Pushkin's Eugene Onegin. Book III. Stanzas 25-27.

XXV

Кокетка судит хладнокровно,
Татьяна любит не шутя
И предается безусловно
Любви, как милое дитя.
Не говорит она: отложим -
Любви мы цену тем умножим,
Вернее в сети заведем;
Сперва тщеславие кольнем
Надеждой, там недоуменьем
Измучим сердце, а потом
Ревнивым оживим огнем;
А то, скучая наслажденьем,
Невольник хитрый из оков
Всечасно вырваться готов.

XXV

A flirt would say cold-bloodedly:
Tatyana loves too seriously,
And gives herself without restraint
To love, like a child, so simplistically.
She does not say: Let's put him off -
That way love's value we'll increase,
And wind him more firmly in the mesh;
Firstly we'll arouse his vanity,
With hope, then with perplexity
And doubt we'll rack his heart, until
With the fire of jealousy well revive his will;
Otherwise, bored with easy delights,
The cunning captive from his chains will be gone,
Being perpetually ready to cut and run.

XXVI

Еще предвижу затрудненья:
Родной земли спасая честь,
Я должен буду, без сомненья,
Письмо Татьяны перевесть.
Она по-русски плохо знала,
Журналов наших не читала,
И выражалася с трудом
На языке своем родном,
Итак, писала по-французски...
Что делать! повторяю вновь:
Доныне дамская любовь
Не изъяснялася по-русски,
Доныне гордый наш язык
К почтовой прозе не привык.

XXVI

Already I foresee a difficulty:
Anxious to preserve my country's reputation,
I must of course, without hesitation,
Translate Tatyana's letter fully.
Alas, she knew Russian rather badly,
And did not read our Mirror and Sun,
And expressed herself somewhat awkwardly
In the language of her mother tongue.
And so, she wrote in French, of course…
What can you do?! I repeat again:
Till now the love affairs of women
Have not been well expressed in Russian;
Till now our language, haughty and proud,
For letter writing has been too loud.

XXVII

Я знаю: дам хотят заставить
Читать по-русски. Право, страх!
Могу ли их себе представить
С "Благонамеренным" в руках!
Я шлюсь на вас, мои поэты;
Не правда ль: милые предметы,
Которым, за свои грехи,
Писали втайне вы стихи,
Которым сердце посвящали,
Не все ли, русским языком
Владея слабо и с трудом,
Его так мило искажали,
И в их устах язык чужой
Не обратился ли в родной?

XXVII

I know: they now wish to compel women
To read in Russian. But horror indeed!
Could I ever really come to imagine them
With 'The Loyalist Telegraph' in their hands?
I call on you, my fellow poets,
Is it not true: those darling creatures,
For whom for all your sins (and worse)
You secretly wrote romantic verse,
To whom your heart was consecrated,
Did they not all, when using Russian,
Which they mastered feebly and with difficulty,
Produce such charming infelicity,
That on their lips a foreign tongue
Became converted into their very own.

Lermontov

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XXV Кокетка судит хладнокровно, Татьяна любит не шутя И предается безусловно Любви, как милое дитя. Не говорит она: отложим - Любви мы цену тем умножим, Вернее в сети заведем; Сперва тщеславие кольнем Надеждой, там недоуменьем Измучим сердце, а потом Ревнивым оживим огнем; А то, скучая наслажденьем, Невольник хитрый из оков Всечасно вырваться готов.		XXV A flirt would say cold-bloodedly: Tatyana loves too seriously, And gives herself without restraint To love, like a child, so simplistically. She does not say: Let's put him off - That way love's value we'll increase, And wind him more firmly in the mesh; Firstly we'll arouse his vanity, With hope, then with perplexity And doubt we'll rack his heart, until With the fire of jealousy well revive his will; Otherwise, bored with easy delights, The cunning captive from his chains will be gone, Being perpetually ready to cut and run.
XXVI Еще предвижу затрудненья: Родной земли спасая честь, Я должен буду, без сомненья, Письмо Татьяны перевесть. Она по-русски плохо знала, Журналов наших не читала, И выражалася с трудом На языке своем родном, Итак, писала по-французски... Что делать! повторяю вновь: Доныне дамская любовь Не изъяснялася по-русски, Доныне гордый наш язык К почтовой прозе не привык.		XXVI Already I foresee a difficulty: Anxious to preserve my country's reputation, I must of course, without hesitation, Translate Tatyana's letter fully. Alas, she knew Russian rather badly, And did not read our Mirror and Sun, And expressed herself somewhat awkwardly In the language of her mother tongue. And so, she wrote in French, of course… What can you do?! I repeat again: Till now the love affairs of women Have not been well expressed in Russian; Till now our language, haughty and proud, For letter writing has been too loud.
XXVII Я знаю: дам хотят заставить Читать по-русски. Право, страх! Могу ли их себе представить С "Благонамеренным" в руках! Я шлюсь на вас, мои поэты; Не правда ль: милые предметы, Которым, за свои грехи, Писали втайне вы стихи, Которым сердце посвящали, Не все ли, русским языком Владея слабо и с трудом, Его так мило искажали, И в их устах язык чужой Не обратился ли в родной?		XXVII I know: they now wish to compel women To read in Russian. But horror indeed! Could I ever really come to imagine them With 'The Loyalist Telegraph' in their hands? I call on you, my fellow poets, Is it not true: those darling creatures, For whom for all your sins (and worse) You secretly wrote romantic verse, To whom your heart was consecrated, Did they not all, when using Russian, Which they mastered feebly and with difficulty, Produce such charming infelicity, That on their lips a foreign tongue Became converted into their very own.