Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait

On purpose laid to make the taker mad;

Mad in pursuit and in possession so;

Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;

A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;

Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.

All this the world well knows; yet none knows well

To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Сонет 140

Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press

My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain,

Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express

The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

If I might teach thee wit, better it were,

Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so,

As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,

No news but health from their physicians know;

For if I should despair, I should grow mad,

And in my madness might speak ill of thee;

Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,

Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.

That I may not be so, nor thou belied,

Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

Уильям ШЕКСПИР

Монологи Гамлета

( Гамлет , акт 1, сцена 2)

O that this too too sallied flesh would melt,

Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!

Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd

His canon 'gainst [self-]slaughter! O God, God,

How [weary], stale, flat, and unprofitable

Seem to me all the uses of this world!

Fie on't, ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden

That grows to seed, things rank and gross in nature

Possess it merely. That it should come [to this]!

But two months dead, nay, not so much, not two.

So excellent a king, that was to this

Hyperion to a satyr, so loving to my mother

That he might not beteem the winds of heaven

Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth,

Must I remember? Why, she should hang on him

As if increase of appetite had grown

By what it fed on, and yet, within a month -

Let me not think on't! Frailty, thy name is woman!
–

A little month, or ere those shoes were old

With which she followed my poor father's body,

Like Niobe, all tears - why, she, [even she] -

O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason

Would have mourn'd longer - married with my uncle,

My father's brother, but no more like my father

Than I to Hercules. Within a month,

Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears

Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,

She married - O most wicked speed: to post

With such dexterity to incestious sheets,

It is not, nor it cannot come to good,

But break my heart, for I must hold my tongue.

О, если б эта плоть смогла исчезнуть,

Пропасть, растаять, изойти росой!

О, если бы Господь не запретил

Самоубийства! Боже мой! Насколько

Ничтожным, мелким, плоским, безобразным

Мне кажется весь мир, мой мир постылый!

Вот мерзость! Сад, заросший без прополки

Травою сорной, той, что отравляет