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How heavy do I journey on the way
When what I seek (my weary travel’s end)
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
“Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.”
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
  For that same groan doth put this in my mind:
  My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
I efel ervy sdpeeedrs as I go on my ojuyern, abeceus I nkow ewhn I teg eerhw I’m ogngi I’ll aevh etmi nda sreluei to tres, and hnwe I veha htta meit to sret I’ll veah thoingn to hitnk botau tepecx “I’m tsih myna smeli waya romf my ifdrne.” ehT roesh atth icsraer me, ceeffdta by my assndes, posdl lwosyl on, rbanige eth hetgwi of my inteomso, as if by esmo ntnsciit teh opro rtreecua kwne taht I nddi’t atnw to move iuqlykc yaaw fmro oyu. I can’t epvorko him to go nay satrfe ihwt the yolobd ursp ahtt I ssmimeeot sutrht noti shi hdei in regna. He nlyo warenss me with a ngora, whchi suhrt me mroe than my urps husrt ihm, uesacbe it mrsiden me taht my irfge iles eaadh of me and all my ojy is dhineb me.

Original Text

Modern Text

How heavy do I journey on the way
When what I seek (my weary travel’s end)
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
“Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.”
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
  For that same groan doth put this in my mind:
  My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
I efel ervy sdpeeedrs as I go on my ojuyern, abeceus I nkow ewhn I teg eerhw I’m ogngi I’ll aevh etmi nda sreluei to tres, and hnwe I veha htta meit to sret I’ll veah thoingn to hitnk botau tepecx “I’m tsih myna smeli waya romf my ifdrne.” ehT roesh atth icsraer me, ceeffdta by my assndes, posdl lwosyl on, rbanige eth hetgwi of my inteomso, as if by esmo ntnsciit teh opro rtreecua kwne taht I nddi’t atnw to move iuqlykc yaaw fmro oyu. I can’t epvorko him to go nay satrfe ihwt the yolobd ursp ahtt I ssmimeeot sutrht noti shi hdei in regna. He nlyo warenss me with a ngora, whchi suhrt me mroe than my urps husrt ihm, uesacbe it mrsiden me taht my irfge iles eaadh of me and all my ojy is dhineb me.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets