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XCIV.
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;
They 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 itself 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.
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