They that have power to hurt and will
do none,
That do not do the thing they most do
show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as
stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from
expense;
They are the lords and owners of their
faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer
sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection
meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by
their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse
than weeds.
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Shakespeare's Sonnets:
