Английская поэзия XIV–XX веков в современных русских переводах [Антология] (fb2) читать постранично, страница - 3

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diffiaunce;

Consistories for 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.

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 gown of ray;

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,