Ïðî÷èòàíèé :  154
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Òâîð÷³ñòü |
Á³îãðàô³ÿ |
Êðèòèêà
Though I regarded not
Though I regarded not
The promise made by me;
Or passed not to spot
My faith and honesty:
Yet were my fancy strange,
And wilful will to wite,
If I sought now to change
A falcon for a kite.
All men might well dispraise
My wit and enterprise,
If I esteemed a pese
Above a pearl in price:
Or judged the owl in sight
The sparhawk to excel;
Which flieth but in the night,
As all men know right well.
Or if I sought to sail
Into the brittle port,
Where anchor hold doth fail
To such as do resort;
And leave the haven sure,
Where blows no blustering wind;
No fickleness in ure,
So far-forth as I find.
No! think me not so light,
Nor of so churlish kind,
Though it lay in my might
My bondage to unbind,
That I would leave the hind
To hunt the gander's foe.
No! no! I have no mind
To make exchanges so.
Nor yet to change at all;
For think, it may not be
That I should seek to fall
From my felicity.
Desirous for to win,
And loth for to forego;
Or new change to begin;
How may all this be so?
The fire it cannot freeze,
For it is not his kind;
Nor true love cannot lese
The constance of the mind.
Yet as soon shall the fire
Want heat to blaze and burn;
As I, in such desire,
Have once a thought to turn
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