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

I crouched and knelt before him; anon,

For Mary’s love, for help I him pray.

“I wot not what thou mean’st”, ’gan he say;

To get me thence he did me bid,

For lack of money I could not speed.

Within this Hall, neither rich nor yet poor

Would do for me aught although I should die;

Which seing, I gat me out of the door;

Where Flemings began on me for to cry, —

“Master, what will you copen or buy?

Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?

Lay down your silver, and here you may speed”.

Within this Hall, neither rich nor yet poor

Would do for me aught although I should die;

Which seing, I gat me out of the door;

Where Flemings began on me for to cry, —

“Master, what will you copen or buy?

Fine felt hats, or spectacles to read?

Lay down your silver, and here you may speed”.

To Westminster Gate I presently went,

When the sun was at high prime;

Cooks to me they took good intent,

And proffered me bread, with ale and wine,

Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine;

A faire cloth they ’gan for to spread,

But, wanting money, I might not then speed.

Then unto London I did me hie,

Of all the land it beareth the prize;

“Hot peascodes!” one began to cry;

“Strawberries ripe!” and “Cherries in the rise!”

One bade me come near and buy some spice;

Pepper and saffrone they ’gan me bede;

But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Then to the Cheap I ‘gan me drawn,

Where much people I saw for to stand;

One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn;

Another he taketh me by the hand,

“Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land”;

I never was used to such things indeed;

And, wanting money, I might not speed.

Then I hied me into East Cheap:

One cries “Ribs of beef and many a pie!”

Pewter pots they clattered on a heap;

There was harpe, pipe, and minstrelsy:

“Yea, by cock!” “Nay, by cock!” some began cry;

Some sung of “Jenkin and Julian” for their meed;

But, for lack of money, I might not speed.

Then into Cornhill anon I yode

Where there was much stolen gear among;

I saw where hung my owne hood,

That I had lost among the throng:

To buy my own hood I thought it wrong;

I knew it as well as I did my creed;

But, for lack of money, I could not speed.

The Taverner took me by the sleeve;

“Sir”, saith he, “will you our wine assay?”

I answered, “That cannot much me grieve;

A penny can do no more than it may”.

I drank a pint, and for it did pay;

Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede;

And, wanting money, I could not speed.

Then hied I me to Billings-gate,

And one cried, “Ho! go we hence!”

I prayed a bargeman, for God’s sake,

That he would spare me my expense.

“Thou ’scap’st not here”, quoth he, “under twopence;

I list not yet bestow any almsdeed”.

Thus, lacking money, I could not speed.

Then I conveyed me into Kent;

For of the law would I meddle no more.

Because no man to me took intent,

I dight me to do as I did before.

Now Jesus that in Bethlehem was bore,

Save London and send true lawyers their meed!

For whoso wants money with them shall not speed.

Джон Лидгейт (ок. 1370 — ок. 1451)

Безыскусная баллада

«И тела мощь, и чувств моих пожар,

И дух мой, полный верою святою —

Все, что от Бога получил я в дар,

Отдам тебе, плененный красотою —

Мне сладок вкус любовного настоя».

Так на рассвете, в росяной купели,

В день Валентина птицы нежно пели.

«Не разорвать мне узы этих чар,

Хотя смеешься над моей мечтою,

За перьев синь[4] твоих приму удар

Судьбы смертельный — скрытый лебедою,

Усну под липой с кроною густою».

Так над цветами дикой повители

В день Валентина птицы нежно пели.

«Приемлю я удел влюбленных пар,

Даю в том клятву всем, чего я стою,

На жимолости[5], что любви нектар

Пью в честь Амура с вечной слепотою

И в счастье, и у горя под пятою».

Всходил Титан[6], и, нежно, как свирели,

Такую песню птицы мне пропели.

Посылка

Красы принцесса, стихотворный дар

Прими, хотя он прост, как птичьи трели,

Но страсть в нем дышит и душевный жар —

Все то, о чем мне утром птицы пели.

Перевод Ю. Лукача

Vox ultima crucis

Итак, не медля боле, поспешай

Мне в сретенье в веселии сердечном.

Во всякой день в дорогу выступай

И памятуй о часе скоротечном.

Воздвижен твой чертог в блистанье вечном,

Не на земли палаты — в небесах.

Иди же, брате, с Богом человечным,

Тебе бо ради крестну смерть приях.

Перевод В. Симанкова

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