Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах

Whilom the sisters nine were vestal maides,

And held their temple in the secret shades

Of fair Parnassus, that two-headed hill,

Whose ancient fame the southern world did fill;

And in the stead of their eternal fame,

Was the cool stream that took his endless name,

From out of fertile hoof of winged steed:

There did they sit and do their holy deed,

That pleased both Heav’n and Earth — till that of late

Whom should I fault? or the most righteous fate,

Or Heav’n, or men, or feinds, or ought beside,

That ever made that foul mischance betide?

Some of the sisters in more secret shades

Defloured were……………

And ever since, disdaining sacred shame,

Done ought that might their heav’nly stock defame.

Now is Parnassus turned to a stewes,

And on bay stocks the wanton mirtle grewes;

Citeron hill’s become a brothrel-bed,

And pyron sweet turn’d to a poison’d head

Of coal-black puddle, whose infectious stain

Corrupteth all the lovely fruitful plain.

Their modest stole, to garrish looser weed,

Decked with love-favours, their late whoredoms meed;

And where they wont sip of the simple flood,

Now toss they bowls of Bacchus’ boiling blood.

I marvell’d much, with doubtful jealousie,

Whence came such litters of new poetrie;

Methought I fear’d, lest the horse-hoofed well

His native banks did proudly over-swell

In some late discontent, thence to ensue

Such wondrous rabblements of rhymesters new;

But since I saw it painted on Fame’s wings,

The Muses to be woxen wantonings.

Each bush, each bank and each base apple-squire

Can serve to sate their beastly lewd desire.

Ye bastard poets, see your pedigree,

From common trulls and loathsome brothelry!