Monday 7 May 2012

Sonnet 52 d'Shakespeare

Shakespeare (oval-cropped)
Sonnet 52

J'sis coumme un milsoutchi dé tchi la clié
sait dêcliéver pouor li san chièr trésor -
chein tch'i' n'èrgarde janmais à longue journée.
San pliaîsi - pus fort s'i n's'vait pon d'amors.
Les fêtes, vai-tu, sont hors du c'meun, d'tchi rare,
bein finnement enfrêmées, plaichies d'affi
avaû l'année - coumme des jouéyaux êcars
ou des grôsses pièrres d'valeu dans un colyi.
Dé même lé temps té garde coumme man baheur
ou coumme l'armouaithe dans tchi l'fro est muchi
à seule fîn d'faithe valer lé chein tch'i' veurt
en dêmuchant et dêblioutchant s'n ordgi.
Es-tu bénîn! Tu vaux tant qu'tout est bé:
T'aver, ch'est l'adgèvement; t'mantchi, l'espé.


So am I as the rich, whose blessèd key
Can bring him to his sweet up-lockèd treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placèd are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Bless'd are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.

No comments: