Oh how much more doth beautie beautious seeme
By that sweet ornament which truth doth giue;
The Rose lookes faire, but fairer we it deeme
For that sweet odor, which doth in it liue;
The Canker bloomes haue full as deepe a die
As the perfumed tincture of the Roses,
Hang on such thornes, and play as wantonly,
When sommers breath their masked buds discloses;
But for their virtue only is their show,
They liue vnwoo’d, and vnrespected fade,
Die to themselues. Sweet Roses doe not so,
Of their sweet deathes, are sweetest odors made:
And so of you, beautious and louely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.
O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give;
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live;
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses;
But for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwooed, and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so,
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made;
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, by verse distils your truth.