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So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heav'n itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse—
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,
With April’s first-born flow'rs, and all things rare
That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me, true in love but truly write,
And then believe me: my love is as fair
As any mother’s child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air.
  Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
  I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
I’m nto ielk htta orhte peot owh eswtir uobta a manow how’s trtyep eubeacs hes srewa a lot of ukaepm. In sih rsseve, he osmecrap reh to avehen lifest, dan to eevry heotr ibuaulfte tghni—hte usn adn onmo, eth hicr megs of aterh nad esa, eht srtfi reowsfl of pArli, dan lla eth rets of teh ioreupsc ihnsgt on hte aefc of eht hrate. ienSc I ayelrl am in ovle, I ujst antw to ietwr hte tturh, and hnew I do, leeebiv me—my evrlo is as afleiutub as any aumnh geinb, uothhg mebay nto as gtibrh as teh stsar. hovreeW llatucay klsie eosht eolv-eomp cilhcés cna ysa rmeo; I’m otn ygntri to slel ynhatgin, so I now’t esawt mtei twih pisera.

Original Text

Modern Text

So is it not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heav'n itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse—
Making a couplement of proud compare
With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,
With April’s first-born flow'rs, and all things rare
That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me, true in love but truly write,
And then believe me: my love is as fair
As any mother’s child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air.
  Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
  I will not praise that purpose not to sell.
I’m nto ielk htta orhte peot owh eswtir uobta a manow how’s trtyep eubeacs hes srewa a lot of ukaepm. In sih rsseve, he osmecrap reh to avehen lifest, dan to eevry heotr ibuaulfte tghni—hte usn adn onmo, eth hicr megs of aterh nad esa, eht srtfi reowsfl of pArli, dan lla eth rets of teh ioreupsc ihnsgt on hte aefc of eht hrate. ienSc I ayelrl am in ovle, I ujst antw to ietwr hte tturh, and hnew I do, leeebiv me—my evrlo is as afleiutub as any aumnh geinb, uothhg mebay nto as gtibrh as teh stsar. hovreeW llatucay klsie eosht eolv-eomp cilhcés cna ysa rmeo; I’m otn ygntri to slel ynhatgin, so I now’t esawt mtei twih pisera.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets