Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Those hands which you so clapp’d, go now and wring,

You Britons brave; for done are Shakespeare’s days;

His days are done that made the dainty plays,

Which made the Globe of heaven and earth to ring:

Dried is that vein, dried is the Thespian spring,

Turn’d all to tears, and Phoebus clouds his rays:

That corpse, that coffin, now bestick those bays,

Which crown’d him poet first, then poets’ king.

If tragedies might any prologue have,

All those he made would scarce make one to this;

Where Fame, now that he gone is to the grave —

Death’s public tiring-house — the Nuntius is:

For, though his line of life went soon about,

The life yet of his lines shall never out.