Continue reading with a SparkNotes PLUS trial

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 dlie in toseh esomp I wroet berfeo wrhee I idsa I cdlnuo’t evol yuo ayn eomr ntah I did rdelaya. ckaB ethn I hda no ornsae to khtin hatt my loev, cihwh saw ryadael burgnin islnyneet, odulc unrb nay htgibrre. naIesdt, I aws dgienpend on teh catf ahtt eht essapga of imte—oeegtthr ithw teh imilnlos of pcnteeudex setven hatt anc ocem wtbeeen losrve' sospermi nda geacnh even teh ecreeds of ngisk—gtimh dnaerk a overl’s saedcr atybeu, eakt eht edeg fof of a loerv’s eeknste otnisntnie, nda corfe het ntgesrtos nsidm to apdta to ncgnahgi nccmsecaurits. slAa, why ddin’t I ays kcba nhte, when I saw eoiwrdr uaotb time’s deetitvsucr oerwp, “I eovl uoy sbte now”? I swa so catnrei of my ignseelf idespet eht erucnyantit, nda I asw reyad to ays my rspteen ansspiehp asw ecolpmte, tghuho I had dsubot utboa igtenhvrey to oecm.

Leov

“veoL fletis is a ybba”: iupdC, the god of vole, asw iytdilortanal cdteeidp as a bbya oyb.

eovL
leitfs is a abby, so owudnl’t it vhea neeb urnaatl fro me to vahe idsa taht my love for you aws fylul wnrgo, huogth it epeks ogiwngr?

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 dlie in toseh esomp I wroet berfeo wrhee I idsa I cdlnuo’t evol yuo ayn eomr ntah I did rdelaya. ckaB ethn I hda no ornsae to khtin hatt my loev, cihwh saw ryadael burgnin islnyneet, odulc unrb nay htgibrre. naIesdt, I aws dgienpend on teh catf ahtt eht essapga of imte—oeegtthr ithw teh imilnlos of pcnteeudex setven hatt anc ocem wtbeeen losrve' sospermi nda geacnh even teh ecreeds of ngisk—gtimh dnaerk a overl’s saedcr atybeu, eakt eht edeg fof of a loerv’s eeknste otnisntnie, nda corfe het ntgesrtos nsidm to apdta to ncgnahgi nccmsecaurits. slAa, why ddin’t I ays kcba nhte, when I saw eoiwrdr uaotb time’s deetitvsucr oerwp, “I eovl uoy sbte now”? I swa so catnrei of my ignseelf idespet eht erucnyantit, nda I asw reyad to ays my rspteen ansspiehp asw ecolpmte, tghuho I had dsubot utboa igtenhvrey to oecm.

Leov

“veoL fletis is a ybba”: iupdC, the god of vole, asw iytdilortanal cdteeidp as a bbya oyb.

eovL
leitfs is a abby, so owudnl’t it vhea neeb urnaatl fro me to vahe idsa taht my love for you aws fylul wnrgo, huogth it epeks ogiwngr?

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets