|Who mouing others,are themselues as stone,
Vnmooued,could,and to temptation slow:
They rightly do inherrit heauens graces,
And husband natures ritches from expence,
They are the Lords and owners of their faces,
Others,but stewards of their excellence:
The sommers flowre is to the sommer sweet,
Though to it selfe,it onely liue and die,
But if that flowre with base infection meete,
The basest weed out-braues his dignity:
For sweetest things turne sowrest by their deedes,
Lillies that fester, smell far worse then weeds.
|Doth spot the beautie of thy budding name?
Oh in what sweets doest thou thy sinnes inclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy daies,
(Making lasciuious comments on thy sport)
Cannot dispraise,but in a kinde of praise,
Naming thy name, blesses an ill report.
Oh what a mansion haue those vices got,
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauties vaile doth couer euery blot,
And all things turnes to faire,that eies can see!
Take heed(deare heart)of this large priuiledge,
The hardest knife ill vs'd doth loose his edge.
|Both grace and faults are lou'd of more and lesse:
Thou makst faults graces,that to thee resort:
As on the finger of a throned Queene,