Ñîíåò 66 W. Shakespeare

Óñòàë – ïðîøó  ëèøü  òèõîé  ñìåðòè –
Ñìîòðåòü, êàê  íèùåòà  ñòîèò  ó  äâåðè,
Ïëóòèøêà  êîëåñî  ôîðòóíû  âåðòèò,
À  âåðà  ñâåòëàÿ  ïå÷àëèòñÿ  â  áåçâåðèè,
×åñòü  þíàÿ  ñ  îí¸ðàìè  èñ÷åçëà,
Äåâèöà  êðàñíàÿ  â  ðóêàõ  íàñèëüÿ,
  ñëóæàíêàõ  áåçóïðå÷íîñòü  ó  áåñ÷åñòüÿ,
Êîëåáëåò  ñèëó  õðîìîòà  áåññèëüÿ,
Èñêóññòâó  ðîò  çàòêíóëà  àãðåññèâíîñòü,
Âñåçíàéêà – ãëóïîñòü  ïðàâèò  ìàñòåðñòâîì,
Ïðîñòîþ  èñòèíîþ  íàçâàíà  íàèâíîñòü,
Äîáðî  îõâà÷åíî  áåññòðàøíûì  çëîì.
   Óñòàë  ÿ  îò  âñåãî, ïóñòü  áû  îñòûëà  êðîâü,
   Íî  ñ  áåäàìè  îñòàâëþ  ÿ  ëþáîâü.


                Ìèíñê, 1996 ãîä




SONNET 66

Tired 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 guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
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:
   Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
   Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.


http://www.hamletregained.com/sonnets/sonnet_066.html


Linda Sue Grimes:

First Quatrain: “Tir’d with all these, for restful death I cry”

In the opening quatrain of sonnet 66, the speaker makes his bold claim that he “cries” for “restful death,” because he is “[t]ir’d with all these” things. He then uses the rest of the sonnet to list those things he has grown tired of and also to show why they have fatigued him.

His first complaint is that people who seem to deserve a good life are often born into poverty. Seeing this situation and trying to understand its implications have made the speaker weary.

Then he offers the next item on his list which contrasts with the first: those who are less deserving are often “trimm’d in jollity,” while those with better claim go lacking. And those who possess “purest faith” are often “unhappily forsworn.”

The speaker is dramatizing the contrasts that exist on the physical plane, making known his condemnation of one while elevating the value of the other.

Second Quatrain: “And gilded honour shamefully misplac’d”

The second quatrain continues the speaker’s list of complaints: honor is misplaced; virtue is prostituted; perfection falls short; strength is “disabled” by “limping sway.”
The speaker is offering generalities that hold true for any generation. There is always a current example of honor being “shamefully misplac’d.” In the 20th and 21st centuries, the honor of the Nobel Peace Prize has suffered tremendously as partisan committees have degraded that prize by awarding it to terrorists and political hacks.

Third Quatrain: “And art made tongue-tied by authority”

The speaker continues his list of observations that annoy him to ennui: art is compromised by misguided movements; folly is controlled by “doctor-like” automatons; “simple truth” is made simplistic by being mislabeled “simplicity”; and good is highjacked by bad.

Current examples of “art made tongue-tied by authority” are the movements of modernist and postmodernist art usurping the stage once occupied by craft and the pursuit of truth, replacing the former excellence with solipsistic gobbledygook.

The Couplet: “Tir’d with all these, from these would I be gone”

The speaker again reiterates that he is tired of all this duplicity, disingenuousness, and flat out hypocrisy, and again offers the thought that he would just as soon die to this world to be rid of it, except for one important reason: he would have to leave his love.

Remembering that this speaker’s most valued possession is the spirituality of his amazing talent that he employs to exalt his “love,” the reader realizes that the speaker has merely exaggerated his death wish in service of his drama of contrasts.

© Linda Sue Grimes


http://www.stevedenning.com/complaint_Shakespeare.html

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.



---------------------------------------------------------

Stephen Denning

In this imperfect world, where pain, disease

Or death greet untold newborns at their birth,
Where wars are fought to propagate the peace,
Where know-how grows but is of little worth,
Where obscene wealth is flaunted without shame,
Where public good is sold for private take,
Where venal men advance in spite of blame,
Where leaders feed their egos without break,
Where artists pander to the crassest taste,
Where wisdom's lost in some forgotten vault,
Where no one ever needs to feel disgraced,
Since science shows all this is no one's fault:
In this imperfect world, I see in you
A way to weave my universe anew.
 
                (from Sonnets 2000)


Copyright © 2000 Stephen Denning