They that have power to hurt, and will do none,That do not do the thing, they most do show,Who moving others, are themselves as stone,Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow:

They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,And husband nature's riches from expense,Tibey are the lords and owners of their faces,Others, but stewards of their excellence:

The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,Though to it self, it only live and die,But if that flower with base infection meet,The basest weed outbraves his dignity:

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds,Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.