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Тема 4. «метафизики» и «кавалеры»

Горбунов А. Н. Джон Донн и английская поэзия XVI–XVII веков. М., 1993. С. 138–186.

Макуренкова С. Английская «метафизическая» поэзия XVII века: (К истории понятия) // Изв. АН СССР. Сер. лит. и яз. М., 1986. Т. 45, №2. С. 174–181.

Сидорченко Л.В. К теоретико-художественным исканиям в анг-лийской литературе XVII века: (Проблема остроумия) // Проб-лема метода и жанра в зарубежной литературе. М., 1985. С. 3–19.

Элиот Т.С. Поэты-метафизики // Лит. обозрение. 1997. №5.

Элиот Т.С. Эндрю Марвелл // Элиот Т. С. Избранное: Религия, культура, литература. М., 2004. С. 560–576.

Кружков Г. Истинная жизнь Эндрю Марвелла // Звезда. 2001. №11. С. 210–214.

GEORGE HERBERT (1593–1633)


When my devotions could not pierce

Thy silent ears,

Then was my heart broken, as was my verse:

My breast was full of fears

And disorder:

My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,

Did fly asunder:

Each took his way: some would to pleasures go,

Some to the wars and thunder

Of alarms.

As good go anywhere, they say,

As to benumb

Both knees and heart in crying night and day

Come, come, my God, O come!

But no hearing.

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,

Untuned, unstrung:

My feeble spirit, unable to look right,

Like a nipped blossom, hung


O cheer and tune my heartless breast;

Defer no time,

That so thy favors granting my request,

They and my mind may chime,

And mend my rhyme.

ANDREW MARVELL (1621-1678)

To His Coy Mistress

Had we but world enough, and time,

This coyness, lady, were no crime.

We would sit down and think which way

To walk, and pass our long love’s day;

Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side

Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide

Of Humber would complain. I would

Love you ten years before the Flood;

And you should, if you please, refuse

Till the conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable love should grow

Vaster than empires, and more slow.

An hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand to the rest;

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For, lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear

Time’s winged chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found,

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound

My echoing song; then worms shall try

That long preserv’d virginity,

And your quaint honour turn to dust,

And into ashes all my lust.

The grave’s a fine and private place,

But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue

Sits on thy skin like morning dew,

And while thy willing soul transpires

At every pore with instant fires,

Now let us sport us while we may;

And now, like am’rous birds of prey,

Rather at once our time devour,

Than languish in his slow-chapp’d power.

Let us roll all our strength, and all

Our sweetness, up into one ball;

And tear our pleasures with rough strife

Thorough the iron gates of life.

Thus, though we cannot make our sun

Stand still, yet we will make him run.

ROBERT HERRICK (1591–1674)

Night-Piece to Julia

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,

The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also

Whose little eyes glow

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee!

No Will-o’-the-wisp mislight thee,

Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee!

But on, on the way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there’s none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber;

What though the moon does slumber?

The stars of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like tapers clear without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,

Thus, thus to come unto me;

And, when I shall meet

Thy silv’ry feet,

My soul I’ll pour into thee.

Counsel to Girls

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying:

And this same flower that smiles today,

Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,

The higher he’s a-getting

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times, still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time;

And while ye may, go marry:

For having lost but once your prime,

You may for ever tarry.

THOMAS CAREW (1594/5–1640)

A Song

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty’s orient deep

These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale when May is past;

For in your sweet dividing throat

She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars’ light

That downwards fall in dead of night;

For in your eyes they sit, and there

Fixed become as in the sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at length she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

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