Ïðî÷èòàíèé :  122
|
Òâîð÷³ñòü |
Á³îãðàô³ÿ |
Êðèòèêà
His Good Name Being Blemished, He Bewaileth
[Ed. Note: De Vere was a quarrelsome individual and frequently had to leave Court in consequence. --Nelson]
Framed in the front of forlorn hope past all recovery,
I stayless stand to abide the shock of shame and infamy.
My life, through ling'ring long, is lodg'd in lair of loathsome ways,
My death delay'd to keep from life the harm of hapless days.
My sprites, my heart, my wit and force in deep distress are drown'd;
The only loss of my good name is of these griefs the ground.
And since my mind, my wit, my head, my voice, and tongue are weak
To utter, move, devise, conceive, sound forth, declare, and speak
Such piercing plaints as answer might, or would, my woeful case,
Help crave I must, and crave I will, with tears upon my face,
Of all that may in heaven or hell, in earth or air, be found
To wail with me this loss of mine, as of these griefs the ground.
Help gods, help saints, help sprites and powers that in the heaven do dwell!
Help ye that are to wail ay wont, ye howling hounds of hell!
Help man, help beasts, help birds and worms that on the earth doth toil!
Help fish, help fowl that flocks and feed upon the salt sea soil!
Help echo that in air doth flee, shrill voices to resound,
To wail this loss of my good name, as of these griefs the ground.
|
|
