Sir Thomas Wyatt (1503-1542)

NOT EITHER LONGER OR TRUER

UNSTABLE dream, according to the place,  Be steadfast once, or else at least be true :    By tasted sweetness make me not to rue The sudden loss of thy false fained grace. By good respect, in such a dangerous case,  Thou broughtest not her into these tossing seas ; But madest my sprite to live my care t' encrease,  My body in tempest her delight t'embrace.  The body dead, the spirit had his desire ; Painless was th' one, the other in delight.  Why then, alas, did it not keep it right,  But thus return to leap in to the fire ;   And where it was at wish, could not remain?    Such mocks of dreams do turn to deadly pain. 

Перевод Г.Кружкова

MONTH TO HIM MOST UNLUCKY

YET that in love find luck and sweet abundance,
And live in lust of joyful jollity,
Arise for shame, do way your sluggardy :
Arise, I say, do May some observance.
Let me in bed lie dreaming in mischance ; Let me remember my mishaps unhappy, That me betide in May most commonly ; As one whom love list little to advance.
Stephan1 said true, that my nativity
Mischanced was with the ruler of May.
He guessed (I prove) of that the verity.
In May my wealth, and eke my wits,2 I say
Have stond so oft in such perplexity :   Joy ; let me dream of your felicity.

Перевод Г. Кружкова

in my thought,
That built his seat within my captive breast ;
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
She, that taught me to love, and suffer pain ;
My doubtful hope, and eke my hot desire
With shamefaced cloak to shadow and restrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight ; whereas he lurks, and plains
His purpose lost, and dare not shew his face.
For my Lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pains. 
Yet from my Lord shall not my foot remove :   
Sweet is his death, that takes his end by love

Любовь моим рассудком овладела
И в сердце свой соорудила трон.
В сраженьях с ней лицо мое алело
Шелками неприятельских знамен.
Но та, любви кто учит и страданью,
Пред кем надежды никнут, оробев,
И под плащом стыда молчит желанье,
Сменяет милость прежнюю на гнев,—
И в панике любовь летит обратно,
Сидит, не смея носа показать,
И сетует, что тщетен подвиг ратный;
Так без вины я вынужден страдать,
Но ратника вовек я не покину:
Блажен, кто примет от любви кончину.
Перевод С.Шик

в Виндзоре

WHEN Windsor walls sustain'd my wearied arm ; My hand my chin, to ease my restless head ; The pleasant plot revested green with warm ; The blossom'd boughs, with lusty Ver1 y-spread ;
The flower'd meads, the wedded birds so late Mine eyes discover ; and to my mind resort The jolly woes, the hateless, short debate, The rakehell 2 life, that 'longs to love's disport.
Wherewith, alas! the heavy charge of care Heap'd in my breast breaks forth, against my will In smoky sighs, that overcast the air. My vapour'd eyes such dreary tears distil,
  The tender spring which quicken where they fall ;   And I half bend to throw me down withal. 

Устало подбородком опершись На руку, а рукой — на край стены, Тоскуя, поглядел я с башни вниз — И удивился зрелищу весны,
Вновь разодевшей в пух цветущий луг, Вновь разбудившей птах в тени дубрав; И так нежданно вспомнилась мне вдруг Веселая пора любви, забав,
Нестрашных бед и сладостных тревог, Всего, чего вернуть не станет сил, Что шумных вздохов я сдержать не смог И жаркими слезами оросил
Дол, зеленевший юною травой, — И чуть не спрыгнул сам вниз головой.
Перевод Г.Кружкова