| 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, | 5 |
| 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, | 10 |
| 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. |