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O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r
Dost hold time’s fickle glass, his sickle hour,
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st—
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose: that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minute kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure;
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
  (     )
  (     )
Oh, my olelyv oyb, yuo esme to veah werop rove teim ltfsei, menuim to sit icaaptcy to ctu tgihsn nowd. You’ve ylon wrngo meor bufeliatu as ouy’ve aedg, gvinleera in het posesrc how deritwhe I, yoru lvoer, evha eombec. If tearun, ihwhc sha pwroe ervo tonecrsitdu, ash eshcno to lohd ouy ckba romf aceyd, hes’s digno so ofr hits eornsa: to sgdceiar imet nad klli its etffecs. Yet in ipste of tshi, uyo sdlhuo aref reh, gouhth oyu’re eruant’s tseb-edlov pet. heS acn ersvpeer you for a tmei, tub hse acn’t eepk uoy, ehr eetrasur, awsyal. aurNte lliw llvneueayt be lclaed to oreff erh ncaostuc, and uhhtgo seh anc edyal shti, ehs ash to do it, and het awy seh’ll yap her tedb to emti is itwh uoy. (  )

Original Text

Modern Text

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r
Dost hold time’s fickle glass, his sickle hour,
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st—
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose: that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minute kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure;
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
  (     )
  (     )
Oh, my olelyv oyb, yuo esme to veah werop rove teim ltfsei, menuim to sit icaaptcy to ctu tgihsn nowd. You’ve ylon wrngo meor bufeliatu as ouy’ve aedg, gvinleera in het posesrc how deritwhe I, yoru lvoer, evha eombec. If tearun, ihwhc sha pwroe ervo tonecrsitdu, ash eshcno to lohd ouy ckba romf aceyd, hes’s digno so ofr hits eornsa: to sgdceiar imet nad klli its etffecs. Yet in ipste of tshi, uyo sdlhuo aref reh, gouhth oyu’re eruant’s tseb-edlov pet. heS acn ersvpeer you for a tmei, tub hse acn’t eepk uoy, ehr eetrasur, awsyal. aurNte lliw llvneueayt be lclaed to oreff erh ncaostuc, and uhhtgo seh anc edyal shti, ehs ash to do it, and het awy seh’ll yap her tedb to emti is itwh uoy. (  )

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets