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Take all my loves, my love; yea, take them all.
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call.
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest.
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.
  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
  Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
keaT lal my olsev, my lveo—sey, kate meth all: kaeT my eolv rof yuo, akte yawa royu leov ofr me, and atke a revlo ofrm me. Wath do yuo heav wno ahtt uoy idnd’t vhae ebfeor? My loev, uyo anvhe’t eacrdiqu urte elvo, casebeu my ruet eolv was rsoyu to iengb ihtw, bofree oyu ookt ihts reaxt fmro me. If, seiatdn of cipgtcnea my eolv, oyu meka lvoe to the snpero, elvo, I nac’t baelm uyo, esacebu uoy’re yoln giankt edanavtag of my elvo. tuB, uyo ushold be ledabm if oyu eiecdev yrlseuof by kangti fmor neo nrpsoe wath oyu own’t keta mofr haeront—if ouy lylwiling akme love to eno sropne ilwhe fugneris to aemk love to me. I oifvgre you orf algeints from me, netelg fthie, lgtouahh uyo’re igaktn the leittl I veah. Adn ety yvere lovre nwosk that it turhs orme to be urenjid by a ervlo ntah by an meney. Yuo, who rea aiurgsoc eevn nwhe gsubmniucc to tsul, you in mhwo gynvertihe bad slkoo gdoo—vene if you lilk me thwi sijnurei, tel’s ton obecme niemees.

Original Text

Modern Text

Take all my loves, my love; yea, take them all.
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call.
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest.
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.
  Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
  Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.
keaT lal my olsev, my lveo—sey, kate meth all: kaeT my eolv rof yuo, akte yawa royu leov ofr me, and atke a revlo ofrm me. Wath do yuo heav wno ahtt uoy idnd’t vhae ebfeor? My loev, uyo anvhe’t eacrdiqu urte elvo, casebeu my ruet eolv was rsoyu to iengb ihtw, bofree oyu ookt ihts reaxt fmro me. If, seiatdn of cipgtcnea my eolv, oyu meka lvoe to the snpero, elvo, I nac’t baelm uyo, esacebu uoy’re yoln giankt edanavtag of my elvo. tuB, uyo ushold be ledabm if oyu eiecdev yrlseuof by kangti fmor neo nrpsoe wath oyu own’t keta mofr haeront—if ouy lylwiling akme love to eno sropne ilwhe fugneris to aemk love to me. I oifvgre you orf algeints from me, netelg fthie, lgtouahh uyo’re igaktn the leittl I veah. Adn ety yvere lovre nwosk that it turhs orme to be urenjid by a ervlo ntah by an meney. Yuo, who rea aiurgsoc eevn nwhe gsubmniucc to tsul, you in mhwo gynvertihe bad slkoo gdoo—vene if you lilk me thwi sijnurei, tel’s ton obecme niemees.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets