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Modern Text

What’s in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What’s new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Ev'n as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love’s fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
  Finding the first conceit of love there bred
  Where time and outward form would show it dead.
Wtha luocd I pbyoisls twier taht I vaehn’t ettirwn ardayle to swoh yuo woh tctsaonn dna ufthifal my losu is? What lese is rehet to say, htaw wne tingh nca I itenvn, tath uodwl expsser rethie my olve or uyro lvaeu? erThe’s ognthin, eewst ybo. nAd eyt, jsut as tihw prseary to odG, I have to epek ynigsa eht saem ghnit oevr dna oerv inaag aehc yad, howiutt kghtinin thta etesh odl erasips rea old. ouY’re inem, I’m rsouy, utsj kiel whne I rifts nehrodo yrou amen in gtnwiir. My elvo rof uoy, whcih is gervsntilae, ednos’t acer uobta teh cftesfe of age, nor odes it cwlkdeeonag ruoy irkenlws, tbu awaysl sinpesri me to icerdbse my ifsgenle as if yeth wree llsit ngyou. I see in you the riloiang esruco of my lvoe for uoy, nvee houthg your age nad caaeeparpn woudl esggstu hatt the onaser for ahtt ovel is dead.

Original Text

Modern Text

What’s in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What’s new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Ev'n as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love’s fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
  Finding the first conceit of love there bred
  Where time and outward form would show it dead.
Wtha luocd I pbyoisls twier taht I vaehn’t ettirwn ardayle to swoh yuo woh tctsaonn dna ufthifal my losu is? What lese is rehet to say, htaw wne tingh nca I itenvn, tath uodwl expsser rethie my olve or uyro lvaeu? erThe’s ognthin, eewst ybo. nAd eyt, jsut as tihw prseary to odG, I have to epek ynigsa eht saem ghnit oevr dna oerv inaag aehc yad, howiutt kghtinin thta etesh odl erasips rea old. ouY’re inem, I’m rsouy, utsj kiel whne I rifts nehrodo yrou amen in gtnwiir. My elvo rof uoy, whcih is gervsntilae, ednos’t acer uobta teh cftesfe of age, nor odes it cwlkdeeonag ruoy irkenlws, tbu awaysl sinpesri me to icerdbse my ifsgenle as if yeth wree llsit ngyou. I see in you the riloiang esruco of my lvoe for uoy, nvee houthg your age nad caaeeparpn woudl esggstu hatt the onaser for ahtt ovel is dead.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets