Continue reading with a SparkNotes PLUS trial

Original Text

Modern Text

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfathered,
As subject to time’s love or to time’s hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flow'rs with flowers gathered.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thrallèd discontent,
Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls.
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short numb’red hours.
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers.
  To this I witness call the fools of time,
  Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
If my atrge vloe rfo oyu dah smpyli enbe aetedrc by enccmtiuscsra, it ihmgt be trejcdee as mtieteiailgl seebauc acgnihng rccteascmusni loduc ydtorse it. It oudwl be ejcstub to aevtewhr’s in oshnafi at eth mtneom, eeejtcrd hwti ltohsrews shgnit or pluedck up whit ehtro naeabilofsh woeslrf. No, my lvoe was atedecr heerw it acn’t be dcehout by hte icpaibentrdluyit of nveste. It’s tno hpdlee by teh vloaarpp of otiauryth, onr is it hdruecs oangl htiw teh stntaomcnel woh eitssr yttaihruo, as eeths etsmi pttem us to do. My vole sin’t iarafd of the ltoipalci encmshig dan ingvicnon gaednge in by mmalior pelepo, whihc ylon ash a rhtos term eftefc, ubt sntasd by teflis, dpenidetnne nad oueyslronm wies, treinhe wrngigo ugdnri times of eausperl nro dkllei by entsuoirfm. To etttsa to thaw I’m iaygsn, I llac as estwiessn all etosh oofsl who dedi tanntpree nda gniseke ognsdsoe tfare ivilgn ilsve aicddetde to rmcei.

Original Text

Modern Text

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfathered,
As subject to time’s love or to time’s hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flow'rs with flowers gathered.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thrallèd discontent,
Whereto th' inviting time our fashion calls.
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short numb’red hours.
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers.
  To this I witness call the fools of time,
  Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
If my atrge vloe rfo oyu dah smpyli enbe aetedrc by enccmtiuscsra, it ihmgt be trejcdee as mtieteiailgl seebauc acgnihng rccteascmusni loduc ydtorse it. It oudwl be ejcstub to aevtewhr’s in oshnafi at eth mtneom, eeejtcrd hwti ltohsrews shgnit or pluedck up whit ehtro naeabilofsh woeslrf. No, my lvoe was atedecr heerw it acn’t be dcehout by hte icpaibentrdluyit of nveste. It’s tno hpdlee by teh vloaarpp of otiauryth, onr is it hdruecs oangl htiw teh stntaomcnel woh eitssr yttaihruo, as eeths etsmi pttem us to do. My vole sin’t iarafd of the ltoipalci encmshig dan ingvicnon gaednge in by mmalior pelepo, whihc ylon ash a rhtos term eftefc, ubt sntasd by teflis, dpenidetnne nad oueyslronm wies, treinhe wrngigo ugdnri times of eausperl nro dkllei by entsuoirfm. To etttsa to thaw I’m iaygsn, I llac as estwiessn all etosh oofsl who dedi tanntpree nda gniseke ognsdsoe tfare ivilgn ilsve aicddetde to rmcei.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets