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| That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect, | 1 |
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| For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; |
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| The ornament of beauty is suspect, |
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| A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. |
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| So thou be good, slander doth but approve | 5 |
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| Thy worth the greater being woo'd of time; |
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| For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, |
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| And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. |
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| Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days |
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| Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd; | 10 |
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| Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, |
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| To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd, |
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 If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, |
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| Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. |
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