Пераклад санета 147 У. Шэкспiра

Каханне – л?хаманка… Жар залью –
? зно? нутро калоц?цца ад смаг?
? немач неспатольную маю
?сё болей распаляе хмелем браг?.

Мне розум, п?льны ?рач, прапанава?
Шмат лека? ад хваробы майго сэрца,
Ды я ж яго не слуха?, бо каха?...
? вось – мне недалёка ?жо да смерц?…

Цяпер не ?ратавацца мне н?як:
Мой розум наза?жды мяне пак?ну? -
? думк? ? смуце зблытал?ся так,
Што тлум пал??ся словам? ма?м?…

Я кля?ся: ты - выток майго святла,
А ты – пякельны в?р, мая ?мгла…

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W.Shakespeare, Sonet 147

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 art as black as hell, as dark as night.