Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,

What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me!

As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed —

As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening’s weed —

As mellow pears above the crabs esteemèd be —

So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see.

The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray,

The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay.

Or I may love let slip out of mine entire heart,

So deep reposèd in my breast is she for her desart!

For many blessèd gifts, O happy, happy land!

Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand!

Yet, land, more is thy bliss that, in this cruel age,

A Venus’ imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage.

Among the Muses Nine a tenth if Jove would make,

And to the Graces Three a fourth, her would Apollo take.

Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold:

With her so I may live and die, my weal cannot be told.

What path list you to tread? what trade will you assay?

The courts of plea, by brawl and bait, drive geson peace away.

In house for wife and child there is but cark and care;

With travail and with toil enough in fields we use to fare.

Upon the seas lieth dread: the rich in foreign land

Do fear the loss, and there the poor like misers poorly stand.

Strife with a wife, without, your thrift full hard to see;

Young brats a trouble; none at all, a mayme it seems to be;

Youth, fond; age hath no heart and pincheth all to nye.

Choose then the leifer of these two: ay life, or soon to dye.

What race of life run you? what trade will you assay?

In courts is glory got, and wit encreased day by day;

At home, wee take our ease, and beake our selves in rest;

The fields our nature do refresh with pleasures of the best;

On seas is gain to get; the stranger he shall be

Esteemed, having much; if not, none knoweth his lack but he;

A wife will trim thy house; no wife? then art thou free;

Brood is a lovely thing; without, thy life is loose to thee;

Young bloods be strong; old sires in double honour dwell;

Doway that choice, no life, or soon to die, for all is well.