Sonnet 95
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! O! in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose. That tongue that tells the story of thy days, Making lascivious comments on thy sport, Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise; Naming thy name blesses an ill report. O! what a mansion have those vices got Which for their habitation chose out thee, Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot And all things turns to fair that eyes can see! Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.
| Τι εράσμια και γλυκιά που κάνεις τη ντροπή, που σαν σκουλήκι μέσ’ σε ρόδο προφαντό του ονόματος σου μιαίνει την ανθοστολή! Με τι γλύκες σκεπάζεις βίον αμαρτωλό! Τα χείλη, που ιστορούν ήμερες σου, αν το ειπούν σχολιάζοντάς σου το παιχνίδι σου λαγνεία, δε μπορούν να σε ψέξουν, μόνο σαν να υμνούν λεν τ’ όνομά σου κι είναι ο ψόγος ευλογία. Τι κατοικία βρήκαν οι κακίες αυτές που διάλεξαν εσένα, τέτοιο ένα παλάτι, όπου ο πέπλος του κάλλους κρύβει τις πομπές και κάνει ωραία όσα μπορεί να βλέπει μάτι. Πρόσεξέ το, καρδιά μου, το προνόμιο αυτό, χρήση κακιά στομώνει ένα σπαθί καλό.
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Μετάφραση: Βασίλης Ρώτας
This sonnet continues to snipe at the young man's morals, although his backsliding is given a far more attractive gloss than previously. It is clearly an integral part of this mini-sequence of sonnets dealing with deception and betrayal which runs from 91 to 96. But now all has become sweet and lovely, at least on the surface. The positive words of implicit praise, sweet, lovely, fragrant rose, beauty, budding name, sweets, kind of praise, blesses, mansion, beauty's veil, all things fair, far outnumber the negative cankers. Against this army of noble, though perhaps too sugary kinsfolk, the vices, blots and festering of dissipation do not make much headway. All is swallowed in the young man's merits and beauty, and the closing couplet seems rather weak in its admonitory power. The youth is not likely to change his spots, nor is the knife of sharpest metal likely to be thrown away.
http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/95