Alexander Pushkin — "My uncle is a man of honour, When in good earnest he fell ill, He won respect by…"
My uncle is a man of honour, When in good earnest he fell ill, He won respect by his demeanour. And found the role he best could fill. Let others profit by his lesson, But, oh my god, what desolation. To tend a sick man day and night. And not to venture from his sight! What shameful cunning to be cheerful. With someone who is halfway dead, To prop up pillows by his head, To bring him medicine, looking tearful, To sigh – while inwardly you think: When will the devil let him sink?
