How sweet and lovely dost thou make
the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant
rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding
name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins
enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy
days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of
praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O, what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out
thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every
blot,
And all things turn to fair that eyes
can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large
privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose
his edge.
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Shakespeare's Sonnets:
