Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

As to th’Eternall, often in anguishes

Erst I have called, never unanswered,

Againe I call, againe I calling,

Doubt not againe to receave an answer.

Lord ridd my soule from treasonous eloquence

Of filthy forgers craftily fraudulent:

And from the tongue where lodg’d resideth

Poison’d abuse, ruine of beleevers.

Thou that reposest vainly thy confidence

In wily wronging; say by thy forgery

What good to thee? what gaine redoundeth?

What benefitt from a tongue deceitfull?

Though like an arrow strongly delivered

It deeply pierce, though like to a Juniper

It coales doe cast, which quickly fired,

Flame very hott, very hardly quenching?

Ah God! too long heere wander I banished,

Too long abiding barbarous injury:

With Kedar and with Mesech harbour’d,

How? in a tent, in a howslesse harbour.

Too long, alas, too long have I dwelled here

With frendly peaces furious enemies:

Who then to peace I seeke to call them,

Faster I find to the warre they arme them.