Уильям Шекспир

How can I then return in happy plight

That am debarred the benefit of rest?

When day's oppression is not eased by night,

But day by night and night by day oppressed;

And each (though enemies to either's reign)

Do in consent shake hands to torture me,

The one by toil, the other to complain

How far I toil, still farther off from thee.

I tell the day to please him thou art bright,

And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;

So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,

When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even:

But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,

And night doth nightly make griefs' strength seem stronger.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

That thou consumest thyself in single life?

Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.

The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife.

The world will be thy widow and still weep

That thou no form of thee hast left behind,

When every private widow well may keep

By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.

Трус умирает при каждой опасности, грозящей ему, храброго же смерть настигает только раз.

И ты не обличай моих пороков

Или себя к ответу призови.