Shakespeare in Anglish

Shall I withsame thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more timeworthly.
Rough winds do shake the Bloommonth buds affray,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a day.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold withwoven dimmed.
And every fair from fair sometime bends down,
By luck, or by kind’s ne’er-still rill, untrimmed;
But thy undying summer shall not fade,
Nor lose besitting of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in undying lines to Time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.