Mine eye hath played the painter and hath steeled,

[məɪn əɪ haθ plɛːd ðə pɛːntɹ ən haθ steld]

Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart;

[ðəɪ bʝutəɪz fɔ˞ m ɪn tɛːbɫ ə mɪ ha˞ t]

My body is the frame wherein ’tis held

[məɪ bɑdəɪ ɪs ðə fɹɛːm ʍɛ˞ ɪn tɪz hɛld]

And perspective that is best painter’s art.

[and pɐ˞ spɛtɪv ðat ɪz bɛst pɛːntɹ a˞ t]

For through the painter must you see his skill,

[fɔ˞ θɹu ðə pɛːntɹ mɤst ju se̝ hɪz skɪɫ]

To find where your true image pictured lies,

[tu fəɪnd ʍɛ˞ joːɹ tɹu ɪmədʒ pɪktʃɹd ləɪs]

Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still,

[ʍɪtʃ ɪn mɪ bʊzəmz ʃɑp ɪz haŋɪn stɪɫ]

That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.

[ðat haθ hɪz wɪndoːz glɛːzd wɪθ ðəɪn əɪz]

Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:

[nəʊ se̝ ʍɤt gʊd tɐ˞ nz əɪz fɔ˞ əɪz hav dɤn]

Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me

[məɪn əɪz hav dɹɑn ðɪ ʃɛːp ən ðəɪn fɔ˞ me̝ ]

Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun

[aɹ wɪndoːz tə mɪ bɹɛst ʍɛ˞ θɹu ðə sɤn]

Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;

[deləɪts tə pe̝ p tə gɛːz ðɛ˞ ɪn ɑn ðe̝ ]

   Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,

[jɛt əɪz ðɪz kɤnɪn wɑnt tə gɹɛːs ðɛ˞ a˞ t]

   They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

[ðɛː drɑ bɤt ʍɤt ðɛː se̝ noː nɑt ðə ha˞ t]