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Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах - Антология

Читать бесплатно Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах - Антология. Жанр: Прочее / Поэзия / Периодические издания год 2004. Так же читаем полные версии (весь текст) онлайн без регистрации и SMS на сайте kniga-online.club или прочесть краткое содержание, предисловие (аннотацию), описание и ознакомиться с отзывами (комментариями) о произведении.
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holynesse

Betwene hem and mede is gret dystaunce.

Flaterie hath lost his contenaunce;

Plente is founde non nygarde.

Scarsitee is gon vnto myschaunce

Right as the crabbe goth forewarde.

Eche man hath ynowe richesse;

Pore folke fele no greuaunce.

Presthode lyveth in perfitnesse,

Kan in litel have suffisaunce.

Religion hath non attendaunce

Vnto the worlde, but al vpwarde

To the ensample in substance,

Right as the crab goth forewarde.

Take hede also by avysenesse —

Wymmen fro Cartage to Custaunce

Ibanshed have newfanglenesse,

Put in a place perseueraunce.

In clergie is perfite governaunce;

Mesoure with marchaunts is a chef stewarde;

Wight halt trewly ther balaunce,

Right as the crab goth forewarde.

Princes, the reuerence to expresse

Of euery thing by contenaunce —

Endendement double is chef maistras,

FaIs compassing by disseyvaunce,

Which causeth alwey grete disturbance,

French, English, Narman and Picard.

The heuenly signe maketh demonstraunce

Right as the crab goth forewarde!

A Balade: Warning Men To Beware of Deceitful Women

Loke wel aboute, ye that lovers be;

Lat nat your lustes lede you to dotage;

Be nat enamoured on al thing that ye see.

Sampson the fort, and Salamon the sage

Deceived were, for al hir gret corage;

Men deme hit is right as they see at y;

Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

I mene, in women, for al hir cheres queinte,

Trust nat to moche; hir trouthë is but geson;

The fairest outward ful wel can they peinte,

Hir stedfastnes endureth but a seson;

For they feyn frendlines and worchen treson.

And for they be chaungeáble naturally,

Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

Though al the world do his besy cure

To make women stonde in stablenes,

Hit may nat be, hit is agayn nature;

The world is do whan they lak doublenes;

For they can laughe and love nat; this is expres.

To trust in hem, hit is but fantasy;

Bewar therfore; the blind et many a fly.

What wight on-lyve trusteth in hir cheres

Shal haue at last his guerdon and his mede;

They can shave nerer then rasóurs or sheres;

Al is nat gold that shyneth! Men, take hede;

Hir galle is hid under a sugred wede.

Hit is ful hard hir fantasy t’aspy;

Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

Women, of kinde, have condicions three;

The first is, that they be fulle of deceit;

To spinne also hit is hir propertee;

And women have a wonderful conceit,

They wepen ofte, and al is but a sleight,

And whan they list, the tere is in the y;

Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

What thing than eyr is lighter and meveable?

The light, men say, that passeth in a throw;

Al if the light be nat so variable

As is the wind that every wey can blow;

And yet, of reson, som men deme and trow

Women be lightest of hir company;

Bewar therfore; the blind et many a fly.

In short to say, though al the erth so wan

Were parchëmyn smothe, whyte and scribable,

And the gret see, cleped the occian,

Were torned in inke, blakker then is sable,

Ech stik a penne, ech man a scriveyn able,

They coud nat wryte wommannes traitory;

Bewar therfore; the blinde et many a fly.

The London Lackpenny

To London once my steps I bent,

Where truth in no wise should be faint;

To Westminster-ward I forthwith went,

To a man of Law to make complaint.

I said, “For Mary’s love, that holy saint,

Pity the poor that would proceed!”

But for lack of money, I could not speed.

And, as I thrust the press among,

By froward chance my hood was gone;

Yet for all that I stayed not long

Till to the King’s Bench I was come.

Before the Judge I kneeled anon

And prayed him for God’s sake take heed.

But for lack of money, I might not speed.

Beneath them sat clerks a great rout,

Which fast did write by one assent;

There stood up one and cried about

“Richard, Robert, and John of Kent!”

I wist not well what this man meant,

He cried so thickly there indeed.

But he that lacked money might not speed.

To the Common Pleas I yode tho,

There sat one with a silken hood:

I ’gan him reverence for to do,

And told my case as well as I could;

How my goods were defrauded me by falsehood;

I got not a mum of his mouth for my meed,

And for lack of money I might not speed.

Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence,

Before the clerks of the Chancery;

Where many I found earning of pence;

But none at all once regarded me.

I gave them my plaint upon my knee;

They liked it well when they had it read;

But, lacking money, I could not be sped.

In Westminster Hall I found out one,

Which went in a long

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