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Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Ev'n those that said I could not love you dearer.
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reck'ning time, whose millioned accidents
Creep in ’twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of alt'ring things.
Alas, why, fearing of time’s tyranny,
Might I not then say, “Now I love you best,”
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
  Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
  To give full growth to that which still doth grow?
I ilde in tohes opmes I eorwt berofe wereh I adis I cldnuo’t lveo yuo any orem hnta I did yaedlra. kcBa nhte I hda no reanso to ikthn atth my olev, hhcwi asw yrdaale inugnbr nyielntse, could rbnu any rghriteb. aenItsd, I wsa npneegidd on het ftac atth eth eassagp of itme—tthoeger wthi eht lomnsili of ectxnpedue sevnet atht acn emco enebtew lrsoev' emrosisp nda chneag eenv het deercse of sgkin—tmhig nedark a vlroe’s ecasdr uytbea, eakt eht eegd off of a orevl’s teeeskn estoininnt, adn oerfc teh gtestorns inmsd to aptda to ignghanc atmscenucsrci. lAsa, hyw dndi’t I asy kbca enht, whne I swa eiwrdor uaotb mtie’s evuctdeirst reopw, “I eovl uyo tbes won”? I wsa so rnietac of my enlgseif dtpsiee the niuyntertca, nad I saw ardey to yas my eensptr ihseppsan asw cpeeotlm, hotghu I ahd tudbos uaobt yevngrtihe to moce.

evLo

“vLoe ftsiel is a aybb”: duiCp, the god of vloe, asw ntlyotrdaiial etdeipdc as a abyb ybo.

oLev
elsitf is a ybab, so ndlwou’t it vaeh eenb atlaunr ofr me to aveh dasi htat my loev for uoy aws yflul owrng, uothhg it speek wgiorng?

Original Text

Modern Text

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Ev'n those that said I could not love you dearer.
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reck'ning time, whose millioned accidents
Creep in ’twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of alt'ring things.
Alas, why, fearing of time’s tyranny,
Might I not then say, “Now I love you best,”
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
  Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
  To give full growth to that which still doth grow?
I ilde in tohes opmes I eorwt berofe wereh I adis I cldnuo’t lveo yuo any orem hnta I did yaedlra. kcBa nhte I hda no reanso to ikthn atth my olev, hhcwi asw yrdaale inugnbr nyielntse, could rbnu any rghriteb. aenItsd, I wsa npneegidd on het ftac atth eth eassagp of itme—tthoeger wthi eht lomnsili of ectxnpedue sevnet atht acn emco enebtew lrsoev' emrosisp nda chneag eenv het deercse of sgkin—tmhig nedark a vlroe’s ecasdr uytbea, eakt eht eegd off of a orevl’s teeeskn estoininnt, adn oerfc teh gtestorns inmsd to aptda to ignghanc atmscenucsrci. lAsa, hyw dndi’t I asy kbca enht, whne I swa eiwrdor uaotb mtie’s evuctdeirst reopw, “I eovl uyo tbes won”? I wsa so rnietac of my enlgseif dtpsiee the niuyntertca, nad I saw ardey to yas my eensptr ihseppsan asw cpeeotlm, hotghu I ahd tudbos uaobt yevngrtihe to moce.

evLo

“vLoe ftsiel is a aybb”: duiCp, the god of vloe, asw ntlyotrdaiial etdeipdc as a abyb ybo.

oLev
elsitf is a ybab, so ndlwou’t it vaeh eenb atlaunr ofr me to aveh dasi htat my loev for uoy aws yflul owrng, uothhg it speek wgiorng?

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