

The French ne’er grants a passage to his foe.

If it be so, his valour I must praise,

That being the weaker, yet can force his ways;

And wish that to his valour he had strength,

That he might drive the fire quite out at length;

For, troth, as yet the fire gets the day,

For evermore the water runs away.

I know there are some fools that care

Not for the body, so the face be fair;

Some others, too, that in a female creature

Respect not beauty, but a comely feature;

And others, too, that for those parts in sight

Care not so much, so that the rest be right.

Each man his humour hath, and, faith, ’tis mine

To love that woman which I now define.

First I would have her wainscot foot and hand

More wrinkled far than any pleated band,

That in those furrows, if I’d take the pains,

I might both sow and reap all sorts of grains:

Her nose I’d have a foot long, not above,

With pimples embroider’d, for those I love;

And at the end a comely pearl of snot,

Considering whether it should fall or not:

Provided, next, that half her teeth be out,

Nor do I care much if her pretty snout

Meet with her furrow’d chin, and both together

Hem in her lips, as dry as good whit-leather:

One wall-eye she shall have, for that’s a sign

In other beasts the best: why not in mine?

Her neck I’ll have to be pure jet at least,

With yellow spots enamell’d; and her breast,

Like a grasshopper’s wing, both thin and lean,

Not to be toucht for dirt, unless swept clean:

As for her belly, ’tis no matter, so

There be a belly, and a cunt below;

Yet, if you will, let it be something high,

And always let there be a timpany.

But soft! where am I now? here I should stride,

Lest I fall in, the place must be so wide,

And pass unto her thighs, which shall be just

Like to an ant’s that’s scraping in the dust:

Into her legs I’d have love’s issues fall,

And all her calf into a gouty small:

Her foot both thick and eagle-like display’d,

The symptoms of a comely, handsome maid.

As for her parts behind, I ask no more:

If they but answer those that are before,

I have my utmost wish; and, having so,

Judge whether I am happy, yea or no.

What! no more favours? Not a ribband more,

Not fan nor muff to hold as heretofore?

Must all the little blisses then be left,

And what was once love’s gift become our theft?

May we not look ourselves into a trance,

Teach our souls parley at our eyes, not glance,

Not touch the hand, not by soft wringing there

Whisper a love that only yes can hear?

Not free a sigh, a sigh that’s there for you?

Dear, must I love you, and not love you too?

Be wise, nice, fair; for sooner shall they trace

The feather’d choristers from place to place,

By prints they make in th’ air, and sooner say

By what right line the last star made his way

That fled from heaven to earth, than guess to know

How our loves first did spring, or how they grow.

Love is all spirit: fairies sooner may

Be taken tardy, when they night-tricks play,

Than we. We are too dull and lumpish rather:

Would they could find us both in bed together!

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale? —

Will, when looking well can’t move her,

Looking ail prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prithee, why so mute? —

Will, when speaking well can’t win her,

Saying nothing do’t?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,

This cannot take her —

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her:

The Devil take her!

Well-shadowed landskip, fare-ye-well:

How I have loved you, none can tell,

At least so well

As he that now hates more

Then e’er he loved before.

But my dear nothings, take your leave;

No longer must you me deceive,

Since I perceive

All the deceit, and know

Whence the mistake did grow.

As he whose quicker eye doth trace

A false star shot to a marked place

Does run apace,

And thinking it to catch

A jelly up does snatch,

So our dull souls, tasting delight

Far off, by sense, and appetite,

Think that is right

And real good, when yet

’Tis but the counterfeit.

Oh, how I glory now that I

Have made this new discovery!

Each wanton eye

Enflamed before; no more

Will I increase that score.

If I gaze now, ’tis but to see

What manner of death’s-head ’twill be,

When it is free

From that fresh upper skin,

The gazer’s joy, and sin.

The gum and glistening which with art

And studied method in each part

Hangs down the hair —‘t

Looks just as if that day

Snails there had crawled the hay.

The locks that curled o’er each ear be

Hang like two master-worms to me,

That (as we see)

Have tasted to the rest

Two holes, where they like ’t best.

