Пераклад санета 21 У. Шэкспiра

О, я не з тых л?сл??ца?, хто пяе
Сва?м каханым оду прыгажосц?
? аздабляе фарбам? яе,
Каб атрымаць напышл?вае штосьц?;

Хто ?х ра?нае з неба м?латой,
З яскравым сонцам, зоркай таямн?чай,
З вясновай кветкай, по?няй залатой,
З ус?м, што дз?в?ць рэдкасным абл?ччам.

Дазволь, цябе за?сёды буду я
? сва?х санетах шчыра апявац? -
Бо ты ? гэтак, любая мая,
М?лей за ?с?х, народжаных ад мац?.

Хай усла?ляе хтось любо? сваю,
Я ж не хвалю, бо я не прадаю.

W.Shakespeare, Sonet 21

So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
О let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well,
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.