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