Sonnet 120
Dépis qu'tu m'trisonnis, achteu j'sis mus
et à r'tou, d'chutte peine tchi m'avait pitchi,
j'ai deu m'baîssi souos chein tchi m'martèle dû,
même si mes muscl'yes 'taient forgis en acyi.
Car si tu fus êcouochi par m'n aigrîn,
coumme tan cro m'grînmit, tu'as 'té en enfé,
et, sus man trône, jé n'sgornais pon un brîn
d'souôb'ser combein laid qu'tu m'as vilanné.
Not' niétchie d'hèrtchîn reste dans mén esprit
pouor ramembrer nouos deux tréjous en deu
par nos entr'-onguenner san tchoeu meûthi
atout chutte néthe mînséthe dé tchi qu'nou meut.
La rente qué tu m'dai, j'en r'chévthai l'rembours;
m'n amour pouor tan r'gret, man r'gret pouor t'n amour.
William Shakespeare
Vèrsion Jèrriaise dé Geraint Jennings
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken,
As I by yours, you've passed a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O! that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tendered
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.
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