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    Speak softly, Love...
    Добавил: Vlivkor
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    ????? ??????? ??? ????????????????
    ?????????? ???????? ?????? ??????? ??? ????????????????. ? ??? ???????????? ?????? ????????, ????????????? ????????? ? ?????????, ?????? ????????????, ? ????? ??????????? ????? ?? ?????????? ?????
    ?????????? ?????: ???????? ????????, ????????????, ???????. ??????? “Speak Softly Love…”

    ??? ?????? ?????? ????????? ???????????. ? ???? ?????? ????, ?????????? ?????. ????????? ??????? ?? ??????, ????????????? ?? ?????. ??????????? ??????? ?? ?????????.

    ?.????????. “ ??????! ??????! ? ? ????????, ? ? ?????…”
    C.Sigman / F.Lai “Love Story”


    How like a winter hath my absence been
    From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
    What freezing have I felt, what dark days seen!
    What did December’s bareness every where!
    And yet this time removed was summer’s time,
    The autumn, big with rich increase,
    Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
    Like widow’d wombs after their lord’s decease:
    Yet this abundant issue seem’d to me
    But hope of orphans and unfather’d fruit;
    For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
    And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
    Or, if they sing, �tis with so dull a cheer
    That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.


    Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
    They edgeshould blunter be than appetite,
    Which but to-day by feeding is allay’d,
    To-morrow sharpen’d in his former might:
    So, love be thow; although to-day thou fill
    Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
    To-morrow see again, and do not kill
    The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
    Let this sad interim like the ocean be
    Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
    Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
    Return of love, more blest may be the view;
    Else call it winter, which being full of care
    Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wish’d, more rare.

    N.Rota /L.Kusik “Love Theme fro “The Godfarther”


    My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
    If snow be white, why then her breasts are dum;
    If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
    I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
    But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
    And in some perfumes is there more delight
    Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
    I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
    That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
    I grant I never saw a goddess go;
    My mistress, when she walks,
    Treads on the ground.
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.


    Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
    Tow art more lovely and more temperate:
    Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
    And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
    Sometime too hot the eyes of heaven shines,
    And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
    And every fair from fair sometime declines,
    By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
    But thy eternal summer shall not fade
    Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
    Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
    When in eternal lines to time thou growest;
    So long as men can breath or eyes can see,
    So long lives this and this gives life to thee


    My love is strengthen’d, though more week in seeming;
    I love not less, though - less the show appear;
    That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming
    The owner’s tongue doth publish everywhere.
    Our love was new and then but in the spring
    When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
    As Philomet in summer’s front doth sing
    And stops her pipe in growth of riper days.
    Not that the summer is less pleasant now
    Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
    But that wild music burthens every bough
    And sweets grown common lose their dear delight
    Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue.
    Because I would not dull you with my song.


    Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
    Wherein I should your great desert repay,
    Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
    Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
    That I have frequent been with unknown minds
    And given to time your own dear-purchased right
    That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
    Which should transport me farthest from your sight
    Book both my willfulness and erros down
    And on just proof surmise accumulate;
    Bring me within the level of your frown,
    But shoot not at me in your waken’d hate;
    Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
    The constancy and virtue of your love.


    My love is as a fever, longing still
    For that which longer nurseth the disease,
    Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
    The uncertain sickly appetite to please/
    My reason, the physician to my love,
    Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
    Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
    Desire is death, which physic did except.
    Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
    And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
    My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are.
    At random from the truth vainly express’d;
    For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
    Who arts as black as hell, as dark as night.


    In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
    For they in thee a thousand errors note;
    But �tis my heart that loves what they despise,
    Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
    Nor are mine ears with thy tongue’s tune delighted.
    Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
    Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
    To any sensual feast with thee alone:
    But my five wits nor my five senses can
    Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
    Who leaves unsway’d the likeness of a man,
    Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be:
    Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
    That she that makes me sin awards me pain.


    So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
    Like a deceived husband; so love’s face
    My still seem love to me, though alter’d new;
    Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
    For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
    Therefore in that I canot know thy change.
    In many’s looks the false heart’s history
    Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
    But heaven in thy face sweet love should ever duell;
    Whate’er thy thoughts or thy heart’s workings be,
    Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
    How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow,
    If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!


    Let me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments. Love is not love
    Which alters when it alternation finds,
    Or bends with the remover to remove:
    O no! It is an ever-fixed mark
    That looks on tempest and is never shaken;
    It is the star to every wandering bark,
    Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
    Love’s not Time’s fool, tjough rosy lips and cheeks
    Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If thus be error and upon me proved,
    I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


    Let those who are in favour with their stars
    Of public honour and proud titles boast
    Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
    Unlook’d for joy in that I honour most.
    Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread
    Byt as the marigold at the sun’s eye,
    And in themselves their pride lies buried,
    For at a frown they in their glory die.
    The painful warrior famoused for fight,
    After a thousand victories once foil’d,
    Is from the book of honour razed quite,
    And all the rest forgot for whuch he toil’d:
    Then happy I, that love and am beloved
    Where I may not remove nor be removed.


    Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
    Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
    Yet then my judgement knew no reason why
    My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
    But reckoning time, whose million’d accidents
    Creepin �twixt vows and change decrees of kings,
    Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents,
    Direct strong minds to the course of altering things;
    Alas, why, fearing of time’s tyranny,
    Might I not then say �Now I love you best,
    When I was certain o’er incertainty,
    Crowing the present, doubting of the rest?
    Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
    To give full growth to that which still doth grow?

    ( ? ???? ?????? ?????. ?????????? ?????? ????. ????????? ??????? ?? ?????????).

    ?.????????. “ ????? ???? ?????????? ??????…”
    S.Wonder “I Just Called”


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    ?????? 97,56,130,18,147,141,93 ??????????? ?? ???? ??????????? ???? ? ?/? “??????? ???????”.

    ?????? 25,115 – ?? ???? ??????????? ???? ? ?/? “?????? ??????”

    ?????? 102,117,116 – ? ?????? ? ??????????? ?? ?.?????????????.(??. ?????? ? ?????????? “???? ??????? ?? ???”)

    ?????? ?????? ?????????, ???????


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