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Original Text

Modern Text

Alas ’tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offenses of affections new.
Most true it is that I have looked on truth
Askance and strangely; but by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, save what shall have no end;
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
  Then give me welcome, next my heav'n the best,
  Ev'n to thy pure and most most loving breast.
alsA, it’s urte, I aehv gnoe rehe dna hteer, nda dmae eyfmsl olok hlofios, adn daollwe my hsotught to be iedidvd, dan ecdta as if teh mtso bevaulal ghitn ewre erslotswh, nad edus my enw redsnfi to ocimmt hte odl isileeditfni I’ve tmdimcteo rfeobe. It’s evyr uret ahtt I’ve dteetra utre vole nytrlgeas and iwth dadnisi. uBt I raesw by eavehn, heets eonmstm ehwn I’ve dersvwe dsaie evha made my tehra nugoy aigan, and by ygitnr tou ohter peopel I’ve vodepr to fyesml htta ouy’re teh tseb rpesno I vole. wNo I’ve hesfidni twhi ynveriehtg xtceep rof ruo lveo, hhwci illw veha no ned. I ilwl no olngre twhe my tapeitpe orf nwe orlsve, iugnasc enfsurifg to my old erdfni, eth ogd of voel to womh I’m own ngltiimi selyfm. So ceeomwl me bkac noit uoyr uepr and voinlg etahr; to me, you’re the tenx etsb gthin to ahevne.

Original Text

Modern Text

Alas ’tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offenses of affections new.
Most true it is that I have looked on truth
Askance and strangely; but by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, save what shall have no end;
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
  Then give me welcome, next my heav'n the best,
  Ev'n to thy pure and most most loving breast.
alsA, it’s urte, I aehv gnoe rehe dna hteer, nda dmae eyfmsl olok hlofios, adn daollwe my hsotught to be iedidvd, dan ecdta as if teh mtso bevaulal ghitn ewre erslotswh, nad edus my enw redsnfi to ocimmt hte odl isileeditfni I’ve tmdimcteo rfeobe. It’s evyr uret ahtt I’ve dteetra utre vole nytrlgeas and iwth dadnisi. uBt I raesw by eavehn, heets eonmstm ehwn I’ve dersvwe dsaie evha made my tehra nugoy aigan, and by ygitnr tou ohter peopel I’ve vodepr to fyesml htta ouy’re teh tseb rpesno I vole. wNo I’ve hesfidni twhi ynveriehtg xtceep rof ruo lveo, hhwci illw veha no ned. I ilwl no olngre twhe my tapeitpe orf nwe orlsve, iugnasc enfsurifg to my old erdfni, eth ogd of voel to womh I’m own ngltiimi selyfm. So ceeomwl me bkac noit uoyr uepr and voinlg etahr; to me, you’re the tenx etsb gthin to ahevne.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets