Миг, и час, и день, и год,

И тоска меня гнетёт,

Но всё сильней мои терзанья —

И страха лёд, и жар желанья!

Если чувств моих потоки

Деве выскажу жестокой,

Расскажу, как я страдал,

Как надеялся и ждал,

Услышу ль про её терзанья,

Томленья боль и жар желанья?

Вновь мученья и страданья,

Страхи, боль и ожиданье,

Вновь надежды и мечты…

Если б так страдала ты,

Познав и муки, и терзанье,

Томленья боль и жар желанья!

И, раскрыв свои объятья,

Став моею без изъятья,

Друг, услышу ль от тебя,

Что, наслаждение любя,

Для нас важнее ожиданья,

Томленья боль и жар желанья?

Перевод Д. Смирнова-Садовского

George Wither (1588–1667)

A Christmas Carol

So now is come our joyful’st feast,

Let every man be jolly;

Each room with ivy leaves is drest,

And every post with holly.

Though some churls at our mirth repine,

Round your foreheads garlands twine;

Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,

And let us all be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim,

And no man minds his labor;

Our lasses have provided them

A bagpipe and a tabor.

Young men and maids and girls and boys

Give life to one another’s joys,

And you anon shall by their noise

Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun,

Their hall of music soundeth;

And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,

So all things here aboundeth.

The country folk themselves advance,

For Crowdy-mutton’s come out of France;

And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance,

And all the town be merry.

Ned Swash hath fetched his bands from pawn,

And all his best apparel;

Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn

With droppings of the barrel.

And those that hardly all the year

Had bread to eat or rags to wear,

Will have both clothes and dainty fare,

And all the day be merry.

The wenches with their wassail-bowls

About the street are singing;

The boys are come to catch the owls

The wild mare in is bringing.

Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box;

And to the dealing of the ox

Our honest neighbors come by flocks,

And here they will be merry.

Then wherefore in these merry days

Should we, I pray, be duller?

No: let us sing our roundelays

To make our mirth the fuller;

And whilest thus inspired we sing,

Let all the streets with echoes ring:

Woods, and hills, and everything

Bear witness we are merry.

When We Are Upon the Seas

On those great waters now I am,

Of which I have been told,

That whosoever thither came

Should wonders there behold.

In this unsteady place of fear,

Be present, Lord, with me;

For in these depths of water here

I depths of danger see.

A stirring courser now I sit,

A headstrong steed I ride,

That champs and foams upon the bit

Which curbs his lofty pride.

The softest whistling of the winds

Doth make him gallop fast;

And as their breath increased he finds

The more he maketh haste.

Take Thou, oh Lord! the reins in hand,

Assume our Master’s room;

Vouchsafe Thou at our helm to stand,

And pilot to become.

Trim Thou the sails, and let good speed

Accompany our haste;

Sound Thou the channels at our need,

And anchor for us cast.

A fit and favourable wind

To further us provide;

And let it wait on us behind,

Or lackey by our side.

From sudden gusts, from storms, from sands,

And from the raging wave;

From shallows, rocks, and pirates’ hands,

Men, goods, and vessel save.