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]...

From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding...