Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, ? ? ? Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, ? ? ? Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, ? ? ? Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; ? ? ? And every humour...

В кухне большой, коммунальной,В черном домашнем трикоВыглядел ты идеально -Круче, чем братья Кличко.Взяв в руки медную турку,Молча над ней колдовал,Видно, хотел не на шуткуЛеди сразить наповал…Мой виртуозный бариста...

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, ? ?...

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write...

Шекспир. Сонет 78. Перевод So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse, As every alien pen hath got my use, And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high t...

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, ? ? ? Some in their wealth, some in their body's force, ? ? ? Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, ? ? ? Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; ? ? ? And every humour...

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?? ?? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:? ?? Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,? ?? Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?? ?? If the true concord of well-tu...

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, Now is the time that face should form another, Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose uneared womb...

Шекспир. Сонет 2 When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now Will be a tottered weed of small worth held: Then being asked where all thy beauty li...

When I do count the clock that tells the time,And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,When I behold the violet past prime,And sable curls all silvered o'er with white,When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,Which erst from heat did...