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, |
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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, |
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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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