Здравствуйте! Продолжаю серию публикаций сонетов Шекспира. Введение можно прочитать здесь: Шекспировы сонеты. Оригинал: When forty winters shall besiege [осаждать] thy [твой] brow [бровь, лоб],
And dig deep trenches [окоп, ров] in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery [ливрея, наряд] so gazed on now
Will be a tottered [шатающийся] weed [сорняк] of small worth held [удерживать]: Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty [крепкий, сильный, живой] days,
To say within thine [твой] own deep-sunken [глубоко запавшие] eyes
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless [расточительный] praise. How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou [ты] couldst answer, 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse',
Proving his beauty by succession thine. This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold. Перевод Модеста Чайковского: Когда твой лик осадят сорок зим,
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