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| Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view | 1 |
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| Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend; |
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| All tongues—the voice of souls—give thee that due, |
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| Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. |
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| Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd; | 5 |
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| But those same tongues, that give thee so thine own, |
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| In other accents do this praise confound |
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| By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. |
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| They look into the beauty of thy mind, |
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| And that in guess they measure by thy deeds; | 10 |
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| Then—churls—their thoughts, although their eyes were kind, |
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| To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: |
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 But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, |
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| The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. |
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