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| How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame | 1 |
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| Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, |
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| Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! |
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| O! in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose. |
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| That tongue that tells the story of thy days, | 5 |
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| Making lascivious comments on thy sport, |
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| Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise; |
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| Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. |
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| O! what a mansion have those vices got |
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| Which for their habitation chose out thee, | 10 |
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| Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot |
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| And all things turns to fair that eyes can see! |
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 Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege; |
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| The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge. |
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