My uncle has most honest principles:
when he was taken gravely ill,
he forced one to respect him
and nothing better could invent.
His example is a lesson to others;
but, oh my God, what a boring thing
to sit with the sick man day and night,
not leaving his side for a single step!
What base perfidy
to entertain the half-dead man,
to smooth his pillows,
to sigh sadly and pine away?
Thus did the young rake think,
flying in the dust on post-horses,
by the almighty will of Zeus
the heir of all his relatives.
Friends of Lyudmila and Ruslan!
With the hero of my novel,
without any introductory words,
let me acquaint you right now.
Onegin, a good friend of mine,
was born on the banks of the Neva,
where maybe you were born,
or where you shone, my reader.
There once I also walked:
but the North is bad for me.
Having served nobly and in debt,
his father lived by giving balls.
Three lotteries a year he gave
and squandered everything at last.
Fate guarded Eugene:
at first Madame followed him.