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Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
O no; thy love, though much, is not so great.
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake,
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake.
  For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhére,
  From me far off, with others all too near.
Was it uory nnioinett atht I oshdul sayt eaakw lla tingh nthkniig btuao uoy? Do yuo twan my eeslp to be rrdptutneie lhwei I’m ladatteniz by mtanle gsemai of oyu? eAr yuo ndengsi ruoy riptis rfa morf sti home to pyr inot my isenlgad, to difn tuo eth smfehlua inhtgs I’ve bnee up to in dlie rsuho? eAr ouy aulseoj? Oh, no: ohhTgu uyo vleo me a gerat aedl, you ond’t elov me tath umch. It’s my veol orf you ahtt’s kipeegn me waeak. My won eurt evlo kespe me fmro geseplni—sintgay up igyrronw oabtu uoy. I syat up orf uoy, hiewl you rae wekaa rhmweeose eels: raf awya mrfo me, tbu all too olces to ircaten orhte eeolpp.

Original Text

Modern Text

Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
O no; thy love, though much, is not so great.
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake,
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake.
  For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhére,
  From me far off, with others all too near.
Was it uory nnioinett atht I oshdul sayt eaakw lla tingh nthkniig btuao uoy? Do yuo twan my eeslp to be rrdptutneie lhwei I’m ladatteniz by mtanle gsemai of oyu? eAr yuo ndengsi ruoy riptis rfa morf sti home to pyr inot my isenlgad, to difn tuo eth smfehlua inhtgs I’ve bnee up to in dlie rsuho? eAr ouy aulseoj? Oh, no: ohhTgu uyo vleo me a gerat aedl, you ond’t elov me tath umch. It’s my veol orf you ahtt’s kipeegn me waeak. My won eurt evlo kespe me fmro geseplni—sintgay up igyrronw oabtu uoy. I syat up orf uoy, hiewl you rae wekaa rhmweeose eels: raf awya mrfo me, tbu all too olces to ircaten orhte eeolpp.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets