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| O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem | 1 |
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| By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. |
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| The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem |
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| For that sweet odour, which doth in it live. |
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| The canker blooms have full as deep a dye | 5 |
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| As the perfumed tincture of the roses. |
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| Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly |
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| When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: |
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| But, for their virtue only is their show, |
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| They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; | 10 |
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| Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; |
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| Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: |
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 And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, |
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| When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth. |
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