William Shakespeare
66
Tir’d with all these, for restful death I cry:
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplac’d,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac’d,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall’d simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tir’d with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
uiliam Seqspiri
66-e soneti
ase daRlili mosvenebas sikvdilSi veZeb:
viT avitano, rom maTxovars ergos dideba,
spetaki rwmena SemogCivis uiRblo bedze,
dafniT briyvebi Semosilan qveynis imedad.
bilwi mruSoba emuqrebaubiwo qalwuls,
da arakaci sazeimod kvlav moirTveba,
Seuracxyofil srulqmnilebas vin gascems pasuxs,
dauZlureba Zlierebis _ saqmed iTvleba.
dRes xelovneba daamunja mmarTvelma Zalam,
Tavqariani, Tu uvici, Trgunavs gonebas,
vxedav, kai yma tyveobaSi isev suls Rafavs,
pirdapiroba da simarTle ar scnes monebma.
ase daRlili am yvelafriT aryofnas vnatrob,
magram, vai, rom Cems siyvaruls aq vtoveb marto.
Targmani inglisuridan
inesa merabiSvilisa
William Shakespeare
83
I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet’s debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow!
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
uiliam Seqspiri
83 soneti
me ar minaxavs, gWirdebodes sxva ram ferebi,
da amitomac Seni saxe vervin daxata,
mSvenierebam, axla sityviT rom veferebi,
ususurobas, leqsad Tqmulis, farda axada.
SenSi dRiTi dRe ifurCqneba Sno da Rirseba,
hoda, codvili, mitom vdumvar me Sens winaSe,
radgan yoveli Seni xilviT warmoCindeba,
kalams mgosanTa dRes ar ZaluZs, gviTxras simarTle.
Tumc, kargad vici, munjad yofniT rom var diadi,
es mdumareba mxolod bralad rad migaCnia?
asamareben silamazes xotbis wyvdiadiT,
me ki ara msurs, is davkargo, rac gamaCnia.
Tundac erT TvalSi SenSi mosCqefs meti sicocxle,
Sens orTav poets vidre ZaluZs, giTxras, icode.
Targmani inesa merabiSvilisa
William Shakespeare
130
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mystress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
uiliam Seqspiri
130-e soneti
satrfos TvalebSi mzis sadari sxivi ar sufevs,
mis bageTa fers marjnisferi, vici, ar hqvia,
mTis Tovls qaTqaTas ver Sevadri Sav-Sav ZuZu-mkerds
da mavTulebad kupriviT Tma gadaxlarTvia.
mravlad minaxavs TeTr-yirmizi damaskos vardi,
magram Rawvebi Cemi satrfos sul sxva feria,
da verc inanTis surnelebas veRar Sevadri
im usiamo amosunTqvas, mas rom sCvevia.
mosmena misi da baasi marad mwadia,
Tumc kargad vici, rom Cangis xma metad mitacebs,
arsad minaxavs, qalRmerTebi rogor dadian,
Cemi mijnuri daabijebs dedamiwaze.
da mainc vTvli, rom rCeulia igi savsebiT,
viTarc yoveli, cils rom swamebT cru mimsgavsebiT.
Targmani inglisuridan
inesa merabiSvilisa