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