A quick corse methinks I spy

In every woman; and mine eye,

At passing by,

Checks, and is troubled, just

As if it rose from dust.

They mortify not heighten me;

These of my sins the glasses be:

And here I see

How I have loved before.

And so I love no more.

I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,

Where I the rarest things have seen,

O, things without compare!

Such sights again cannot be found

In any place on English ground,

Be it at wake or fair.

At Charing Cross, hard by the way

Where we, thou know’st, do sell our hay,

There is a house with stairs;

And there did I see coming down

Such folks as are not in our town,

Forty at least, in pairs.

Amongst the rest, one pest’lent fine

(His beard no bigger, though, than thine)

Walked on before the rest:

Our landlord looks like nothing to him;

The King (God bless him!) ’twould undo him,

Should he go still so dressed.

At course-a-park, without all doubt,

He should have first been taken out

By all the maids i’ th’ town:

Though lusty Roger there had been,

Or little George upon the Green,

Or Vincent of the Crown.

But wot you what? the youth was going

To make an end of all his wooing;

The Parson for him stayed.

Yet, by his leave, for all his haste,

He did not so much wish all past,

Perchance, as did the maid.

The maid (and thereby hangs a tale),

For such a maid no Whitsun-ale

Could ever yet produce;

No grape that’s kindly ripe could be

So round, so plump, so soft, as she,

Nor half so full of juice!

Her finger was so small the ring

Would not stay on, which they did bring;

It was too wide a peck:

And to say truth (for out it must),

It looked like a great collar (just)

About our young colt’s neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat,

Like little mice, stole in and out,

As if they feared the light:

But oh! she dances such a way,

No sun upon an Easter Day

Is half so fine a sight!

He would have kissed her once or twice,

But she would not, she was so nice,

She would not do ’t in sight:

And then she looked as who should say

“I will do what I list today,

And you shall do ’t at night”.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,

No daisy makes comparison,

(Who sees them is undone),

For streaks of red were mingled there,

Such as are on a Catherine pear,

(The side that’s next the sun).

Her lips were red, and one was thin

Compared to that was next her chin, —

(Some bee had stung it newly);

But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,

I durst no more upon them gaze

Than on the sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak

Thou’dst swear her teeth her words did break,

That they might passage get;

But she so handled still the matter,

They came as good as ours, or better,

And are not spent a whit.

If wishing should be any sin,

The Parson himself had guilty been,

(She looked that day so purely);

And, did the youth so oft the feat

At night, as some did in conceit,

It would have spoiled him surely.

Just in the nick, the cook knocked thrice,

And all the waiters in a trice

His summons did obey.

Each servingman, with dish in hand,

Marched boldly up, like our trained band,

Presented, and away.

When all the meat was on the table,

What man of knife or teeth was able

To stay to be entreated?

And this the very reason was,

Before the parson could say grace,

The company was seated.

The business of the kitchen’s great,

For it is fit that man should eat;

Nor was it there denied.

Passion o’ me, how I run on!

There’s that that would be thought upon,

I trow, besides the bride.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse,

Healths first go round, and then the house:

The bride’s came thick and thick;

And when ’twas named another’s health,

Perhaps he made it hers by stealth.

And who could help it, Dick?

O’ th’ sudden, up they rise and dance;

Then sit again and sigh and glance;

Then dance again and kiss.

Thus several ways the time did pass,

Whilst every woman wished her place,

And every man wished his!

By this time all were stolen aside

To counsel and undress the bride;

But that he must not know;

And yet ’twas thought he guessed her mind,

And did not mean to stay behind

Above an hour or so.

When in he came, Dick, there she lay

Like new-fallen snow melting away

(’Twas time, I trow, to part).

Kisses were now the only stay,

Which soon she gave, as one would say,

“God-be-with-ye, with all my heart”.

But, just as Heavens would have, to cross it,

In came the bridesmaids with the posset:

The bridegroom ate in spite;

For, had he left the women to ’t,

It would have cost two hours to do ’t,

Which were too much that night.

At length the candle’s out, and now

All that they had not done they do;

What that is, who can tell?

But I believe it was no more

Than thou and I have done before

With Bridget and with Nell.