XCV

    How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Which, like a canker in the fragrant¹ 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 lascivious² comments on thy sport, Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise； Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. O！ what a mansion³ have those vices⁴ got Which for their habitation chose out thee, Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot⁵ And all things turns to fair that eyes can see！ Take heed⁶, dear heart, of this large privilege； The hardest knife ill-us'd doth lose his edge.