Вильям
Шекспир. Сонеты (в переводе Маршака)
Samuil Marshak
(1887-1964)
William Shakespeare, Sonnet
No. 90
Уж если ты разлюбишь - так теперь,
Теперь, когда весь мир со мной в раздоре.
Будь самой горькой из моих потерь,
Но только не последней каплей горя!
И если скорбь дано мне превозмочь,
Не наноси удара из засады.
Пусть бурная не разрешится ночь
Дождливым утром - утром без отрады.
Оставь меня, но не в последний миг,
Когда от мелких бед я ослабею.
Оставь сейчас, чтоб сразу я постиг,
Что это горе всех невзгод больнее,
Что нет невзгод, а есть одна беда -
Твоей любви лишиться навсегда.
d
Literal Translation
If you stop loving me,
then [do it] now,
Now, when I’m at odds with
all the world.
Be the most bitter of my losses,
Only don’t be the final
drop of grief!
And if it’s given to me to
overcome sorrow,
Don’t deliver a blow from
some ambush spot.
Let the turbulent night
not end up as
A rainy morning—a morning
without joy.
Leave me, but not at the
final moment,
When I’ve become weakened
from petty woes.
Leave me now, so that I
might straightaway comprehend
That of all the
adversities this grief is the most painful,
That there are no
adversities, but there is one true calamity:
To be deprived of your
love for all time.
d
Literary
Translation/Adaptation by U.R. Bowie
If you’re to bid farewell
to loving me,
Act now, when I’m at odds with
all mankind.
Of my vile miseries the
most bitter be,
But not the one that
leaves all hopes behind.
If I’m to have a chance to
cope with grief,
Don’t strike me unawares
from ambuscade.
For turbulence of night I
would as lief
To see the sunrise ease
and mitigate.
So leave me then, but not
when strife has bent me,
When pettiness and spite my
will depleted.
Leave me today, so I can plainly
see
That here’s the pain most
painful, most deep-seated;
All other doleful woes that
now seem woe,
Compared to losing you are
far from so.
d
Shakespeare Sonnet No. 90
Then
hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while
the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the
spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not
drop in for an after-loss:
Ah! do not,
when my heart hath ‘scaped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward
of a conquered woe;
Give not a
windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out
a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt
leave me, do not leave me last,
When other
petty griefs have done their spite,
But in the
onset come: so shall I taste
At first the
very worst of fortune’s might;
And other
strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with
loss of thee, will not seem so.
d
Paraphrase
in Modern English
(from
Online site, No Sweat Shakespeare)
So hate me whenever it
pleases you, but if you are going to, do it now – now while the world is
determined to frustrate all my actions. Join with the spitefulness of Fortune,
make me bow under the burden, but don’t come and bite me from behind just when
I’ve got over this particular blow. Don’t be a rainy morning after a stormy
night, drawing out the defeat that you’re determined to impose on me. If you’re
going to go, don’t leave it to the end, when other small sorrows have done
their worst but do it at the beginning so that I’ll experience the very worst
misfortune first. Then other painful things that are hurting now won’t seem so
bad compared with the loss of you.
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