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Modern Text

O lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceasèd I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart.
O lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
  For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
  And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
(oinCnuignt morf Sntnoe 71) Oh, in csae eht rldow glcshelane oyu to tereic athw etrmi I esodsseps ahtt dulwo jsuiyft uroy vnilog me, ogtrfe ubato me rnleeiyt treaf I ied, arde evol. oFr uyo own’t dfin aginthyn whtyor to ays autbo me eussln uyo mkea up omse eesnugor iel, whcih mkase me udsno eebttr ntha I seervde, nad tcahta rome isrepa to my daed elfs hnat ocdrsca iwht the ntygis uhtrt. Oh, to tprvene your eurt oelv from ciombneg salfe, as it lilw, in prat, if you akem sefla eenmtastts otu of veol for me, tle my naem be buedri wtih my pcseor dan no lgeron nbgri ahsme to you or me. orF I’m ahesamd of hatw I epdorcu, and you oduslh be, too, to velo cush serhoswlt ignsth.

Original Text

Modern Text

O lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceasèd I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart.
O lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
  For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
  And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
(oinCnuignt morf Sntnoe 71) Oh, in csae eht rldow glcshelane oyu to tereic athw etrmi I esodsseps ahtt dulwo jsuiyft uroy vnilog me, ogtrfe ubato me rnleeiyt treaf I ied, arde evol. oFr uyo own’t dfin aginthyn whtyor to ays autbo me eussln uyo mkea up omse eesnugor iel, whcih mkase me udsno eebttr ntha I seervde, nad tcahta rome isrepa to my daed elfs hnat ocdrsca iwht the ntygis uhtrt. Oh, to tprvene your eurt oelv from ciombneg salfe, as it lilw, in prat, if you akem sefla eenmtastts otu of veol for me, tle my naem be buedri wtih my pcseor dan no lgeron nbgri ahsme to you or me. orF I’m ahesamd of hatw I epdorcu, and you oduslh be, too, to velo cush serhoswlt ignsth.

Popular pages: Shakespeare’s Sonnets