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Richard Lovelace
1618-1657/8
(Ричард Лавлэйс)
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TO LUCASTA, GOING TO THE WARS
1 Tell me not (Sweet) I am unkind,
2 That from the nunnery
3 Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
4 To war and arms I fly.
5 True, a new mistress now I chase,
6 The first foe in the field;
7 And with a stronger faith embrace
8 A sword, a horse, a shield.
9 Yet this inconstancy is such
10 As you too shall adore;
11 I could not love thee (Dear) so much,
12 Lov'd I not Honour more.
The Scrutiny
Why should you swear I am forsworn,
Since thine I vowed to be?
Lady, it is already morn,
And 'twas last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
Have I not loved thee much and long,
A tedious twelve hours' space?
I must all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new embrace,
Could I still dote upon thy face.
Not but all joy in thy brown hair
By others may be found; -
But I must search the black and fair,
Like skilful mineralists that sound
For treasure in unploughed-up ground.
Then if, when I have loved my round,
Thou prov'st the pleasant she,
With spoils of meaner beauties crowned
I laden will return to thee,
Ev'n sated with variety.
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© 2001 Elena and Yacov Feldman