Читать книгу The Complete Works of Shakespeare онлайн

402 страница из 942

King.

Now at the latest minute of the hour,

Grant us your loves.

Prin.

A time methinks too short

To make a world-without-end bargain in.

No, no, my lord, your Grace is perjur’d much,

Full of dear guiltiness, and therefore this:

If for my love (as there is no such cause)

You will do aught, this shall you do for me:

Your oath I will not trust, but go with speed

To some forlorn and naked hermitage,

Remote from all the pleasures of the world;

There stay until the twelve celestial signs

Have brought about the annual reckoning.

If this austere insociable life

Change not your offer made in heat of blood;

If frosts and fasts, hard lodging and thin weeds

Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love

But that it bear this trial, and last love;

Then at the expiration of the year,

Come challenge me, challenge me by these deserts,

And by this virgin palm now kissing thine,

I will be thine; and till that [instant] shut

My woeful self up in a mourning house,

Raining the tears of lamentation

For the remembrance of my father’s death.