Like most English buffs, we tend to take the ubiquity of text-message abbreviations like “UR” and “thx” as a sign of  the encroaching language apocalypse. But perhaps we’re judging our peers too harshly. As an exhibition that will debut this winter at the British Library illustrates, our Victorian ancestors didn’t always speak — or write — the Queen’s English, either. In fact, some “linguistic games” entailed composing poetry that wouldn’t look out of place on a teenager’s Sidekick: : “He says he loves U 2 X S,/ U R virtuous and Y’s,/ In X L N C U X L/ All others in his i’s,” wrote one poet in 1867.

With that in mind, we had to wonder: How might one of the era’s enduring classics look in text-speak? So, with the help of this handy English-to-text translator, we bring you Robert Browning’s timeless “My Last Duchess,” updated for the iPhone generation.

My Lst Duchess

by Robert Browning

Dats my lst Duchess painted on d wall
Lukin as f she wr aliv. I cll
Dat pce a 1dr, now: Fra Pandolf’s hands
Wrkd busily a dy, n der she stands.
Will’t plz u sit n l%k @ her? I z
“Fra Pandolf” by Dzine, 4 nvr read
Strangers lk u dat pictured countenance,
D depth n pa$N of its earnest glance
Bt 2 mself dey turnd (since nun puts by
D curtain Ive drawn 4 u, bt I)
N seemd theyd ask me, f dey durst,
Hw sucha glance came der; so nt d 1st
RU 2 turn n ask sic. Sir, ’twas nt
Her husband’s presence 1ly, cllD dat spot
Of joy N2 d Duchess’s cheek: praps
Fra Pandolf chanced 2 sA “Her mantle laps
Ovr my lady’s rist 2 mch,” or Paint
Must nvr h2 reproduce d faint
1/2 flush dat dies along her throat”: such stuf
Wz courtesy, she thort, n cauZ nuf
4 callN ^ dat spot of u. She had
A heart — how shll I sA? — too sn md glad,
2 esily impre$D; she lykD whate’er
She lOkd on, n her l%ks went evrywhr.
Sir, ’twas ll 1! My boon @ her brest,
D droppin of d dAlite n d West,
D bough of cherries sum officious f%l
BroK n d orchard 4 her, d wyt mule
She rode W rnd d terrace — all n ea
W%d drw frm her alike d approving spEch,
Or :”), @ lEst. She thanked men — good! bt thanked
Somehow — I knw nt how — as f she ranked
My gft of a nine-hundred-years-old nme
W anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop 2 blAm
dis sortA trifling? Evn had u skill
N speech — (which Ive not) — to mke yr wl
Quite clr 2 sucha 1, n sA, “Just dis
Or dat n u disgusts me; hre u ms
Or der Xceed d mark” — and f she let
Herself B lessoned so, nor plainly set
her wits 2 yrz, forsooth, n md xQs
— E’en thN w%d B sum stooping; +I chooz
Nvr 2 stoop. O sir, she smilD, no doubt
Whene’er I passD her; bt hu passD w/o
Mch d same :)? dis gru; I gave cmds;
ThN ll *grins* stopD 2gtha. Der she stands
As f aliv. Will’t plz u rise? We’ll mEt
d co. below, thN. I Rpeat
D Count yr master’s nown munificence
S lots warrant dat no jst pretense
Of myn dowry wl B disalowed
ThO hs fair daughter’s slf, as I avowed
@ sTRtN, S my obj. Nay, we’ll go
2gtha dwn, sir. Notis Neptune, thO,
Taming a sea orse, thort a rarity,
Wich claus of Innsbruck cast n bronze 4 me!